Insatiable (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Book 3)

by Michelle Hazen

  “Yeah, he’s got it bad.”

  “And she killed his baby?”

  “Harsh,” I chide. “No, she hasn’t yet, but she’s planning to because she’s still scared about becoming a mother. And he loves her and believes in her, but he wants a family, too...” I blow air out through my teeth. “It’s messed up, but it’s like a car crash. Can’t look away.”

  She swallows. “But don’t you think women should have that choice? I mean, there are a million terrible situations and even adoption doesn’t fix all of them, especially if the father wants the baby but he’s an awful person or something.” She glances away.

  “No, I absolutely think they should have a choice.” How did we go from flirting to politics? Talk about a wrong turn at Albuquerque. “In the situations when abortion comes up, there probably aren’t any great options left, and no way am I going to judge anybody stuck with making those calls.”

  “Right,” Ava mumbles. I don’t know if it’s just the low light or something, but her color doesn’t look so good, like maybe she needs something more than sleep.

  Curt turns around, which completely ruins the point of me sitting behind him so I don’t have to see his doucheface. “Let’s talk about that last interview, Ava.”

  “Not now, Curt.”

  “How about yes now, because you’ve got to be in makeup by 5:45 tomorrow morning, and I’m betting you’re not going to want to talk about it with your nose buried in a skinny latte.”

  She gives him a look that would have turned a less douchy manager into dust. “That might be a clue I don’t ever want to talk about it. I’ve been giving interviews almost as long as you’ve been a manager. I think I’ve got this one.”

  “Good,” Curt says. “Then you already know your lack of enthusiasm for the upcoming tour is coming across as plastic, and your increasingly flashy wardrobe isn’t enough to cover your attention wandering in the midst of nationally televised live spots.”

  “Hey, she said she didn’t want to talk about it right now,” I say to Curt, pretty damn diplomatically if you ask me. He wasn’t there when Danny blew up, but he has to have heard about it. To give her a hard time right now...that’s beyond oblivious and into cruel.

  “Yeah, well, TMZ is already talking about it plenty, so maybe Ava ought to be playing catch up instead of wasting time chatting about bodice rippers.” He turns back around, while I debate if punching middle-aged assholes is any more allowed on private planes than commercial ones.

  “Wow, I’m suddenly just...enormously tired. Think I’ll go to bed.” Ava unclips her seatbelt while the flight attendant avoids everyone’s eyes and pretends to be fussing in her kitchenette. When Ava can’t find both her shoes, she stands up barefoot.

  I offer her the missing heel with a hangdog look. “Are you really going to leave me out here with him? You realize I’m the only other one whose interview responses he can critique?”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you,” Ava says. She ignores the shoe and grabs my wrist, leading me toward her bedroom. What? Is this really happening? Score one for passive aggressive potshots at her manager.

  Dean stares at me as I rip off my seatbelt and stumble after her. Guy looks like he hasn’t blinked since 1975. I can practically feel my balls shriveling back up into my body.

  When we get to the door of her bedroom, I pause and glance back. Still no sign of a blink. Does the dude even have eyelids?

  I straighten, feeling perversely like I ought to go back to the front of the plane. Ava shuts the bedroom door behind us before I can make a decision, and my dick swells. I glare down at it in the darkness, trying to sort out the insanity of my warring instincts.

  She hits a button and some dim track lighting glows to life. Yeah, the romantic lighting is not helping with the fact that I kinda feel like I shouldn’t be here. Not that I don’t want to seduce my insanely hot coworker, but more like something about the mood in the air is just...wrong. And okay, possibly I should stop reading those damn romance novels because who cares about air when sex is on the table?

  Ava drops her phone by the bed, then stalks over to her cramped closet. I turn my back automatically.

  She makes an amused sound. “Easy there, Boy Scout. I’m just getting rid of my stockings, not my panties.”

  “Just trying out the being-a-gentleman thing to see if I like it.” I hold up the spike heel I’m still holding. “You want this while you’re at it? Because I carried it all the way in here and I’ll feel like an ass taking it back out to leave it by the other one. Plus, Curt will probably suck my blood.”

  “Curt’s not as bad as he seems, really. He’s just...” She sighs.

  “Probably a vampire bat? That’s what I was thinking. I mean, at first I was thinking vampire but he doesn’t really have the sparkly thing going. He does sort of have the soulless, creepy face of a bat, and I’m 99% sure he hangs upside down to sleep, though that could just be for his circulation.”

  Ava’s beautiful laugh is lost to my ears as her arms wrap around my waist and hug me from behind because—hello boobs.

  “Can you do that again?”

  “What, the hug?” she says, already releasing me, which just sucks.

  “Hopefully the laugh and the hug. Can I turn around, by the way? Because you were like half a foot shorter than I was expecting. I need a new hug where I don’t think I’m being attacked by a particularly well-endowed child.”

  She explodes into muffled, snorty laughter that sounds like she’s clapped both hands to her face, but I can’t see because she didn’t tell me to turn around, and what am I, a pervert?

  “That sounded less gross in my head,” I tell her. “I should maybe sleep soon. Just a thought.”

  “You can turn around.”

  When I do, it’s totally worth it, because hello, boobs again! Yeah, they’re clothed but she’s many inches shorter without heels, which means looking down into her face fills my entire peripheral vision with cleavage. Because geometry.

  “I should probably go back up front,” I say.

  Her smile dims a little. “What for?”

  “I’m a pervert. And you’re insanely hot. And I’m on this whole be-a-better-man kick, you know. Not that I think that’s why you invited me here,” I hasten to add. “Just that dark airplane bedroom and hotness and pervertness sometimes...well, yeah.”

  She grabs me by the front of the shirt and just like that, I’m past half-mast and setting sail. “Well, stop it.” She pulls me over to the bed and jumps onto it, hauling me down beside her.

  “Stop being a pervert, or stop being a better man?” This is a better angle, because I can see her face without her breasts distracting me, and shit, she is beautiful. The high cheekbones, edible mouth, sparkly-eyed kind of beautiful. Those little braids peeking out of her hair are painfully cute, and I don’t even know why.

  “Stop being a pervert,” she says, propping herself up onto her elbow. “Because I can’t face going to bed yet, and I don’t want to go back out there.”

  “How can you not face going to bed?” I relax onto my side. “I’m having dreams about having dreams right now. And yeah, most of them are about you, so I might not have all the pervert out of my system.”

  She shoves me, that amazing grin taking over her whole face, the one I have never seen in any of her interviews. “You are something else, Jackson Sterling. I can never tell if you’re joking or if you’re really flirting with me.”

  “That’s good. That means you’re not all the way to offended yet.” It also means she’s not feeling bad about Danny, or Fuckface Curt. “Seriously, though, you’re not tired?” I twist my face dubiously. “Is it that green gloppy shit you were always drinking in the hotel gyms? Because I’m not sure that’s a price I’m willing to pay for eternal youth. If they’ll trade for a slightly used soul, though, I’m in business.”

  Ava rolls onto her back and reaches up to push her fingers into her hair. “It’s not that I’m not tired. I just hate sleeping.” I n
early sprain something in my face when she says that, but I don’t get a chance to respond, because she says, “Tell me something.”

  “Magnums all the way, baby.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction, my mouth performing before my brain catches up, and I pray she doesn’t kick me out for making a dick joke.

  She laughs, the one where the air huffs out through her nose unevenly and she kind of chokes a little. I fucking love it. I may have been on my best behavior during pre-tour, but I never pass up a chance to make a girl smile, so I already know Ava’s a mouth laugher. She grins, she giggles, but it never reaches down into her belly. Her shoulders seldom shake, and I’ve never seen anybody else get her to do that snorty thing.

  “I’m not interested in your condom size, jerk.” She rolls her eyes, grinning.

  I touch her nose. “Ah, ah, ah,” I warn. “You don’t want anything growing around here when it hears you lie.”

  Her jaw drops in mock outrage, and her eyes widen with laughter even as she punches me in the stomach. It’s light, like 20% of Jera strength, but I still huff out a breath and double over, pretending to shield my abs.

  “If you think violence will calm my perverted tendencies, you’re so wrong.” I flare my eyes at her.

  “I was going to ask more about your book, but I’m sure not going to now.”

  I drop my hands. “Nah, ask away. You can borrow it when I’m done if you want. Just make sure you give it back. Kate gets all mean when her books disappear.”

  Ava’s head relaxes back against the bedspread, so she’s looking at me a little upside down and sort of sideways, but it just makes her dark eyes look more serious. “Do you carry that book just to pick up girls? Seriously, I’ll never tell.” She holds out her fist. “Musician’s code.”

  “You should feel completely free to tell everyone that’s the reason.” I bump her fist. “But honestly, I have that book because I like it. I’ve liked a couple of the other romances I’ve read, too, though Jera tends to give me too-sappy ones. Kate’s are better. I’m going to get a Kindle, though, because no way do I want to explain my reading choices to the paparazzi.”

  She shifts onto her stomach, turning until she can face me with her bare feet hanging off the bed, her skirt rucked up distractingly. “What do you like about romance novels?”

  “Two words: Christian. Grey.” This time, when she smacks me, it’s almost 50% of Jera strength. I wince and rub my arm. “Can I get a safeword the next time I enter your red room of pain?”

  She gapes. “You really read it!”

  “I didn’t, actually, but I do have Twitter, which is highly educational regarding Mr. Grey.”

  Ava scrunches her nose at me. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?”

  “Depends. What will you trade me for it?” I tip my head. “I’m picturing kind of a strip poker tit for tat here.”

  When she gasp-smiles in outrage, I catch her small hand before it has a chance to make a fist to play-punch me again. “Careful there, killer. You’ve been working out a lot and I don’t care to explain to tomorrow’s interviewer why I don’t leave that son of a bitch.”

  “Well, I’d trade you a sock for an answer,” she compromises, “but I already took my stockings off.”

  “Hmm...” I pretend to consider while I rake a hand back through my hair. Big mistake. It is crackly with weird styling products that are probably known in the state of California to cause personality disorders. They keep it wavy on stage but it’s kinda gross afterward, and I hope Ava didn’t notice. “I could live with a truth or dare kind of situation.”

  “You ask first,” she says.

  “Ask? Who says I’m not going to dare you to go dance the Macarena with Curt?”

  She arches an eyebrow, effectively calling my bluff.

  “Yeah, okay. Let me think for a minute.” I want to ask her roughly a hundred things about the first day we met, and all of them make me sound like an insecure nutsack. So instead I ask something for Danny, because his suspicion about her is bugging the crap out of me. “Why did you really want us on this tour?”

  Her face snaps shut in a way that makes me realize how unguarded it was before. “I had a lot of reasons. And you only get one question.”

  “Yeah, why is it truth or dare always turns out to be a kick in the balls? The biggest reason, then.” I mock-glare at her to cover the squirming in the pit of my stomach. Of course Danny wasn’t wrong that she had ulterior motives. Danny’s instincts are never wrong. “No lying.” I give her nose a significant glance. “I’ll know.”

  “Your third album,” she says.

  For the life of me, it looks like she’s telling the truth, but it’s hard to trust an answer when it tugs at my heart like that. She’s my rock and roll hero, and I can’t help but want her to love my music.

  “Did you write any of the songs?” She looks away, picking at her shiny comforter. “Jera got all the song credits, and I know I’ve only met her a couple times, but she never struck me as that...”

  “Dark?”

  Ava glances back at me, but in the shadows, I can’t make out the look on her face. “Yeah, maybe. A little.”

  I hold out my fist and without questioning, she bumps it, sealing her promise to secrecy. “I suck at lyrics, but I really needed to write some songs. Jera’s been trying to teach me. It mostly consists of us in her garage with me blabbing my guts out and her making it sound pretty and rhymey while we pass a guitar back and forth and argue endlessly about the chord progressions.”

  “Which songs did you write?” Ava asks immediately.

  I smile. “You only traded for one question. Sure you want to use it up?” Those lyrics...if you assume they’re from Jera, they’re better. Cleaner. More forgivable.

  Ava bites her lip. “Okay,” she decides. “Spill. About why you read the romance novels, I mean.”

  “Everybody in them is looking for the same thing.” I shrug. “Somebody who gets them, and somebody who cares about them in spite of that. Plus, they always find it in the end, and that’s cool.” I wink at her to lighten the mood, because I have a creepy feeling Dean is listening through the wall. “And I like reading the dirty parts.”

  She watches me, her eyes flicking back and forth between mine, but all the intensity is lost when her face cracks into a huge yawn.

  I laugh. “Pick your question better next time, if you don’t want me to bore you.” I swing my legs off the bed. “I’m gonna head back up front, let you get some sleep.” And possibly toss your manager out the emergency exit door. I wonder idly if Dean would stop me, or if he’d help.

  “Wait.” She catches my arm.

  I look back, not sure if I misread this whole thing. It started out like maybe she was interested, but then she wanted to talk. Honestly, I’m not getting a steam-the-mirrors kinda vibe from her, as much of a downer as that is to admit. I mean, granted, we’ve both been up for nineteen hours now—twenty if you count the time change from where she started out—but still. I’ve always been able to get a tired girl back in the mood when I wanted.

  “Still hate sleeping?” I ask, just because it doesn’t seem like she really thought through what she wanted to say.

  Please God, let her ask me to hold her. That happens in Jera’s books all the time. And okay, the heroes never pop inappropriate wood, but that’s just because they’re a bunch of pussies.

  Ava nods, and I can’t quite read the look in her eye. Her hand feels soft on my arm and when it drops away, my skin tingles. “If you want to trade in truth or dare for a bedtime story next time, I rock at Dr. Seuss. Maya can’t get enough of rhyming.” I half-smile. “Songwriter’s daughter, you know.”

  “Sorry. You should go catch a nap before we land. I need a new damn boyfriend is all.” Ava sighs. “Hate sleeping alone.”

  My heart jolts and I briefly debate the wisdom of jumping up and down, shouting “Pick Me!” Decide against it on the basis of possible un-coolness points. “You could try Dean. Judging by the l
ook he gave me when I was on my way in here, he’s dying to play Big Spoon.”

  Ava laughs. “Yeah, we’re not like that. His wife is in my knitting group back home.”

  “AVA knitting? From the girl who started the skull-with-pink-bow trend, that’s some serious blackmail, so now we’re even.” She still looks glum, so I skim my knuckles down her arm. “Come on, you’re not really alone. You’re on a tiny plane with a vampire bat, an enormous ex-Navy SEAL who will probably go apeshit someday and kill us all, and a makeup artist whom I suspect of reading the dictionary. For pleasure.”

  She laughs, squirming around until she’s straight on the bed again and squinting up at me as a tiny curl falls into her eyes. “You’re crazy weird, you realize that, right?”

  “They’re your hand-picked staff, not mine.” I head for the door and pause with my hand on the knob. “I’ll totally stay and cuddle with you, you know. As long as you have sex with me three, maybe four times first.”

  “Four?” She pushes her hair out of her face. “Oh, is that all?”

  I wink. “‘If you never did, you should. These things are fun, and fun is good.’”

  “Oh my God, did you just sex-quote Dr. Seuss at me?” She explodes into my favorite laugh, the gasping snorty one.

  I close the door, grinning. Which sucks, because I look like a fool when I realize Dean is still awake, swiveled so he can watch me come out of her room.

  And he still hasn’t blinked.

  Chapter 7: Domestic Bliss

  Ava’s plane landed in San Francisco in the middle of the night, so I catch four hours of sleep in the hotel before I wake from a restless dream about searching for Danny in his empty apartment. I shrug into a light charcoal button-down and spanking new jeans, just in case the paparazzi are up early. Ava has press appointments first thing this morning, but I don’t have anything until noon. That’s good because there’s something I need to do before I have any hope of concentrating on interviews.

  I’m pacing my fortieth lap around the parking lot when our bus pulls in. I climb on board, nodding to the driver as he heads bleary-eyed for the hotel, but everybody else is still asleep. Fine, whatever. To keep from fidgeting, I pick up one of Kate’s books—something about a Dominant Catholic priest and his ball-busting switch of a lover—and read a couple chapters before Danny finally crawls out of his bunk, still wearing last night’s jeans.