Rock and Roll Country
Jesse’s Girl Part 1
Kandice Michelle Young
Text copyright © Kandice Michelle Young
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Walking in Memphis
Catch Me If You Can
Butterfly Kisses
Can’t Get You Out of My Head
The First Cut is the Deepest
Bye Bye Pride
I’ll be Missing You
A Beautiful Lie
Angel of Small Death
Sing
Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow
Falling In
Bring Me to Life
Contact Me
Also Available
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Author Bio
Walking in Memphis
Sophie
Nothing’s as hot as Beale Street on a Friday afternoon in late June. Breathing heavily in protest from the humidity, I park my car, a nineteen ninety-two Honda Civic with no air conditioning, in the lot a few feet from my job. Skin pinching against the cracked leather seat, I pull myself out of the car. Blonde hair caked to my neck with sweat, I drag my exhausted body toward Tony’s, the bar and grill where I bust my ass working for next to nothing in the hopes of one day having it all.
On Friday nights we have open mic night, and Tony usually lets me play for free at some point during my shift. Otherwise, I would have never agreed to the double. I’ve been up for 32 hours straight, and worked 24 of those. People think I’m crazy for working like I do. They don’t understand that I don’t have a choice, not since TJ anyway. TJ or That Black Boy as my momma called him came into my life at the best/worst time possible.
We met at a nightclub after my friends and I snuck in with fake IDs. I was pissed at my momma and daddy for reasons that I can’t even remember now. All I know is that TJ was the perfect payback. I wasn’t counting on falling for him, but I fell fast regardless. Within three months of that meeting I was head over heels. It didn’t matter that he was older, I didn’t care that he had more life experience. All I knew was I would follow him wherever he led. He led me straight to being knocked up at sixteen. Even then, he tried to do the right thing and marry me. Well-bred southern gentlemen couldn’t have their daughters dating African Americans though. There was no way my daddy was going to tell the fellas at the country club that his baby girl was pregnant by one. He insisted that I take care of the problem. Momma agreed.
TJ and I couldn’t do that. It was a baby — our baby — and we loved it no matter what. He took on a second job to help out with things, but that wasn’t enough for my daddy. He swore he’d handle the situation and he did. TJ died in a car accident on the bridge just shy of the Tennessee/Arkansas state line. I was eight weeks pregnant at the time. The official report claimed that his transmission got stuck and the car accelerated on its own. I’ve always known it was more though. No one crosses men like my daddy, especially not when those men play golf with the mayor on Saturdays. Even if I can’t prove it, I know without a doubt what’s true. Hair rising on the back of my neck, I try to erase the thought from my mind. My daddy, once known to me as the greatest man who ever lived, had TJ murdered.
Regardless, I had our baby, Marcus Kenton James. We left my momma and daddy’s just a few weeks after the accident. I had nothing and no one but myself, my guitar, and a backpack full of clothes. That’s how I ended up in Prospect Park. It’s where TJ was from, and I only wanted to be close to him again. His sister let me live with her until I could scrape up enough to live on my own.
One night alone, listening to gunshots just outside of my crummy little one-bedroom apartment was enough for me to know I didn’t want to spend any more there. It’s been five years now, and I still haven’t saved enough to get out.
“Earth to Sophie.” I hear Lacey, my coworker, say.
“Huh?” I ask, tying my apron around my waist.
“Dreaming about Nashville again?” She teases.
“You know it,” I reply.
Rolling her eyes, she laughs. “Get your head out of the clouds, Country, and take your ass to table six.”
Lacey is TJ’s sister, Markita’s, roommate. They call me Country because of my dreams of moving to Nashville and starting my music career. To people like them, who’ve lived in Prospect Park all their lives, escaping seems unfathomable. I know better though. I’m always on the lookout for my moment, and when it comes I’ll be ready.
Jesse
If someone would’ve told me how bloody country the damn bar would be, perhaps I wouldn’t have chosen to eat here. To make it worse, the entire night has been filled with amateurs taking the stage and pretending to sing. I’ve been in Memphis, Tennessee for all of sixteen hours, and I already can’t wait to get back on the bus and off to another city. Truth be told, I didn’t even really feel like coming out tonight, but my mates wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Beale Street,” they said. “There will be loose ones lining up to fuck the one and only Jesse Lee.”
They got two things right. I am Jesse Lee, one of the biggest rock stars on the planet, and plenty of women have made passes at me tonight. None of them are worth much, though. Frankly, I’m getting tired of not having to work for it. I miss the thrill of the chase, and as of late I’ve been reconsidering many things about my life. The constant partying and random hookups being one of them.
Noticing the empty mugs lingering about the table, I call, “Excuse me. Can we get another round, please?”
The brunette waitress nods as she passes our table, and I hope that’s confirmation that she’ll handle it. Placing my lips over the rim of my glass, I settle into the back of my chair as the stage lights go dim again.
“Please welcome to the stage, our very own Sophie Westbrook,” the house switchboard monitor calls.
“Should be fun, ay mate?” Tag, my band mate and best friend asks.
“A blast,” I reply, sarcastically. “I’ve always wanted to watch a waitress pretend to be a starlet.”
He laughs, and takes another swallow from his house draft.
“Hi, everybody,” the petite blonde calls out at us.
She looks awkward, standing at the microphone in her baggy shorts and a fitted tank top. As she reaches for a guitar, the collar of her shirt falls just enough for me to get a small glimpse of her cleavage. Not the best I’ve seen, but certainly not the worst either. Maybe this wannabe has something to offer after all.
“How are y’all doing out there?” She asks.
Y’all. It’s a despicable word, yet the crowd of locals seems to eat her up.
“This one’s a new one I’ve been working on. It’s called ‘The Reason You Loved Me’. I hope you like it.”
She starts singing, and the energy in the room changes. On that stage, with shades of iridescent blues and purples kissing her skin, she’s not a skinny waitress in baggy clothing. She’s a siren, and we are all entranced by her. I watch as she croons about a love lost long ago and the haunting memories left behind. Her beautifully sad song speaks directly to my soul. If only I could comfort her, kiss her. Chase the sadness away from those lonely eyes. What’s happening to me? Jesse Lee doesn’t think like this, doesn’t act like this. Yet, as she finishes her song and the stage lights go bright once more, I can’t help but stand. Clapping, I watch as she gives a dainty curtsy, and exits the stage.
“Ok there, mate?” Tag questions, elbowing me.
I turn to find him curiously staring at me with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “If you’ll excuse me...” I drop enough cash on the table to cover my share of the tab. “I think I just found tonight’s catch.”
Catch Me If You Can
Sophie
“Waitress.”
Balling my fists to suppress my rage, I steady myself. For once, I would love to have a customer remember my name instead of using my occupation in its place. Turning slowly, I allow myself to take in what could quite possibly be the hottest guy to have ever walked through the door at Tony’s. Ripped muscles bulging from the leather jacket he wears, despite the sweltering heat threatening to suck us all under, he sits at a table by himself, a half-empty mug in front of him. His fingers running over his goatee, he gives me the one over and smirks.
“You really have no idea who I am, do you?” He asks, the condescending gleam in his blue-green eyes both infuriating and exciting me.
“Hmm...you’re self-important and British,” I say, playing coy. “So, I’m not sure. The prince?”
Laughing, he takes a gulp from his beer. My spine tingling with the thrill of anticipation, I watch the way his luscious lips curve over the rim of the glass. “Jesse Lee,” he says, extending his hand to me.
Electric charges racing up my arm, I clasp his rough, calloused palm with my delicate one “Sophie Westbrook. Nice to meet you, Jesse.”
His smile is dashing, making it hard not to stare.
Gesturing toward the empty chair across from him, he states, “I agree, Sophie. Care for a drink?”
“Sorry, can’t. I can get you another if you’d like.”
“A girl like you shouldn’t be wasting her talent on waitressing.”
Unable to contain my irritation, I roll my eyes and exhale. “Yeah, well...sorry, Prince Jesse. Some of us have actual bills to attend to.”
As I turn to walk away, his hand grips my wrist with just enough pressure to be arousing. “At least give me your number,” he says.
I smirk. “If you want me that badly, you’ll figure out how to find me.”
Jesse
Just like that the chase was on. I had one more night in this city, and before it was done, Sophie Westbrook would be mine. Prying eyes all turned on me, I make my way back to the band. Snickers and jeers launch from each one of them as we rehash how the great Jesse Lee struck out. It wasn’t a strike, though, more of a near miss. I can tell she wants me as much as I want her. It was written in the way her tongue subconsciously raked over her lips as I sipped from my cup, and the way her pulse quickened at my touch when my hand wrapped around her dainty wrist. Sophie is reeling with sexual tension, and my dick has just the right amount of swell to release it. Discreetly readjusting myself, I watch the subtle shake of her ass as she carries an order to her next table. It was near impossible to see from the stage, but when she bends over the table to place an order of onion rings in front of the fat bastard, who is already getting a little too friendly with her, I can see the hint of just the right amount of plumpness making up her bum to leave any man breathless.
Laughing the whole way, Chubby wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her onto his lap. Hand clenching my beer glass so hard it snaps; I watch with gritted teeth as she fights her way free. Mopping up the steady flow of golden foam, Tag leans forward. “Alright there, mate?”
“Fine,” I answer, through gritted teeth.
“Doesn’t seem like it to me. Don’t let her get to you. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“I said, I’m fine,” I snap, dabbing at my beer soaked jeans.
“Whatever you say, man.” He leans back in his chair as we’re joined by our original waitress.
“Ya’ll are a hell of a lot of trouble, you know that,” she states, her thick southern accent clouding her voice.
“Sorry,” I reply, accepting the towel she holds out, and using it to wipe the stains from my shoes as best I can, “I’ll happily pay for the glass. Just add it to my tab.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it, sugar. Tony never springs for the good stuff. Not with this bunch of rednecks, at least. What happened? The karaoke not to your likin’? Truth be told, it’s not my taste either, but I can’t go around breaking glassware every time it grates at my nerves.”
“You’re cute,” Tag cuts in, taking her hand in his, “anybody ever told you that?”
“Well, plenty have, but none as handsome as you,” she answers, winking and taking her hand back. “Can I get you fellas anything else?”
“Actually,” I begin, turning my gaze toward Sophie once more, “you wouldn’t happen to have her number would you?”
She sizes me up for a few seconds. “For you? I might. Depends on your intentions.”
“Perfectly honest, I swear,” I laugh, tossing my hands in the air in submission.
“Damn,” she replies, taking her order pad in hand. “Had you said you were looking to take her outback and screw her sideways, I may have given up my intel. As it stands...”
“Oh come on now,” Tag breaks in again, lifting his gaze from her large breasts to her brown eyes. “Don’t do him like that. Him and her, you and me. I think we could all have a real nice time together.”
She snorts. “I can tell you one thing for sure, Sophie Westbrook isn’t a foursome kind of girl.”
“And you?” He questions, eyebrows raised.
“I’m a different story,” she jots something down on her pad, and slaps it down on the table in front of him, “and if you’re lucky, you might just get to write a page in my book.”
“Mmm...you are a naughty one, aren’t you? What time do you get off?”
“If I’m lucky, just after you pick me up.” She winks. “My shift ends at two.”
We’re able to contain our riotous laughter long enough for her to walk away. “Sounds like you’re in for a good night, mate,” I offer, standing. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow for sound check.”
“You don’t want to get in on that?” Tag offers, nodding to his conquest for the evening.
“No thanks. See ya tomorrow.”
Butterfly Kisses
Sophie
Two in the morning, and my feet are dragging. Thankfully, it’s cooled off some, though just barely enough to be noticeable. Fingers wrapped tightly around the knife I carry for protection; I make my way to my car. Carefully, checking my surroundings, I open the door and climb inside as quickly as I can.
Simultaneously, shoving the key in the ignition and locking the door, I pray that it’ll start without fail. The clunking sound of the engine letting me know God decided to answer my request this time, I put it in gear and pull out of the lot. Beads of sweat rolling down my back, I let the windows down as soon as I’m on the interstate.
The good thing about late nights at Tony’s is there’s little traffic to add to my commute. The bad is that Marcus will be up in approximately five hours, and I’ll most likely have just entered dreamland. Pulling up to my apartment, I shut off the ignition, grab my purse, and grip my house key firmly in hand. The second I pop the locks on the doors I make a run for it.
Heart on the verge of explosion, I burst through the front door and lock both locks behind me. Finally home, I lean against the wall and slip off my shoes. Like a zombie coming to life for the first time since rigamortis, Markita slowly inches her way upright on the couch.
“Rough night?” She croaks.
“No worse than any other,” I sigh, plopping down next to her. “How was my boy?”
“He was great! I couldn’t have asked for a better kid.”
“Glad to hear it. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” she states, taking my purse and slamming it on the broken down coffee table. “Are you kidding me? TJ would flip his lid if he knew I asked you for money for babysitting my nephew. We family, Country. Family always has each other’s back.”
I lift a bill marked fina
l notice from the pile on the table, and force myself not to cry. “Oh yeah? Looks like my parents missed the memo.”
“If you need some help...”
“No it’s fine,” I answer, squaring my shoulders. “I made pretty good tips tonight, and Marcus gets his survivors’ benefits next week. I’ll figure it out.”
“You sure?”
Yawning, I nod my head.
“Well, in that case I’d better get out of here and let you get some sleep. He’s in your bed. Said he wanted to wait up for you. He passed out around ten-thirty.”
“Thanks.” Smiling genuinely, I follow her to the door. “I can’t wait to cuddle up and join him.”
“See ya tomorrow at mom’s barbecue.”
“We’ll be there. Do I need to bring anything?”
“You bring Marcus and I’m sure that’s all they’ll need,” she laughs.
“Sounds easy enough. I’ll see ya then.”
Closing and locking the door behind her, I gather my mail and purse, and head to the bedroom. Sure enough, Marcus has chosen my lumpy full-sized mattress over his practically new twin on the opposite wall. Placing the mail on my nightstand, I run my hand through his soft curls and kiss his forehead. He wiggles a bit, but not much and I sigh a breath of relief. If he woke up now, I’d never get him back to sleep and with everything I’m carrying on my shoulders I’ll crack if I don’t get some rest soon.
Tiptoeing to the closet, I grab my tips from my purse and hang it on the hook. Counting my cash, I make my way to the dresser and carefully pry open the bottom drawer. Praying it doesn’t squeak as it has the tendency to do, I dig through the stack of jeans until I find the ones I’m looking for. A pair of worn denim skinny legs, I haven’t been able to fit since the eighth grade. I’m still not sure how they got thrown in with the bits I grabbed from my parents’ when I left. Regardless, they’ve proven themselves useful.
Rock and Roll Country (Jesse's Girl #1) Page 1