I nodded. "You and half the country--the half that isn't in love with my husband."
"I met him by accident the last time they played New York. He was being dragged around by some girl, a groupie, I think. She dragged him in here and got him to pay for a cut and color. I felt bad for him. She was, like, heinously obnoxious, and he was realizing it, I think. She was hot, in a bimbo sort of way. He was really nice to her, though, despite the fact that she was, like, clearly a gold-digging fame whore. He was really classy about it."
I nodded, having gotten to know Gage pretty well by that point. "That's Gage for you. He's got some rough edges, but he has a great heart, if you can get him to show you his real personality. He's got this whole hardass rocker persona that he puts on, but it's not really him."
Lindsey nodded. "I kinda got that same impression." She blushed again. "I like both sides of him."
I laughed. "The front and the back, you mean?"
Lindsey turned red. "That's not what I meant!"
I elbowed her playfully. "Sure it's not. You know you were checking out his ass."
She rolled her eyes, then leaned in to whisper to me. "Actually, he was wearing these tight, ripped jeans that hugged him, like, all over. I couldn't stop staring at him." She dropped her voice to almost inaudible. "He sat so I had this crazy crotch-shot of him, and I swear, I nearly cut a chunk out of his bimbo friend's ear because I was staring at his bulge the whole time."
I laughed so hard I snorted. "Would've served her right. But, while he's not my husband, Gage is pretty hot."
"Yeah, he is," she muttered, her tone wistful.
I waited for her to ask, but after a few moments, it became clear she wasn't going to. "You want to come with me?"
She looked up, hope gleaming in her eyes. "Oh, god, really? You have an extra ticket?"
I laughed. "I'm married to the lead singer, honey. I don't need tickets. I've got a box wherever he's playing. He made sure of it."
"That's the coolest thing ever." She clapped her hands. "I get off in an hour, and now that's gonna be the longest hour of my life!"
I stood up slowly and walked with her to the register. "You know where I live, right? Drop by when you're done, and we'll go early to see the guys."
As I left, Lindsey hugged me and thanked me about fifty times, and refused to let me pay her for the cut. I laughed as I hailed a cab, watching her pull out her phone and text furiously. I don't think I'd ever seen anyone so excited in all my life. Maybe she could pull Gage out of whatever funk he was lost in.
I ate a quick dinner at a bistro near Lindsey's salon and then went to my standing weekly mani-pedi appointment. About a week after we got back from our honeymoon, Chase had insisted I make the appointment and set it for every week. He claimed I'd been beans-and-ricing it for too long, and it was time to let him take care of me. Apparently, now that money was rolling in for the band, that meant all sorts of lavish treatment I'd never imagined would be a part of my life, such as standing manicure appointments, shopping trips to Fifth Avenue, and even a car and driver if I wanted it. I'd drawn the line at being chauffeured. Chase was quickly becoming a rock star and a household name, and that meant lots of money, but I'd lived a relatively simple life, taking care of myself and using the occasional indulgence as a treat for meeting my responsibilities. I couldn't take the swing in the complete opposite direction, not all at once at least. A new purse whenever I wanted it? Awesome. Louboutin pumps and Chanel pajamas? Hell, yes. Pretending like I'm some swanky celebrity, with an entourage and a driver and bodyguards everywhere I go? Hell, no. I may be married to a rock star, but I'm still Jamie Dunleavy--Jamie Delany, now--and I'm no poser.
Lindsey was click-clicking up the sidewalk toward my house as I was stepping out of the cab. I had to stifle a smile and a giggle, as she'd kind of overdone it in her excitement. She was wearing a miniskirt that only barely covered her tiny little ass, and a tight-fitting, low-cut sleeveless shirt that very blatantly accentuated her decent-sized tatas--and by accentuated, I mean pushed up to overflowing. She was also wearing a pair of four-inch spike heels that were ridiculously impractical for a rock concert.
"Wow, Linz," I said, eyeing her outfit skeptically, "You're really...going all out, huh?"
She grinned. "Yep."
"Well, there's no way Gage could possibly resist you in that outfit," I said.
She ducked her head. "That's the point, isn't it?"
I poured Lindsey a glass of wine and wished I could have some myself. Yeah, the doctor had said half a glass every once in a while was fine, but I knew myself, and I knew there was no point to drinking half a glass of wine. Half a glass of wine was like being brought to the edge of orgasm and then abandoned.
I regretted my analogy as soon as it passed through my head: I hadn't seen Chase in three months. Which meant I hadn't had an orgasm in three months. I'd tried, of course. We'd Skyped and tried getting a little nasty that way, but it just fell flat for both of us. My own fingers were useless now that I'd become addicted to Chase's. Even my vibrator hadn't gotten me anywhere. And now I was mere hours from getting what I so desperately needed, namely, an exhausting marathon session of fucking Chase's brains out, followed by some epic cuddling.
I shivered in anticipation even as I thought about it. I felt my nipples tighten and my panties dampen just picturing Chase above me, naked, sweaty, and mine.
"Come on, Linz," I said, "I can't wait anymore. I need Chase."
Lindsey laughed and tossed back the last two swallows of wine. "I'm ready."
A cab was letting out my neighbor as we stepped out of the brownstone, and we climbed in, exchanging hugs with Mrs. Lettis as we passed. Mrs. Lettis was a hugger. She hugged everyone and anyone. When Chase and I had first come to look at the brownstone, she'd shown up to chatter about the previous tenants, and Chase and I hadn't been able to get away without at least three hugs each from the sweet, elderly, buxom woman.
Linz giggled as the cab pulled away from the curb. "She's...nice."
"She really is. I once watched her hug a drug dealer. Seriously. I walked her to the store once, and this guy was in the freezer section, buying ice cream. He stank of weed and paid for his ice cream from a roll of hundreds so thick he needed an industrial-size rubber band." I scrolled through my Facebook newsfeed on my phone as I spoke. "Well, this guy had all this cash, but the cashier didn't have enough correct change to give him back, since the dealer only had hundred-dollar bills. This was at, like, eight in the morning. So Mrs. Lettis, being the kind of woman she is, paid for the guy's ice cream. Now you have to understand, this guy was scary. Tattoos all up and down his arms and on his throat, pierced lip, ears, and nose, arms bigger around than your waist, 'thug life' tattooed across his knuckles. Mrs. Lettis paid for his ice cream without batting an eyelash at him. He was stunned, like, speechless. He tried to thank her and pay her back, and she just clucked at him, and leaned in to give him a hug. He just stood there, frozen, like, 'what the fuck do I do?' God, Linz, it was so funny. She patted his face and said, 'everyone needs ice cream, dear.' The cashier, who'd been pissing himself, couldn't believe it."
Linz giggled. "She sounds awesome."
"You have no clue. I'm pretty sure that dealer visits her every week, like, staking out his turf so no one messes with her. It's cute."
The cab dropped us off at the gate, where I showed the security my backstage pass and we were waved through. Linz stuck close to me as we wove our way through the bustle of techies, roadies, band members, and all the other assorted people necessary to make a concert happen. It was huge show, with Six Foot Tall being only one of the headlining bands, along with Theory of a Dead Man, Drowning Pool, and System of a Down. There were also almost half a dozen opening bands, a mix of local talent and up-and-coming acts. Needless to say, finding my husband in the chaos proved to be nearly impossible. The backstage area was huge and crowded, everyone scurrying and chattering into walkie-talkies, checking lists on tablets as they walked. We found Gage
first, sitting on a black box that once held sound equipment of some kind, restringing his bass. He glanced up as we approached, and his face lit up, hazel eyes bright. He ran a hand through his long, loose, pale blond hair, his massive bicep flexing with the motion. Gage was huge, standing at least six-four and weighing a good two-fifty in solid muscle. He was an MMA fighter before he joined the band with Chase, and it showed in the rugged, scarred features of his face, which, despite the roughness, were still handsome in a Dolph Lundgren sort of way.
"'Sup, Jay." He stood up and gave me a one-armed hug, resting his bass on the toe of his Timberland boot. "Who's your tasty-looking friend?" His eyes took on an avid, hungry gleam.
I heard Lindsey suck in a surprised gasp at Gage's words, but she recovered quickly. "I'm Lindsey," she breathed, sticking her hand out.
Gage took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he used it to pull her closer. "I'm Gage."
Lindsey stood with barely an inch separating her from Gage, each breath she took swelling her breasts to touch Gage's chest. "I know," she said. "I cut your girlfriend's hair the last time you guys were here."
Gage frowned, struggling to remember. Then his face cleared, and he guffawed in laughter. "She was not my girlfriend. I didn't even bang her. She was too fucking obnoxious. She was a fucking slut, and, coming from me, that's saying something."
Lindsey snorted. "She only wanted to be near you 'cause you're famous."
Gage nodded, and then his gaze sharpened. "And you? Why do want to be near me?"
"Because I think I could like you."
Good answer, Linz, I thought. I passed behind Lindsey and fixed Gage with a hard stare, telling him without words that if he hurt my friend, I'd have his balls. He smirked and nodded subtly, letting me know he heard my unspoken message.
I heard the telltale rat-a-tat-tat of Johnny Hawk, the drummer, tapping his sticks against a counter, and the click of a pick hitting the strings of an un-amped guitar. I found the door, peeked my head in and said my hellos to Johnny and Kyle, and asked if they knew where Chase was.
"He's by the stage, I think," Kyle said, tweaking the tuning of his guitar without looking up at me. When he had the tuning right, he looked up at me with a bright smile, which morphed into a surprised expression. "Damn, Jay. You got really pregnant."
I gave him the finger and a nasty glare. "Smooth, Kyle. Real smooth. What you meant to say is, 'damn, Jay, you're huge.'"
Johnny, the youngest of the band at barely twenty-three, made an oh, shit face, which made me laugh. Kyle held up a hand in a gesture of surrender. "No! That's not--I just meant..." He sighed in exasperation. "Damn, you pregnant chicks are touchy. You look good, Jay. You really do."
I grinned at him. "I'm just giving you shit, Kyle. But don't say that to any other pregnant lady. You'll get your block knocked off."
I left the room then and went toward the stage in search of Chase. I heard his voice before I saw him, and he sounded irritated.
"This isn't the time or place, Jenna. And I'm not the guy. I'm married. You know that."
A whiny female voice, breathy with overt seduction, responded. "Oh, come on, Chase. It doesn't have to be like that. You know you want to. You've been such a good boy all tour, don't you think you deserve a little treat?"
I felt rage boil through me. Who was this bitch trying to seduce my husband? I tried to take a few calming breaths, but it wasn't working. My Irish temper was up and hotter than was safe. I felt my hands clench into fists, and before I knew it, I was rounding the corner to the dead-end emergency exit hallway.
What I saw had me even angrier. The groupie, Jenna, was on her knees and crawling toward Chase, who was backing away from her, toward me. She had his belt in her hands, and had clearly fallen to her knees to try to go down on him, but had only managed to snag his belt off him before he got away.
The little bitch saw me at that moment and paled, scrambling to her feet and dropping the belt. Chase spun in place, eyes flying wide.
"Jamie!" He took a step toward me, and I held out my hand to stop him. He halted, sucking in a harsh breath. "I didn't do anything, Jay! I swear!"
"I saw everything, baby." I cut my eyes at him, let them soften so he'd know I wasn't mad at him. I then fixed my glare on the groupie. "You. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"I--I--I'm sorry, Jamie, I mean, Mrs. Delany. I just, I wanted--" She shook her head, bleached hair flying.
Mrs. Delany, I thought. I like the sound of that.
"You wanted a piece of Chase," I said, my voice deceptively calm. "I can understand that. He's a hot piece of man. But the problem here is that he's my husband."
She took a step backward, away from me, as I stalked closer. "I know, I'm sorry--"
I was within striking distance now, but I wanted to make my point first. "That's right, you are sorry. You're a sorry piece-of-shit whore." I was caught up in the rage now. I knew should stop, but I couldn't. "He's my husband, you cunt. Stay the fuck away from him."
She was trembling now, but anger and panic were replacing fear. "Listen, bitch, I said I'm sorry. Now move--" She didn't get the chance to finish her statement.
My fist cracked against her nose, breaking it in a spray of blood. My hand immediately went numb and then began radiating pain as my knuckles absorbed the force of the blow. The groupie dropped to the ground, screaming. I heard a muffled laugh behind me and turned in place, shaking my hand, to see the whole band watching. They were all laughing, shoulders quivering in mirth, fists covering their mouths as they cackled.
"That was fucking epic!" Johnny yelled, doubled over, hooting.
I grinned as the other guys clustered around me, patting me on the back and chattering all at once. The laughter abated as a black T-shirted security guy pushed between us, lifted Jenna by the arms to her feet, and shoved her, just this side of too rough, toward the exit. As they rounded the corner, she leveled an evil glare at me, the entire lower half of her face a wash of blood, her huge fake tits coated in red.
Chase stepped in front of me, took my hand in his, and rubbed my knuckles with a gentle thumb. "You okay?"
I nodded, stepping closer to him so our bodies were flush, my belly and breasts crushed against him. "I can't believe her. Does she do shit like that often?"
Chase tilted his head back and groaned. "Unfortunately, yeah. She's the sister of one of the roadies, and she's always around. I'm pretty sure ninety percent of the guys on the tour have fucked her at least once. They kind of pass her around. It's gross."
I spared a glance at the other guys from the band. "None of you have fucked her, have you?"
Gage and Kyle both made disgusted grimaces and shook their heads. Johnny, however, looked embarrassed.
"Johnny!" I yelled. "Tell me you didn't. That's fucking nasty! She's gotta have more diseases than a cockroach!"
He shrugged. "I didn't sleep with her, I just--she...she gave me BJ, once." He turned eight shades of red, tugging on the end of his long, braided black goatee.
Gage shoved him, hard enough that Johnny slammed into the wall opposite. "Stay away from that bitch, Johnny. She's a ho. She's poisonous, man. She'll fuck anything with a cock, and she'll do anything to get what she wants."
"Well, she's not getting my man," I growled, and the guys all laughed. "You think it's funny now, but it won't be so funny when I go to jail for assault and battery."
Chase took my face in his hands, and his mocha-brown eyes delved into mine. "You have nothing to worry about, baby. There's only you."
I kissed his hard, stubble-rough jaw. "I know. I trust you. It's other women I don't trust."
Chase turned his face down so his mouth met my next kiss. "That was hot, Jay. Seriously. I like you when you're possessive."
I let the heat of my desire blaze in my eyes as I looked up at him. "You're mine, Chase."
I heard Gage clear his throat. "Let's go, guys. I think it's about to get hot in hurrr." He slurred the last word as a play on the hip-hop/pop
song.
Chase chuckled against my mouth, then cupped my ass with his hands to pull me tighter against his body. "It's gettin' hot in hurr, so take off all your clothes," he murmured, slipping his hands over the bare skin of my back where the back of the dress dipped down.
"Find me room with a lock, and I will," I said, dragging my fingernails down the back of his faded, tattered, black Return of the Jedi T-shirt.
His fingers clawed into the soft flesh and firm muscle of my backside, then released me. "Wait a second...goddamn, Jay, what happened to your hair?" He ran his fingers through it, fluffing it, tangling his hands into the shortened curls.
"Took you long enough to notice," I said. "Do you like it?"
Chase stepped back and scrutinized me. "It's different."
My heart palpitated crazily. "That doesn't sound good."
"No! I just--I have to get used to it. You cut a lot off, baby. It's a shock. I didn't notice before because of the excitement, but now that I'm really looking at you...I like it. I do."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Liar. You hate it." I turned away, feeling my heart clench. It was just hair, I knew, and it would grow back, but...the thought of Chase not being attracted to me had me sick to my stomach.
I stormed past him, but I didn't get three feet before his arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me back against him. My breath caught at the familiar feel of his body against mine, the power in his hands as they smoothed down my hips, the heat of his breath on my neck, now bare and open to his mouth. His palm skated over my belly, briefly tender and loving, and then skimmed up to cup my breast, his thumb nudging the edge down to bare more skin, then yet more, digging down until one nipple was peeking out. I felt my thighs clench as desire rocketed through me. His erection was a hard, thick rod against the top of my buttocks and the small of my back.
He ground his hips against me, pressing his shaft into me. "Feel that?" His voice was a low rumble in my ear. "Does that feel like I hate it? You just surprised me is all, baby. I love it. Now I can kiss your shoulders, just...like...this..." He suited action to words, planting hot kisses along my shoulder blade and up my neck between each word.
I shivered under his mouth, pressed my thighs together, needing pressure; one of Chase's hands--not the one thumbing light circles over the tip of my nipple--slid down my side to my hip, bunching in the cotton where my hip dipped in to my thigh, and brushed the "V" where I so desperately needed his touch. In that moment, I didn't care where we were, who could round the corner and see.
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