by Rebel Farris
“I can’t do this with you, Law. Not right now.”
“Law, you should probably go,” Sloane said from behind him.
He turned to her, and I could only guess what his face looked like.
“Look, you’re my brother, and I love you, but this, with Laine, is a lost cause. And we have bigger things to deal with.”
“Fuck that. If she’s scared that someone is after her, I’m at least going to make sure you guys make it back to the hotel safe.”
“Whatever,” I grumped, shoving at him to move so I could get out of the booth.
When he didn’t budge, I crawled over his lap. He halted my movement with firm hands on my bare thighs. I leaned toward him until my mouth was next to his ear.
“Cut it the fuck out,” I whispered in my most deadly voice.
His stubble scraped my cheek as his head turn to mine.
“I think you forget how well I know you,” he whispered in my ear. His lips teasing the shell scattered goose bumps across my flesh. “I trained you. If you didn’t want me touching you, you would’ve stopped me before I had the chance, Bumpkin.”
His hands drifted off my thighs, and I moved to finish climbing over him.
“Stop,” he said in that low voice.
My body halted and my core clenched before my brain caught up to what he just did. I cut him a scathing look as I got out of the booth.
“I made the call,” Bridget said. “Our car is out front.”
“Let’s go,” I said, leading our group to the exit.
A shiver ran down my spine as we neared the door. Law looked over at me and took off his jacket.
“Here, put this on.” He draped the suit coat over my shoulders.
My senses were flooded with his familiar smell as I tugged it around me to ward off the chill.
We rushed out to the car, but just as I was halfway there, a paparazzo darted in front of me, hounding me with questions I refused to hear. His camera flashed in my face. Law put an arm around my shoulder, tucking me into his side, and pushed the guy out of our way. He helped me in the car and then crawled in behind me. I waited as everyone else got in. When we got back to the hotel, Law started walking away without a word.
“Law,” I called after him.
He turned back to me.
“You guys go on ahead,” I said, looking at Bridget.
“We’ll wait in the lobby,” Asher said, eyeing Law.
“That’s a better idea.” I smiled at him.
I took off Law’s jacket and handed it to him.
“Do me a favor, please?”
“Anything.” He smiled.
I gave him a weak smile back. “Go get a girlfriend. Not just a groupie that you can sleep with for a night, but find someone you care about. Train someone new.”
“See, that’s the thing I don’t get. You seem to think that I made you this way.”
“I wasn’t like this before I met you,” I threw back.
His head tipped back with a sardonic laugh. “No? I seem to remember you following my commands from the first night I met you. Challenging me to assert control with that smart mouth of yours.”
“Fuck yo—” I didn’t finish because he moved faster than a snake striking, and his mouth was on mine. His tongue darted in and stroked mine. He didn’t linger. It lasted just long enough for my lips to tingle. My hand rose up to my lips as I stared at him in shock. Tears filled my eyes, blurring my vision of him.
“Just move on,” I pleaded. “It’s been two years. I’m not breaking up with him. I will marry him.”
“We’ll see, Bumpkin,” he said, his lips pressed together in a forced smile. “I think the day we have a civil conversation will be the day I know you’re truly done with me. But now, it’s just going to take time for you to remember who you belong to. You’re always going to be mine.” He turned away before I could respond. His shoulders slumped over as he walked away, disappearing into the crowded New York street.
Part of my heart cracked open, telling him to go. Part of me would always love him.
Now
I drop my empty plate on the coffee table and lean back on the couch, fighting the urge to pat my belly in fully sated satisfaction. I sigh, wanting to let my eyelids drift shut and just take a nap. Dex sets his plate down and tugs me to his side. His lips press into my temple.
Asher smiles and my cheeks heat as I reciprocate. The color has returned to his face, and the dark circles under his eyes are a little less noticeable.
“That hit the spot,” Nate says, interrupting the quiet. “Thank you, Mr. McClellan.”
“Dex, please.”
“Sure thing. Thank you, Dex.” Nate smiles and claps his hands together, his eyes glimmering with excitement. “Now that we’re running on all cylinders, you want to try this again?” His eyes meet mine.
“I’m serious, Mads.” Asher clasps his hands together in a fist and props his chin on it. “This is great stuff, and I think we’re ready. Just tell us what you need.”
“I think planning to record might be getting a little ahead of ourselves,” I say. “We should look into finding at least a bass and rhythm guitar player.”
Nate nods. “You want to hold auditions? This town is crawling with talent.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I might know someone, but I think it might be better if one of you feel him out. We didn’t part on the best of terms.” I flip to the back of my journal where there’s a little pocket and pull out the yellowed scrap of paper. “I think the new stuff is good, but I think I might be losing my edge. Been out of the scene too long. He can help with that.” I slide the paper across the desk and hope swells in my chest. I might be able to heal at least one old wound.
“I’ll talk to him,” Asher says, picking up the piece of paper. “Anything I should know?”
“He’s a local, but last I heard, he’d been out on the west coast. We might have to fly him in, but I’ll cover it if he’s game. He’s a good guy, Ash. I think you and him will get along just fine.”
“What does he play?” Nate asks.
“Anything he wants to. We’ll find someone for what’s left.”
My phone chooses that moment to go off, blaring Devo’s “Whip It” from my purse. I rush to grab it.
“You better have a good reason for calling me during the middle of the workday, since you insist on making me keep that stupid ringtone,” I say in greeting.
A chuckle kills the silence on the other end of the line. “It will never get old, Ned,” Nic says.
“I’m in the middle of something—make it snappy,” I retort.
“I want to make sure you get to the club early tonight,” Nic clips out. “I’ll be waiting in the penthouse. I need to talk to you before your fights tonight.”
I freeze. Nic isn’t usually vague, and there’s only one reason he would be, but that can’t be it. I look to Dex, thinking about the fact that he’ll be with me.
“I wasn’t coming alone,” I breathe out.
“He needs to be here, too.” Nic pauses.
Confusion wraps its way around my thoughts, but I know I can’t ask for clarification. There are too many ears in the room to have a private conversation. I just have go along with it and see how it plays out. He doesn’t sound tense, but there’s a caution in his words that lets me know something is up.
The clock on the wall reads a quarter past four. “I can be there in about an hour.”
“I wouldn’t push it further than that,” Nic says.
“Okay,” I sigh. “See you soon, Lucky. Love you.”
I school my face as I tuck my phone back in my purse, turning back to face the others.
“Something just came up. I’ve got somewhere to be.” I smile. “Family stuff.” I wave it off. “I think we have somewhere to start with this music, though.”
Nate and Asher stand. Dex follows, but his eyes never stray from me. He’s alert and has a curious yet gua
rded expression. I ignore him, for now.
“Yeah,” Asher says. “I’ll contact your guy. Let you know how it goes.”
“Sounds good,” I turn to Dex as they leave. “Do you have a suit?”
“At my place,” he replies.
His intense stare has pressure to it, as if he’s attempting to read my mind through sheer force of will. I look away.
“Good, we’ll swing by there. I can change there, too.”
I walk to my closet, grabbing the garment bag off the rack. Laying it on my desk, I return to grab a duffel bag from the floor.
“You ready?” I ask.
Dex nods. “When you are.”
He takes the bags from my hands and gestures me ahead of him. In the back of my mind, I think the move is sweet but I’m too distracted by what Nic could possibly want to give it credence. He wouldn’t just call and demand me to meet with him out of the blue. He usually just waits until I’m around because he knows we’ll see each other soon enough. It must be important. I just have no clue what that might be.
Then
Sloane clapped her hands together and tucked them under her chin with a huge grin. “I can’t wait to get there. This is going to be so amazing,” she gushed.
I leaned back into the plush leather seat of the limo. We navigated the streets of Manhattan toward Greenwich Village, where a small photo studio with a world-famous photographer awaited.
“It’s fucking dope that you’ll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Holly said.
“It’s pretty badass,” Dawn added. “I want to see what Miss Bubbly, here, cooked up for you. She keeps going on and on about how great it’s going to be, but ask her what they have planned and she shuts the fuck up real quick.”
“She won’t even tell me,” I grumped.
Bridget glanced up from her phone. “Or me.”
“That’s because I want it to be a surprise,” Sloane said. “And if I told any of you, Maddie would find out. ’Cause you bitches can’t keep secrets.”
“We can keep secrets,” Ruby defended. “Just not from each other.” She shrugged, looking out the window.
Holly’s phone vibrated in her pocket next to me. She dug it out, and her face lit up as she read the text. Curious, I leaned toward her to check it out and immediately jerked back.
“Why in the world would you be smiling over a dick pic?” I asked.
She turned to me with her wide smile still intact. “You’d be smiling too if that was the dick being sent to you.” She waved the phone in my face, and I looked away.
“Lemme see,” Dawn said as she grabbed the phone away from Holly.
Her and Ruby’s heads bent together as they both look at the phone.
“That’s pretty impressive,” Ruby said. “But there’s no way he’s a grower.”
“Oh, it grows, bitch,” Holly smirked.
The phone passed again, as Sloane and Bridget satisfied their curiosity.
“How the fuck do you take that?” Sloane gasped.
We all burst out laughing.
“I guess Max isn’t genetically blessed,” Ruby teased.
“It’s not about size, it’s how they use it,” Sloane defended. “Plus, that is some next-level shit right there. I wouldn’t even describe it as large.”
I shrugged. “She’s got a point. He might have a cock the size of a donkey, but if all he does is come before you and fall asleep, well, it doesn’t do anyone any favors.”
Ruby snorted. “Says the only two who’re in a relationship.”
“Exactly why dick pics are pointless,” Dawn grumped.
“I can honestly say I’ve never gotten a dick pic, ever,” I said.
Ruby’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“Not even one of your guys ever sent you one?” Bridget asked.
“No,” I responded. “What’s the point? I already know what it looks like.”
“Okay, stop,” Sloane said. “See, why do you have to do this? Anytime she opens her mouth about sex, all I can see is her with my brother and I want to gouge my eyes out.”
Part of me wanted to expand on the finer points of her brother’s dick, just to torture her some more. But that was not where my mind needed to be wandering, especially after him showing up last night. And I’d zero desire to expound on Jared’s body parts or any part of our intimate moments.
Ruby ignored her. “There isn’t a point, but that doesn’t stop guys from sending them anyway.”
“Which is why I prefer pussy over dick, any day,” Bridget said.
“Girls are definitely better at eating muff, but I gotta have the dick, you know,” Holly added.
“Fuck all that noise,” Dawn exclaimed. “I’m perfectly happy in my relationship with my Magic Wand. I don’t have time for all that drama.”
“What’s a Magic Wand?” Sloane asked.
“Only the best vibrator ever,” Bridget said, while still intensely tapping away at her phone. “God bless the Japanese.” She made the sign of the cross like some devout Catholic in prayer.
I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from me at the utter seriousness on her face. Bitch took her vibrators seriously. It wasn’t long before it caught on and we dissolved into laughter.
The limo stopped outside a redbrick building. We stumbled out of it, still laughing as more dick jokes were made. But I tuned it all out at the sight of the building in front of me and the task I knew awaited me. The place had huge black-framed windows that spanned the height of the multi-storied building.
A petite woman with black hair styled in one of those edgy androgynous haircuts greeted us. She ushered us inside to an open loft space filled with white walls, soaring ceilings, lots of light from the massive windows, various photography equipment, and a small seating area.
The photographer greeted each of us with dual cheek kisses. His accented voice gave away his European lineage if his greeting habits left any doubt. I couldn’t quite place the accent, though. Sloane grabbed my hand and led me to an area allocated for dressing, where she yammered on to a hair-and-makeup artist about her vision. I tuned it out and let my mind wander.
“Here, change into this.” Sloane directed me to a curtained area to change clothes, handing me a black robe.
I changed quickly. Dawn, Holly, and Ruby chattered away from a nearby couch, while Bridget hunched over her laptop with the phone pressed against her ear, working. I could hear the quiet snick of the hangers as Sloane shuffled clothing around on the racks on the other side of the curtain. I said a silent prayer of thanks that Press-zilla trusted Sloane enough to let her take charge of the shoot today.
After what felt like an eternity later, the makeup artist nudged me. I oohed and ahhed over her work enough to be polite. I hoped my smile came across as genuine, but I was quickly discovering that playing dress-up, the beauty regimen, and the focus on my outer self just didn’t do it for me. I never really thought about it before, but now that it was being shoveled to me with the ferocity of a snowblower, I was quickly learning to despise it.
Sloane was chatting with the photographer, and they were both laughing and gesturing with their hands. Sloane was glowing, living her dream and surrounded by her element. I was thankful I was able to play a part in that. It didn’t matter if it felt like torture to me; seeing her happy eased the sting. I tapped Sloane on the shoulder. She smiled as she turned to me.
“Where are the clothes you want me to change into?” I asked.
The grin never left her face, but it definitely left her eyes.
“You’ll be wearing this for your first look.” She looked down at her hands.
My eyes followed hers. “That’s an American flag, not an article of clothing.”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be enthusiastic about any of this, so I wanted to start with the more risqué stuff,” Sloane said quickly. “I’ve plenty of other outfits.” I fought back an eye roll. “Just humor me. This probably wo
n’t even make it to print.”
“No,” I said with finality.
It was rare that I protested anything she did, and I saw the hurt flash across her face before she schooled her features. Sloane was used to people bending to her will with little or no effort.
She grabbed my elbow, leading me toward the couch where the girls sat. “Just hear me out. This is Rolling Stone, not Playboy. It’s going to be tasteful. And if you’re worried about the fact that the photographer is a guy, well, don’t be. He’s gay. And the makeup artist just went downstairs with the rest of the crew, so it’s just us here. And I know you aren’t shy. We’ve all seen enough in the locker room. So just… humor me, okay?”
“Uh, oh,” Dawn singsonged. “What are you trying to make her do?”
“She wants me to wear this.” I grabbed the flag from her hands. “Only this.”
“It’s not only that,” Sloane defended. “We have these combat boots, too. And you’ll have your guitar.”
“Oooo, that’s hot,” Ruby said.
“Holly, help me out here,” Sloane pleaded.
“I don’t see the big deal.” Holly shrugged. “I’d do it.”
“Really?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem too much to you? I want to be known for my music, not my body.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “But you have the body, so why not use it? You won’t have it forever.”
“If they asked you to pose in only an apron for some cooking magazine, you’d do it?” I asked Holly.
Her mouth twisted in thought, and she shrugged. “Hell, yeah.” She grinned.
“You won’t be showing anything that you haven’t already,” Ruby added. “I went to your concerts. And really, are you surprised? Sloane’s been dressing you for years.”
“I’m kinda surprised you have a problem with it,” Bridget says, looking up from her laptop. “You always seemed so comfortable with your body. I always thought you were a badass feminist bitch.”
Am I? I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t know at that moment why it was bothering me. I wasn’t expecting it, though I should’ve. I was comfortable with my body. I never had any complaints, but I also didn’t dwell on it either. It had been a while since I was onstage in those skimpy outfits I wore in One Dollar Bet’s concerts. I remember being hesitant at first, but not caring after. The more I thought on it, the more I felt kind of stupid for protesting.