Page 32 of Worlds Collide

I rub my eyes and try to understand what in the living hell is happening. The last thing I remember is finishing episode four of the first season and CJ’s sleepy eyes peering up at me. Then I just shut off the TV and the lights like a coward. At least I did manage to tell him goodnight before I lay down.

God, I’m such a fucking dumbass. I should’ve definitely made a move.

No, actually, what I should’ve done is closed the door on hisface and told him to please forget he knows me. That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to stop this obsession.

There’s no turning back now, though. Not after actually having CJ. The way he melted in my arms, the way he embraced and kissed me like it was only a matter of time.

I sneer at myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? CJ didn’tembraceme. He was happy enough letting me fuck him, and that’s all there is to it. Nothing more is ever going to happen. I can’t let it, because I’m?—

“It’s an embarrassment to this family, Jerry. It’s indecent, what were you thinking? And it’s all over the press, it’s made national news! We raised you better than this, that good-for-nothing—” The woman’s voice rises enough that I can make out the words, but CJ cuts her off and I have to scowl at his tone.

“Okay, that’s enough. My name isn’t Jerry and you know it. What I do or don’t do isn’t any of your business anymore, is it,Mother?” He says the last word with so much derision, that a chill goes down my arms. “Never call me again.” With that CJ hangs up and I’m about to ask what the hell is happening when my alarm goes off.

CJ turns so I quickly roll again and shut it off.

I have... a million fucking texts, and that’s never good. It has only ever been bad. Especially when “photos” is said in so many different messages. What now? Did someone take naked pictures of me and post them online or something?

I feel all the blood drain from my head the second I click on the link Tristan sent me in his last message.

It’s me. And CJ. In the hallway. Kissing.

Wolf Storm celebrates his 33rdbirthday with new boyfriend: meet billionaire philanthropist, CJ Sounders.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” The whisper escapes my lips without my permission.

“You saw, huh?” CJ says from behind me.

“Of course, I fucking saw,” I growl without looking back.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” he asks in a way-too-gentle voice. I can’t take any pity right now. I won’t accept it because no one fucking knew where I was staying for these two days. No one except for fucking CJ.

“You just had to get back at Mommy and Daddy, huh?” I jump from the mattress and walk straight to my bag, get out my jeans and start to pull them up with my back to him. I can’t look at him, this is too fucking much. “What, did they not give you the Maserati you wanted for your sweet sixteenth? Well, now you got back at them, didn’t you? Made sure the whole world saw how you slept with the fucked-up rock star. Congratulations, CJ, you got what you wanted and now they will finally give you what you want.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says quietly.

“Oh, really?” I turn because I have to look at his face when he’s lying. “You’re the only person aside from Hawk and Derek who knew I had a room in this hotel yesterday. You’re the only person in the world who had the information to set me up for those pictures, CJ. Do I look fucking stupid to you?” I finish dressing and walk out to the front room and put my sneakers on. CJ follows me out and I scoff when I see him standing by the bedroom door with a forlorn look on his face. That’s some good acting right there. “I expect you to be out of here before I come back. Have a nice life.”

“Go fuck yourself, you self-centered bastard,” he shouts at me and I snort back.

With that I walk out of the room and to Rich’s room as fast as I can.

He’s up and dressed, thankfully, and doesn’t have to ask one single question or say a single word for me to know he knows, and he’s going to do his best to make sure no one sees my face today.

We take the service elevator down to the underground garage, and Rich lets me stew in my humiliation on the thirty minutes it takes us to drive seven blocks. Because I can’t ever just walk anywhere. Because my parents are infamous. Because my brother and I just made it worse by becoming teenage musicians almost twenty years ago. Because CJ somehow arranged to have pictures of us taken and sold to some sleazy celebrity gossip magazine.

We enter the hospital—this time I ask Rich to come with me—and I go to my doctor’s office, only to have a pointless thirty minute conversation that ends with him telling me I’m fine but I should definitely never fall off glass stairs again or drink a drop of alcohol. Like I didn’t know that already.

The only thing I want right now is a stiff drink to start processing the fucking audacity of CJ Sounders. Spoiled, trust-fund brat. Rich prick.

We go back to the hotel and I stay in the car while Rich goes to get my things, and his things, and checks us out of our rooms.

I bite my lip to stop myself from asking him anything about my room when he gets back, but Rich doesn’t seem to be on the same page, ’cause he tells me anyway.

“He wasn’t there,” he tells me softly. I wish I could only grunt for a whole conversation, but he asks an open-ended question and squashes my dreams of never speaking again. “Where to?”

“Group in Malibu,” I mumble.

“Okay,” he says simply but I see his eyes crinkle in the rearview mirror and scowl at the reflection. “No more hotels, huh?”

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