by Quinn, Cari
I couldn’t remember calls I’d placed last night, but snatches of lyrics from days ago, no problem.
Fuck me.
I texted my manager back and asked him what he was talking about. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Nor did I want to read Lindsey’s latest text.
I’d forgotten to reply to her last night. Something I swiftly recalled as I took in her sexy as hell picture from the evening before—which I saved to my personal photos—then read her most recent message.
You’re a selfish prick, Alexander Nash.
Despite what she’d said, her text made me smile in the middle of chaos. I could imagine her gorgeous blue eyes firing with irritation as she typed it, her long fingers moving elegantly over the keypad.
I texted her back.
Undoubtedly. But you are absolutely lovely, Lindsey York.
Twenty-Three
I was probably going to kill him.
Lovely? I send him an intimate shot—there was definite cleavage, dammit—and that was what he sent back? And not until the next day no less?
Maybe he wasn’t alone. Maybe being with you whetted his appetite for more. Just not of you.
Ugh, I hated these kinds of thoughts. Normally, I had confidence. I had to. Selling my music was my job. But he made me feel off-balance and uncertain.
Maybe even on purpose, so I didn’t get too used to the idea of us being a thing. As if that could ever happen.
You know what’s lovely? That I ever fucked you.
I hurled my phone at the door just as Jamie opened it.
She leaned to the side and the stupid thing went sailing into the living room area of our suite. The crack of plastic hitting the marble floor probably meant I’d killed yet another crystal screen. There was a reason why I had two backups going most of the time.
She arched a brow at me and leaned against the doorjamb. “Problem?” Well used to my mini-tantrums, she waited me out.
Damn her.
I hated that mine never riled her up. However, Jamie mid-rant was a lightning strike zone. Everyone scattered and there was usually a fire of some sort. Definitely scorched earth.
“You’re not even ready. Who are you?”
I sighed. No, that was very true. I’d been too busy stabbing out a very crude text rant to my…whatever Nash was. Asshole. That fit. Such a big asshole.
Jesus.
Barely any time away from each other and we were already defaulting to slashing insults and growls. Fucking wonderful.
Or I was defaulting. I didn’t even know what that message was all about.
Was he serious right now?
I ignored the faint rumbly buzz of his return text. Right now, I didn’t give a shit what else he had to say. I had to calm the fuck down for an interview. And of course Jamie wasn’t even hungover. My tongue felt like I’d left it parked on the roof of my mouth slathered in peanut butter for the four hours I’d managed to sleep.
Drunk sleep didn’t count as far as I was concerned.
I stalked into my bathroom and the mirror definitely backed up that claim. I flipped off the camisole I’d slept in and turned on the shower. Right now, scrubbing off yesterday was definitely in order.
Every last bit.
I hissed as I dragged the exfoliating mitt over my neck and shoulders. Reminders of Nash’s sharp, strong teeth that had made me burn yesterday were now more like battle scars. Wounds and abrasions from the enemy. I kept scrubbing until I was pink and every part of me throbbed.
I ignored the persistent ache between my thighs that no amount of alcohol last night could’ve erased. I washed there gently because that part of me had been abused enough.
You loved every moment of it.
I ignored that voice. It didn’t matter how good it felt when he fucked me. Obviously, it was just fucking for him. And I needed to remember that. We were too new, more like jagged glass than frothy sweet cream.
Nash wasn’t that guy. Would never be that guy.
Why I was getting upset about it, I didn’t know.
I lifted my face to the spray.
“Gonna tell me what crawled up your ass?”
I jumped, then sighed. Jamie really didn’t know the meaning of personal space. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re sending another phone to the crystal-fix-me-place again. It’s been at least three months since you’ve done that. Considering that was your favorite case…”
I tipped my head back. She knew me too damn well.
Methodically, I worked conditioner through my long curls. We still had a show tonight. I could cover up my skin, but my hair, not so much. Not without scalp-massacring braids by Genie. Today? No thanks.
“Do I need to go find the phone and check the texts?”
“No!”
Jamie sat on the toilet. “Then spill.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Quit fucking lying to me.”
The flat anger in her voice stilled my hands in my hair. “I’m not lying…ish.” The silence echoed in the room under the punishing water from the rain hood above me. Finally, I shut off the water.
Jamie lashed my towel over the glass door and left without a word.
“Dammit.” I tucked the towel around me and stepped out, then rushed after her. She was already out the door into the suite’s living room. “Jamie—”
“Look, you want to keep fucking secrets from me, whatever. I don’t care. We have an interview in less than an hour. Get fucking dressed.” She slammed the door to our suite hard enough that the room vibrated.
“Shit.” I slipped on the puddle I was making on the marble and kicked my phone for good measure.
I stormed back into my room and dried off. I didn’t have time to deal with my hair, so I plaited it into a loose fishtail braid that wouldn’t leave it too funky for later. A pair of skinny jeans and a Van Halen T-shirt with my leather jacket kept me looking rocker chic. I pulled on my boots, then did a few little quick hit fixes with blush and liner.
There had been plenty of times in the early days of the band when I had to do my own makeup. I also wasn’t really the type to have an entourage of people fixing my hair and face all the damn time. Genie gave us enough attitude before a show. I didn’t want her to do me up for a freaking interview. But I also didn’t want to look like a dead fish.
Ten minutes later, I was passable for a radio spot. I tugged on Nash’s scrunchy hat to finish the rest of my look. I was tempted to take my backup phone off the charger, but I didn’t want to obsess over more texts from Nash. I was mad at him, but the hat would save me for pictures. I wasn’t exactly the baseball cap type.
The lobby was blissfully quiet when I got downstairs. George was waiting for me outside in the car with Jamie in tow. The rest of the band was probably still sleeping it off. Jamie and I were the ones who did the brunt of the interviews unless it was a full band meet-up.
I’d had enough of Oz’s shenanigans last night anyway. Way too much booze had been flowing.
God, that whole thing with the guitar. What had happened? Were we going to be sued? Stuck with a massive bill from whatever damage Oz did from that bass landing in the hot tub?
I slid inside the car and found Jamie mindlessly scrolling through her phone. She was stone-faced and obviously pissed. Even more, I knew she was hurt. And it wasn’t easy to hurt Jamie’s feelings.
“Did we get nailed for the guitar thing?”
She shrugged. Didn’t speak. Either it was a non-issue or I was basically dead to her.
Probably door number two.
I nodded to George and he slid away from the curb smoothly and headed toward the interstate. We were heading into downtown Chicago for the interview.
“I fucked Nash.”
The crude words surprised me just as much as Jamie since her thumb froze mid-swipe. She recovered well enough and continued to ignore me. I knew she was still listening so I just kept going. It would be easier to just blurt out the whole thi
ng in one long stream.
“He was working on the project with Logan. It happened about halfway through the sessions.”
She turned to me, too surprised to stay silent. “You? In the studio?”
“No. The Barn.”
“You fucked him in a barn? Jesus.”
“No, not a barn—well, it was at one point. The Barn. You know, where we play for the summer festival.”
“Oh. So, you actually fucked on a stage? Who are you?”
I felt the heat creeping up my neck. Not only had I fucked on a stage, but in a seedy bar on a piano three years ago. I wasn’t sure if I should say the rest, but it seemed like it was better to purge now than to get her even more pissed at me.
“It wasn’t the first time.”
“What?”
I took a long, slow breath. “Yeah, we hooked up once before. It ended better this time, I thought. Well, I’m not sure about that to be honest. He’s…”
“Prickly as a hundred-year-old cactus? What the flying fuck, Lindz?”
She definitely wasn’t far off there.
I turned in my seat to face her and grabbed her hand, but she twisted it away.
“Why the hell wouldn’t you tell me about that?”
I curled my fingers into my palm. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You fucking tell me everything. Well, you used to.” She crossed her arms over her middle.
I reached for her again and tucked my fingers into the crease of her leather jacket where she was hugging herself so tightly. Tears pricked at my eyes. “It wasn’t intentional. I was just—”
“What?” Her dark eyes were stark and red-rimmed. Dry as a bone, but the red showed just how close she was to a burn. Jamie in the middle of a rage wasn’t good. It was her default setting for anger and hurt.
The truth of it bubbled up out of me. “Ashamed.”
“What?” It was as if I’d tossed water on her head. “Why the hell would you be ashamed to tell me? I have one-night stands all the fucking time.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t.” Some days, I wished I was as free with sex and embracing my fiery side as she was. “Least of all in a seedy bar with a sticky floor, for fuck’s sake.”
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
I shoved the memories to the back of my brain. It was hard to have my most epic sexual experience attached to such a pivotal moment in my life. It never went away no matter what I did. Even when I wanted to let that first night with Nash fade into the past, it never seemed to since it was so fully entrenched with our first huge show. “Yeah. A few years ago, in the city. Right before our first MSG show.”
“Years?” The flame of her anger reignited like a roman candle.
“I know, I know. It wasn’t planned. And I got all screwed up about it. It was—God, Jamie. It was huge and awful and amazing and…fuck.” Though tears bubbled up, I tried to rebuild my defenses. Using tears wasn’t fair, but shit.
Jamie loosened her arms and caught my hand. “Don’t do that. You know if you cry, then I’ll fucking cry and badass rockstars can’t have red eyes for a fucking interview.”
“Right.” Nodding, I tipped back my head before the tears could overflow and kill my makeup.
“Are you in love with this idiot?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re obviously messed up about him. You don’t get messed up about dudes. Then again, a good orgasm probably could do it. Fucking cherry tree grew like a thorny rose bush in your bush.”
The laugh rolled out of me, dissolving some of the guilt. Not all of it, but a good bit. “The sex is phenomenal.”
“You needed a good dicking, but don’t get it confused with love. At least not right away. You’re too tenderhearted for an asshole.”
Only Jamie would call me tenderhearted. Truthfully, she was probably the only one who saw me that way. I cultivated the badass boss and negotiator role for our band, but it was tiring to be on all the time. I trusted Jamie to have my back when I needed to step aside and figure shit out.
“I don’t know if I need good fucking that much. It’s too fast, too big, too twisty. He’s…” Talking about his private things was off-limits, even to my hetero-lifemate. I hadn’t exactly asked him what I could share, but I knew. I could feel it in my bones. Just as I knew there was way more to his history. But I really didn’t have the right to that part of him yet. We were still so fucking new.
Even if each time he touched me, it seemed like more than sex. More than just lust, even if he wanted to label it as such. Whether that was my own lens or just the overwhelming story of us was to be determined.
Too bad I was not a patient woman.
“Yeah, a good dicking is definitely screwing with your head. It was bound to happen. You can’t go without for ages like you do. It’s not natural.”
“I’ve certainly been making up for it.”
“So, that means he knows what he’s doing. Not surprising. He’s got that prowling panther thing going on. Could be the Irish.”
“The Irish helps.” I really didn’t want to own up to the fact that his accent was probably half of the insta-lust that had perpetuated my initial fixation. Now it was just a part of him. His touch left me burning. The fire between us pushed everything else away, and there was nothing in my life before or since that had been able to do that. Especially no man.
“That look on your face.” She sighed. “Fuck.”
“Fair bit of that.”
She snorted. “I’ll just bet. Just tell me one thing.”
I gnawed on my lower lip. “Shoot.”
“He’s swinging a big dick, right?”
“Cripes, Jame.”
“What? Come on, he walks like he has one.” She lifted her hips a little, angling her pelvis. “Elephant, right? Oh, is he cut?”
“Jesus.”
“What? Euro dudes aren’t always. I’m not into that kind of trunk. I mean, if they know how to use it, you get over it. I did with bartender boy. But I’m sure as fuck not sucking him.”
And we were back. Thank God.
I laughed. “He’s cut and packing.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jamie leaned forward. “George—”
“We have a time crunch, Miss DuCaine.”
“Don’t DuCaine me, man. I need food. Like real food and coffee. Feed me, George.”
I bit back a laugh. Jamie made anything sound inappropriate, even food. Especially food.
“I’ll see what I can do.” George’s voice was flat with resignation.
It was far easier to find somewhere than to listen to Jamie complain about it for the next hour. And it took nearly all of that to fight our way into the city. Morning traffic and Jamie’s specific requests pushed us a little too close to the interview time for my liking. I preferred to be there at least half an hour early to make sure we were inside and settled.
George pulled over and ran across the street to a little delicatessen as Jamie drummed her fingers on the window. “Dude, I’m going to eat this headrest in a minute.”
“Then maybe you’d shut up.”
“I hear your belly growling just as much as mine. And it will help your hangover.”
I tapped the bottle of water I had. “I’m good.”
“You need grease. The only good thing about being up this early is that we can actually have breakfast items.”
I rolled my eyes, but five minutes later, George was back with a white sack of something delicious. Jamie dug in and handed me two things.
“Um, I can’t eat all this.”
“You can, and you will. You’re post-fucking and drinking. You need all the meat.”
I wrinkled my nose, but the bacon-laden egg sandwich and hash browns did smell awesome. Jamie salted hers liberally because she was an animal. But we were munching happily as George slid into the parking garage of the radio station.
I wasn’t going to own up to the fact that I did feel much better after the greas
e.
As George parked, we tidied up, making sure there was nothing in our teeth. I guzzled down the orange juice, then popped gum in my mouth and winced a little at the OJ aftertaste. The calories were out of control, but I’d burn them off tonight at the show.
Jamie got out and met George at the trunk to take her acoustic from him. I slid out and was surprised to see my acoustic as well. It had been awhile since I’d held it. Between touring and my impromptu trip to Logan’s, there hadn’t been a lot of jam time for me lately. I was always singing, but with so many musicians in our band, they didn’t really need my guitar work.
My palm itched to take it from George. The handle had the perfect grooves from years in my hand.
“I can bring them in.”
“That’s okay. We’ll take care of it. Might as well look like rockstars, right?”
He frowned. “Sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
George had been my bodyguard even before the music. My parents had been overprotective, and our family certainly hadn’t been hurting for money. “We’ll be fine.”
Jamie slapped him on the arm. “Don’t worry about us, G. We got this. Lindz didn’t even wear five-inch heels. What could go wrong?”
“Now don’t jinx it,” I muttered.
She shrugged and moved around the mountain of a man. She slid on her aviators, then slapped him on the ass before giving him a cheeky wave as she headed for the elevators.
I rolled my eyes and followed her. The weight of the guitar in my hands felt good. By the time we made it upstairs, we were animatedly talking about which song we’d cover. The easy way we fell into work always kept me from locking up.
An arena full of people, no problem. Interviews? Yeah, I wasn’t really a fan. Interviewers were always looking for ways to trip me up so I’d say something newsworthy. Either I came off looking like an asshole because I shut them down, or a deer in the headlights. Both pissed me off.
“Don’t tense up, chick. Bobby and Shay aren’t bad. They’re more likely to ask us about the setlist than to look for some juice for the morning blender.”
I rolled my shoulders when the elevator doors opened. “Yeah, that’s true.” I relaxed my spine, my neck, and finally, my face as we walked into the hallway. My mask slipped firmly into place as the producer hurried around a desk.