“Anything,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t regret being so generous.
“Why didn’t you want to go out with me?”
I started to spout off, Why the hell did you want to go out with me? but stopped myself and calmly said, “Because you didn’t seem like my type.”
“What’s your type?” His eyes bored into mine as he waited for my answer.
“Not the guy in the tabloids with a different girl each night.”
His eyes grew wide. “So you just believed all of it? You don’t normally believe the things you read, but with me all bets are off? I’m just such a scumbag that of course whatever they print must be true. Right?”
“God, Walker, no,” I lied, although his words actually reflected how I felt. Or used to feel. “I mean, I don’t know. I had no reason to believe otherwise. Should I have?”
The outraged look on his face confused me as I wondered what the point could be to all of this.
“You didn’t stop to think for one second that there might be more to my story than what meets the eye?” he demanded, and my insides suddenly filled with guilt. Why the hell was I feeling guilty when Walker was the man-whore in this situation, not me?
“Why would I?” I shot back. “It seemed so obvious the type of guy you were. Not like it’s surprising in this town. Why would I question it?” I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t want to lie either.
He twisted the cap from his water and tossed the cap on the coffee table, then took a small sip. “I guess you’re right. It probably does look really bad. My publicist keeps telling me to tone it down, but I’ve never seen anything wrong with it.”
I sighed, my hopes for Walker being decent plummeting more with each second that passed. “Most guys like sleeping around. I can see that you wouldn’t be the exception to that rule.”
Walker choked in mid-swallow and reached for a napkin. “You think I’m sleeping with all those girls they take my picture with?”
“Aren’t you?”
He coughed and pounded at his chest with his fist before taking another gulp of water to clear his throat. “No. Listen, Madison, what do you know about me?” He leaned his body forward to close the gap between us and I defensively leaned away, my skin pressing back against the cool leather of my couch.
“Not much.” I shrugged. “I know that you’ve been singing most of your life and that you grew up in Malibu.”
“Stop. That part.” He looked meaningfully into my eyes.
“The you-grew-up-in-Malibu part?” I scrunched my face, not understanding what he was getting at.
“I’m from here. I’ve lived here my whole life. I went to school and played music at the same time. Those girls that I’m always photographed with…” He blew out a breath and reached across the space between us to touch my cheek, and my eyes closed for a second at the warmth of his skin. “Those girls are my friends. They always have been and they keep me out of trouble. As long as I’m with them, I’m not going home with some groupie who wants to use me so they can sell a story. So yeah, you might see pictures of me leaving with a new girl every night, but I’ve known that person pretty much my whole life. I’m not some crazy player who has one-night stands anymore. Jesus, do you even listen to the lyrics of my songs?”
He sounded offended as my mind searched to not only recall some of Walker’s songs, but the lyrics as well. In this moment all I could think about was his fingers on my skin and that kiss in the elevator. But he was right. His music was romantic, the lyrics filled with sweet words and deep emotions. They were songs about lost loves, albeit sometimes sung in a rap god sort of way.
“So you’ve never slept around? Nothing they say about you is true?”
His gaze flicked away as he lowered his head and massaged the back of his neck with his fingers. “To be honest, after my mom died, I went a little off the rails.”
“I’m so sorry.”
The months after his mom passed away filtered into my memory. Gossip-laden headlines sprang to my mind as I recalled that period in Walker’s life. That was when he started making the news daily in a negative manner.
“She was really sick,” he said in a low voice, then looked up at me. “You remember?”
My eyebrows knitted together as I sat there perplexed. “Remember? What do you mean?”
Walker stared at me for a moment, and when I said nothing more, he said, “Sorry, I just figured you’d remember from the press or the news or something. Anyway, when she finally died, I was happy she wasn’t in pain anymore, but I’d also lost my best friend. She was my biggest fan, you know? So I drank too much, screwed too many girls, and almost blew it all. That’s when my friends stepped in. They told me I was out of control and that I was going to ruin everything I’d worked for my whole life. And they said my mom wouldn’t be happy. That practically fucking killed me.”
He grimaced before looking straight at me. “Don’t hate me for this.”
Touched by how vulnerable he was making himself, I said, “I won’t.”
“Promise,” he insisted.