Keep (Seaside Pictures 2)

“It is.” He came up behind me. The blanket brushed against me, and I nearly passed out on the spot. His arm snaked around my body and plunged into the marshmallow bag. That same arm brushed mine as he tugged a few marshmallows out and chewed.

I knew he was chewing because he was that close. “So”—more chewing—“should we go to the bedroom?”

“You’re paying me. That would make me a prostitute.”

“Damn it, money exchanging hands really does change everything doesn’t it?” His body pressed closer. “Don’t worry, four eyes, I would never seduce you.”

I hated that he was blatantly stating the obvious. Of course he wouldn’t. He was Zane Andrews! And let’s not forget the fact that he didn’t practice safe sex.

“Good,” I lied. “Then by asking me to go into the bedroom I can only assume you need me to grab you clothes because you’re color blind, so lead the way and we’ll get to work.”

“Slave driver.” He slapped my ass and took off down the hallway, leaving me to follow.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to smother him with a pillow or text a picture of my ass to everyone I knew and say something stupid like, “Zane Andrews just slapped me here. I’m never showering again!”

It was good.

His cocky, arrogant prick of an attitude.

It reminded me of who he was.

Which in turn reminded me of who I was.

A local Oregon girl just earning money for college.

Zane dropped the blanket.

I didn’t close my eyes this time.

He crossed his arms. “Well, the emperor can’t go out like this. I think we all know how that story ended. Find me some clothes you approve of, and we’ll go for a walk.”

Chapter Fourteen

Zane

IT WAS GETTING HARDER.

Everything was getting harder.

And I really meant everything.

Mentally.

And physically.

Ignoring the fact that every time I saw her, I felt my chest flutter like a damn girl—I looked forward to seeing her.

That was bad news.

She was bad news.

I was leaving, no chance in hell did I want to stay in Seaside for longer than I had to. Besides, it wasn’t like she was staying local anyway.

We made it to the beach in record time. I was so lost in my thoughts that I nearly collided with a rock and just barely missed it by jumping down the rest of the way onto the sand.

“Easy ninja, you don’t want to break a leg before you start touring again,” Fallon said in a teasing tone.

God, I really needed her to stop talking right now.

Or, just. Ever.

I stayed away from girls for a reason—sure I was photographed numerous times with girls hanging all over me, and yeah I’d kissed hundreds of them, but they were never fans, they were never normal, they were actresses, models, girls who knew that by touching me, they’d suddenly book the next job they had lined up.

She was different.

She gained nothing by kissing me, and I gained nothing but a really uncomfortable twitch in my cock by kissing her.

No sex.

No sex.

No sex.

Yeah, I wondered how many times I needed to repeat that mantra over and over in my head before something snapped, and I jumped on the first girl who said hi to me.

It had never been a problem until now.

Until the kissing and the whole issue of me promising not to seduce her or touch her.

Maybe that was the issue. I knew I would be a complete jackass if I followed through, and the last thing I wanted was for her big doe eyes to get sad, and for that sadness to be caused because after twenty-three years of being celibate, I finally broke down, gave in.

It wasn’t like it was on purpose, my virginity.

It was more of how I was brought up.

Or rather, what I was surrounded with in foster care.

I shuddered at the thought while Fallon raced ahead of me toward the ocean. The waves crashed against the sand with significant force causing the little pieces to fly into the air. Wind whipped at my face while I zipped up my hoodie and watched.

The music had been coming for four days.

Four full days of nothing but feeling, feeling for the first time in two years. The only issue was her.

Every artist had his muse.

I’d found mine.

And wasn’t so sure I wanted to let her go.

And just like that, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Another text. I knew who it was from, I knew what he’d be asking, and I knew what my answer would be. Not yet. Because the album was just now getting to the point where it was turning into something that I was proud of, and I’d only written five songs. Typically, I went through close to a hundred before I picked the tracks I wanted. The last thing I wanted to do was talk to my agent.

Hell, he’d just love the spin she could make on a story about me using a local girl as inspiration, I’d blink, and a TV crew would be down here documenting every single second of the day and somehow twisting it into a romance where I’m suddenly pining after the plain girl with glasses.

My cock twitched.

Damn it.

I was not pining after the cute girl.

And she was cute. I let out a pitiful groan as she skipped ahead, kicking sand at her own ass, and nearly tumbling into a damn seagull before making it to the water. At least she’d stopped being so uptight around me, I still wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing—the familiarity.

“Zane!” Fallon cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled my name at least three times before I finally acknowledged I’d heard her.