Page 39 of Cherry Beats

Presley mused, pushing his bottom lip out as he continued to study me. “I guess more of that shit happened.”

An indecipherable string of mumbling flowed from Dicky’s mouth before he blew out a breath. “What do you need me to do?”

“Throw the press off. Use a decoy or spin some shit. I don’t know. You’re the puppet master. Can’t you leak a story that I’ve been spotted in some strip club or something, way across London?”

“Sure, why the hell not? I’m sure the record label would love for me to put the image of you with your face between a stripper’s tits out there to the public.”

“Beats telling them the truth.”

“And whatisthe truth?”

“That I’m with a girl who actually means something.”

My heart skipped a beat as I stared at Presley. My hand fell from my parted lips, and a rush of adrenaline made my skin burst to life.

“Don’t fuck with me now, West. You know now’s not the time for the world to be seeing you cosying up with a girlfriend. You and the band made promises to each other. Remember that! You know that you’re the major selling point for—”

“No girlfriend.” He sighed, his smile slipping as he cleared his throat. “I get it.” Presley’s eyes refused to let go of mine. “And the world won’t know anything about her if you do your job right, Dick. I’ll text you the address, and you can send a driver over for five in the morning. I’ll ask Cherry if there’s any way I can slip out without being seen too much.”

“You owe me, man,” Dicky grumbled.

“Until then…” And just like that, Presley ended the call and dropped the phone to the sofa, never once looking away from me.

“That went well,” I mocked.

Presley’s eyes narrowed, and I saw him swallow the lump in his throat, but he never said a word. He just held my gaze. Held my face. Held my body. Held my beating heart in the palm of his hand.

I rested the weight of my legs on the balls of my feet until they started to jiggle and shake, making me bounce with nervous energy.

“Why do you look scared?” Presley asked quietly.

“Oh, I don’t know, rock star.” I huffed out a laugh, refusing to look at him any longer, instead, choosing the rug on my floor. “Maybe because I’ve spent three years trying to avoid seeing your freakishly handsome face on every TV screen, every newspaper, every magazine, or hearing your voice on everybloodyradio station. Yet here you are, lounging on my sofa like you belong there. Taking baths in my tub like this is your home, and for some reason, it doesn’t feel weird to me. I’ve worked hard to pretend I did the right thing by walking away that night. I’ve tried to forget the best night of my life because I refuse to believe that’s it—nothing will ever compare—”

“Cherry…”

“Maybe I thought I was doing okay, you know, living the good life. And now here I am, with the universe’s most sought-after drummer sitting on my sofa while the entire world’s media search for him, and suddenly all my lies and stupid pretences make me feel sick. It’s like the biggest hangover has just hit me straight in the gut all at once. Vom. Here I go. All my lies are about to just regurgitate right in my own lap for me to clean up after you’ve gone—”

“Cherry…”

“But then I hear you saying things on the phone to your manager, things about me. Saying that I matter to you. How does that work? How is that even possible?” My head snapped up in his direction, and my eyes penetrated his with sadness and confusion. “Do I? Do I matter to you?”

“You—”

“No. Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. What does it even matter, anyway?”

Presley’s slow rising smirk would have been enough to knock me off my feet had I been standing on them. “You want to know. You’re just not ready for the answer.”

“God, how do youdothat?” I squeaked. “How does one man hold so much power in his shitty, handsome face to make me go all freakin’ crazy like this with just a few words? This isn’t who I am. This is not who I ever want to be. I used to laugh at the women you brought to the bar who acted like this. I’ve become what I used to mock.” I gasped, staring at him accusingly. “Thisis why you should never fuck your idols.”

His chuckle was smooth but held no humour, and his soft smile was like a lighter to my sparking ovaries as he looked at me like I mattered.

“I wish you knew how adorable you were.”

“I’m nothing but a hot mess, thanks to you.”

“Definitely hot.”

“Why?” I croaked, almost inaudibly, scrunching my face together. “Why me?”

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