Page 33 of Cherry Beats

Presley shrugged, staring down at the water. “Same reason none of us can. Life’s taken us on a train ride, and we’re heading places we don’t know exist. How do you take someone rooted back home to a black hole you can’t see and make it sound like a good idea?”

“Tricky,” I whispered. That was the perfect opportunity to take a quick drink of my almost-empty beer. My arse was going numb sitting on the hard, plastic toilet seat, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I knew it. “Do any of them have girlfriends?”

“Rhett makes all the women think they have a chance at being his something special in the future, but that’s just a talent of his. What was it ROCK! Magazine said about him?‘His voice lasers straight through our panties and plants itself over the g-spot we try to keep hidden, and then Rhett Ryan just keeps touching and touching and touching us until we explode.’”

“I hate the word panties.” I wrinkled my nose up and laughed.

“Say knickers to the Americans and they think you’re talking about a fucking chocolate bar.” He chuckled.

“I’ve never been to America.”

“No?” He turned to look at me. “You’d like it. They’re wild over there. Everything is done with way more enthusiasm than us Brits. My favourite place is Texas. Goddamn awesome state. All cowboy hats, yes ma’ams,” he said in a Texan drawl that sounded way too adorable coming from him, “and everyone seems real high on life, Cherry.”

“You think you’ll ever live out there? Mix with the Californians and all that?”

“Would you miss me if I did?”

“I can’t miss you when you’re everywhere I look.”

“Ah, it’s just a phase. The public will remain fickle and move on soon.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway. My heart belongs in England.”

“I’m sure the Queen will be grateful for your loyalty.” I pretended to bow my head and quickly lost balance, almost falling from the edge of the toilet seat. I reached out to grab the tub and burst into a rough fit of laughter, eyes wide and mouth gasping when Presley reached out to grab me, covering me in water and what was left of the fading bubbles.

“You okay?” he asked, brows high, clearly amused.

“I think I need to lay off the beer. I’m not a hard-core rocker like you.”

“Funny. I remember you rocking very hard.” He wiggled his brows, and I quickly slapped him with my free hand.

“Knock it off.”

“I would, but I have too much fun making you blush,” he whispered smoothly, twisting in the bath and leaning over the edge of the tub until our faces were only a few inches apart. “You’re not even a little bit tempted?”

“By what?”

“Me.”

“Been there. Done that.” I blushed again. “Got the T-shirt.”

“You still have it?”

I sleep in it almost every night, but please don’t ask to see it because it’s so faded and worn now, I’ll have to admit what an obsessive bitch I’ve been and that will really take away my last shred of self-respect.

“Somewhere.” I shrugged.

The tension crackled between us. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could resist him. Nobody had ever made me feel the way Presley could with just one look. That kind of attraction was rare. When I’d described it to my best friend Molly, she’d sighed dreamily and told me that she’d searched the four corners of Tinder to feel something so potent and tangible, only to come out empty.

I wasn’t a big believer in many things. Fate was just an excuse people used to explain why other things hadn’t worked out in the past. Destiny was nothing more than a stripper’s name. And soulmates sounded like the work of the marketing department at Hallmark. But when Presley was in front of me, awakening everything that had remained hibernated for so long, I started to believe in something out of our control. Something like sparks or past lives or, dammit, destiny.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Really?”

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