by Jodie Larson
Some things never change.
For whatever reason, all the anger I felt is gone. She still hasn’t given me the answers I’m seeking, but I’m not going to push her.
When I switch the movie to South Park – my Sominex – I can’t help but snuggle closer to her. My eyelids drift close, but open quickly when she starts talking in her sleep.
“I’m sorry. Don’t leave. Please stay. Can’t do this alone.”
What in the hell is she dreaming about?
“Stay. Need you.”
Is she talking about her last boyfriend? It can’t be me because I wasn’t the one who left. She did. The air chills slightly and I try to brush off her comments. She’s dreaming. It has nothing to do with real life. There’s no way she can be held accountable for her dreams.
“Paul.”
So much for that theory. Pausing the movie, I slide away from her, grab my pillow, and start to crawl back into my own bed. I refuse to sleep next to her while she calls out another guy’s name.
Closing my eyes, I force myself to relax, even though every part of me wants to find this Paul and beat the shit out of him for no good reason.
Going back to my old ways wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Three days ago I had a lapse in judgment, thinking I could actually forget the past and want to know the girl in front of me.
Then she calls out someone else’s name. What in the actual fuck was that about?
This disconnect, this anger is easier to keep hold of than wanting to be the bigger person. I’m done with that.
“What’s up your ass, man?” Paxton slams the case down on the floor, the rattle loud enough to echo through the empty arena.
“Nothing.”
Kade slides next to me, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I know. Women troubles. I bet Tay has some Midol for you. That’ll get rid of your cramps and mood swings.”
“Go to hell. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit tonight.”
Kade’s smile slides from his face. “Lighten up. We’re just joking with you. Chill out.”
I throw the cords at his feet, anger pouring into my bloodstream. “No. I play better pissed off.”
“What could you possibly be pissed about?” Breck looks around the room. I know the minute he sees it because he stops everything he’s doing. Tatum is laughing with one of the roadies in the back row. Her hands haven’t left his arm and I’m pretty sure she’s using her fake laugh, the one meant for flirting.
I shouldn’t care. She’s not mine anymore, which means she’s free to flirt with whoever she wants. Only that’s not how this feels. Every time I look at her, a sense of propriety takes over. Her body, her laughs and smiles, have always been meant for me. Tatum may have walked away, but I haven’t let her go. Not yet. Now that we’re forced to be together, all the time, a larger part of me wants to take her back. But the hurt part, the louder of the two voices, says she needs to experience the same pain I did. Doesn’t matter how it happens, as long as it does.
Then why is there an ache in my stomach at the thought of hurting her?
“I thought you two had patched things up? There hasn’t been bloodshed in days.” Breck picks up the cords I tossed down and starts winding them.
“Looks can be deceiving.”
With a sigh, he places a hand on my shoulder. “I get it. She hurt you, but when are you going to be the bigger man and let it go? Maybe she had good reason to do what she did. Maybe it wasn’t as easy for her as you think it was.”
I raise a brow. “And you would know?” The dormant anger flares again. “Have you been sneaking more time with her?”
“That right there makes me want to call bullshit on the garbage that comes out of your mouth,” he says, pointing a finger in my face. “You care about her still. Otherwise you wouldn’t give two shits about who she talks to.”
I’m going to ignore his statement and go back to hauling in the equipment from the truck. First, a quick detour up the aisles to get a better idea of what’s going on in the back row.
It never ceases to amaze me how a single laugh can sound feather light as it travels through the air. Tatum’s laugh has been that way since the first day I saw her. We were kids back then, barely six-years-old, but from her first laugh, I knew she was special. Don’t ask me how because I still don’t have an answer for that.
The closer I get, the more Tatum’s face comes into view. She’s smiling, carefree, as if nothing bothered her. She’s wearing some off the shoulder sweatshirt and yoga pants. They may as well be a ballgown on her because she makes the simplest things look elegant. It’s a talent of hers, one she’s perfected over time. Whether it’s a grungy shirt or an actual prom dress, Tatum makes it shine.
“Then he yelled out in front of everyone that he burned his dick from standing too close to the lights.” Tatum doubles over with laughter, wiping away tears as she struggles to catch her breath.
Fucking Barry. Figures it’s him. If there’s anyone on the tour who’s a bigger manwhore than me, it’s this guy. He goes into the bars after set-up, finds any willing girl and takes them away to get the “special treatment” in order to score free concert tickets. Slimy, shifty, and just an all-around sleaze.
“I can’t believe that actually happened.” Tatum looks up and her smile dips slightly as I approach. “Myles, hey. Barry was just telling me a story about one of the roadies who had an unfortunate accident the first night you went out.”
It takes all I have to control the anger inside. All I want to do is grab Barry by the neck and pummel him until he’s bloody and broken. The way he’s looking at her is enough of a reason, though the main one is…she’s mine. Everyone knows that.
“Yeah, super funny. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Confusion crosses her face before she nods. “Um, yeah. Okay.” She turns to the sleaze and smiles – actually smiles – with a wink. “Be right back.”
I grab her arm, more forcefully than I intended and drag her out into the hallway.
“What are you…you’re hurting me,” she says, trying to free her arm. When we reach a darkened hallway, I let her go. The light in her eyes has dimmed now, turning more fiery than glowing. Good. This emotion I know how to deal with.
“Stay away from him.” I should get props for keeping my voice calm instead of letting the beast inside me loose.
Tatum places her hands on her narrow hips. “And why should I do that? He’s one of the crew. I do converse with them since it appears they enjoy my company.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what you think it does. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you pulling away these past few days. What happened? Did we get too close?” She takes a step forward. “Did it feel too much like before and you got scared?”
I scoff. “Hardly. Takes a lot more than that to scare me.” I lean against the cool wall, though it does nothing to bring my temperature down. Fire courses through my veins. This woman drives me mad. All I want to do is yell and scream and kiss her senseless. How can those two emotions be so similar?
“What happened? Talk to me. I thought we were turning a corner, that we could actually cohabitate and be civil to each other. Almost like friends.”
Fire and jealousy swirl together in my stomach. “You want to know the reason?” She nods. “It’s you. You’re the reason. I can’t think when you’re around. I lose my head at the most inopportune times, thinking maybe I could give us another chance. Then you’ll do something that’ll snap me back to reality, where I belong.”
Her beautiful face falls, the lids of her eyes becoming heavy. I know what’s coming next. A sniffle. A sigh. Then she looks up with those gorgeous green eyes of hers and for a brief second, visions of our past flash before me. All the times we’ve made out, made love, laughed, and shared every secret under the blanket, play on a constant loop. Seconds beat like minutes as I stare into her sad eyes, something I swore I’d never do. Her dad made me promise to neve
r make her sad. Yet here I am, breaking that promise every day.
She broke hers first. It’s only fair.
“I…” Tatum clears her throat. “I’m sorry, but you’ve got this all wrong. Whatever delusions are going on in your brain aren’t true. I’m just trying to make friends with the people we work with. That’s all.”
Make friends? Is she kidding? “If that’s all you’re doing, why do you wear the skimpiest outfits you can find while doing it? Wouldn’t it be easier to just parade around in your underwear?”
The fire’s back in her eyes, dancing with danger. For whom, I don’t know, but now that I’ve unleashed it, I can’t put it out.
“Are you serious? There’s nothing going on. And even if there was, why do you care? You just said I bring you back to reality and right now that entails us being civil to each other. Or I thought it did.” She takes another step forward. Inches separate us, the familiar citrus fragrance of her perfume hits me first before I notice her demeanor has shifted. Anger and lust are two very different, yet similar emotions. Each cause the body to react, but one little shift and the line becomes blurred. Tatum’s eyes are dilated now as she shifts from foot to foot. Most people would think it’s a nervous gesture. I know from experience it’s her way of gaining friction where she needs it.
“Because, for whatever reason, I’m trying to protect you. Barry is a sleaze. He’s no good for you. Just stay away from him.”
“I don’t need you to protect me. I’ve done fine on my own.” Fuck I love it when she’s upset. The flush across her cheeks is downright sexy. Just a hint of color. What else is flushed on her?
“And whose fault is that? If you hadn’t left, you wouldn’t have needed to do things by yourself. Then again, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now either.”
If I reach out to touch her, I know I’ll lose it. Those pouty lips keep calling to me, begging me to take them, own them, show them what they’ve been missing.
Fuck it.
Grabbing her face, I push her back against the wall, letting my mouth take over the conversation. She meets me in kind, kissing me back while wrapping her hands around the back of my neck, pulling me closer. It’s almost like she’s trying to climb inside me.
This is the constant war we’re facing now. Nine years ago, our kisses would have been tender, loving, almost caress-like. Now, they’re ruthless, savage, dirty. Passion flows like a raging river instead of a gentle stream. When her nails sink into my skin, I growl, low and in the back of my throat. It must have been what she was looking for because she wraps a leg around my waist. My hardened cock slides against her thigh before finding its home between her legs.
A gasp escapes her, using this opportunity to explore the skin of her neck. Tatum’s quiet noises only urge me forward, pressing hard into her, letting her feel every inch that’s waiting for her.
Our mouths meet again, taking no prisoners as we let go of ourselves. I trail little circles over her skin, starting at her navel and slowly working my way up to her breasts. She moans again, arching her back off the wall and pushing them into my hands. Soft, pliable, and currently all mine.
No woman has ever compared to Tatum. Her body is perfectly molded to fit mine. Her breasts fill my palms just right. And I’m guessing she’s still going to be as tight as I remember her, squeezing my cock like it was made to do so.
My mind blanks. I can’t think of anything but Tatum, her body, her passion. The need to be inside her, to feel every inch of her takes over. Just when I’m about to give in to the temptation, a word, a name comes to mind. Paul.
A growl comes out and I practically sink my teeth into her shoulder. “Do you enjoy torturing me? You love to see me lose my shit, don’t you? I think you purposefully flirt with guys to get my attention. Is that it? Are you an attention whore?”
Her body stills, the heat quickly leaving her skin. “What did you say?”
Leaning back, I look into her eyes. “You heard me.”
I barely have time to react when her hand connects with my cheek. Again.
“You’re a fucking pig, you know that?”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I laugh in her face. Big mistake.
I’ve seen Tatum go beyond angry a few times in my life. Never once was it directed at me. Not the case this time. Her little fists ball up at her sides as her stance widens. I take a few steps back, not wanting to get hit again. Even for a girl, she packs a big punch.
“Let me get this straight. I’m not allowed to talk to anyone, but you can continue to whore yourself to every available girl you see?”
The rock in my stomach sinks lower. This isn’t good.
“Tay, I-”
“No, don’t ‘Tay’ me.” She thrusts her finger in my face. “You can’t have your cake and eat it too. If you’re going to keep doing what you’ve been doing, then I’m going to follow your suit.”
Shit. Back up. I need to make this better.
“Do whatever you want. Perhaps you can find another Paul to satisfy you.”
All the color drains from her face as her jaw hangs open. “What did you say?”
The witty comeback I had planned fails to appear. When I look at the hurt in her eyes, I know I’ve gone too far.
Tatum backs away, her arms wrapped firmly around her waist. “Do me a favor. The next time you want to piss all over me and call me yours, you better be willing to keep me. Otherwise stay the fuck away from me.”
She turns and runs down the hall. And here I sit, half-hard, half-pissed, and thoroughly confused by the warring emotions inside me.
Pissing all over her? Oh, that sounds like a challenge. And I do love a good challenge.
Indifference is my friend. I no longer care what Myles thinks of me. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll one day believe it.
Truth is, this back and forth with Myles is slowly killing me. I never know which version of Myles I’m going to get day to day. What I do know is he’s never in the room when I go to sleep. He waits in the main room, watching movies or playing video games until early in the morning. Then, when he thinks I’m asleep, he’ll sneak in and crawl into bed. Only I’m not asleep most of the time. A small piece of me wants him to watch me sleep or hover over me to check if I’m awake. Neither of those scenarios happens. He walks in and that’s it.
I think what’s shaken me the most is the fact he said Paul’s name. How does he know him? I’ve never talked about my mother’s boyfriend, who left her shortly after I came to live with her. At first he understood. He knew of me, but never thought we’d meet. Then, when it appeared I wasn’t going away and he’d have to share my mom, his whole personality changed. Paul grew distant, picked fights with my mom over every little thing. Eventually, he just left. Surprisingly, my mom wasn’t devastated. Hurt, yes. She told me I was priority one and if Paul couldn’t understand that, then it was for the best.
Some days I wish I had my mom’s strength.
After our blowout last week, I knew one thing for certain. Myles hated watching me talk to other guys. And since he’s hell bent on being a hypocritical controlling asshole, turnabout is fair play, right?
Don assured me all the legal work had cleared and I’m set to introduce the new addition to my lineup.
“You have no idea how funny I find this,” he says next to me.
Tonight I’ve decided to really step up my outfit. Myles says I parade around in skimpy outfits. Wait until he sees this one. I’ll probably sweat to death since leather isn’t exactly the most breathable fabric, but when I saw the pants, I knew I needed them. The mid-drift showing black sequined halter-top grabbed my attention next, followed quickly by the black stilettos. Jamie, my hair and makeup artist tonight, nailed it with the beach waves and smoky eye.
Score one for me.
Turning to Don, I give him my best smile. “He has it coming.”
He just laughs and places a hand on my bare back. “That he does. Knock ‘em dead.”
They announce my name and the crowd goes wild. Screams and cheers still assault me through the earpiece. With each concert, my popularity has increased. Fans chanting my name, singing along with the songs…it’s almost surreal. Yeah, I’m just a cover singer – a glorified karaoke princess to some. It doesn’t stop fans from wanting to reach up and touch me, or find me backstage and get an autograph. I’ve even tagged along with the guys during their radio stints. People want to know me. Apparently the label has been getting emails from guys, asking for a date or wondering my current relationship status.
If only I knew the answer to that myself.
As flattering as it is to be wanted and adored, deep down, there’s only one person I want that from. But that can wait.
I wave to the crowd as I take the mic off the stand. “How’s it going, Minneapolis?” A chorus of cheers surrounds me, letting the smile on my face grow to an almost painful point. “Let’s start this concert off right.”
I hit my playlist hard, bouncing between playing the guitar and singing solo. The heels probably weren’t the best idea since my feet are already cramping. Beauty is pain. Revenge is sweeter, though.
The lights dim for my last song, my late edition to my set. A spotlight stills over me, leaving me the only thing illuminated in the whole arena. I glance over to the side and notice the guys are there watching me. Three smiling faces and one showing something else. It’s not anger, or happiness. Confusion, maybe? It’s hard to tell from this distance, but it’s almost as if Myles is trying hard to hold something back.
The piano starts the song, the only one where it’s a pre-recorded track. I’m glad the studio was able to get the rights for me to sing this tonight. After the childish way Myles has been acting, this should express just what I think of him and his ways.
Grace’s version of “You Don’t Own Me” floats through my ears, G-Eazy’s track pouring through the speakers. And like the “karaoke princess” I am, I sing her part. Most of the fans sing along with me, giving the smile on my face even more of a presence.