by Wynne Roman
“Because we are going to talk about some other shit. And I don’t want you sitting on the other side of the room.”
“I’m not on the other side of the room. I’m on the other side of the bed. My bed.”
I tighten my fingers around hers. “And we can stay this way. All night if you want to. Not going anywhere until we talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Bree…” I tug lightly on her hand.
She hesitates another second and then finally scoots so she’s leaning against the headboard next to me. I don’t let go of her hand.
“I know I upset you, baby, but it was nothing.” I try to make light of it without explaining shit. Not that I expect to get by with much, but I’m weak enough that I have to give it a shot.
“Nothing,” she repeats.
“That’s right.” I don’t get too excited about her agreement. I know women well enough to know better. “Just messing around with a fan.”
“Messing around.” She repeats that, as well. Shit. The tone of her voice doesn’t sound good. “So feeling some chick up and sucking on her tits is messing around.”
Fuck. I blow out a breath. Knew she wasn’t going to make it easy for me.
Bree stares straight ahead, her hand lifeless in mine. At least she’s still there with me.
“It was the booze. The game. It all kind of got away from me.”
“Don’t try to bullshit me, A.” Finally, she looks at me. “Nothing ever gets away from you. You knew exactly what you were doing. The whole fucking time. You…” Her voice cracks. “You knew, and you did it anyway. Even after the other night. Even knowing it would hurt me.”
She leans close enough that I can see the shadowy pain in her eyes, the way her eyelashes are damp and spiked together. “You did it. Anyway.”
“Bree.” I pull her against me, her head on my shoulder, and wrap both arms around her. She stiffens but doesn’t move away.
“Baby, I am so sorry. I was…fucked up. I shouldn’t have done it. Didn’t like it when I did it. But—fuck! I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Well, let me explain something to you.” She still doesn’t move, doesn’t soften. It’s almost worse that she just lays resting against me as she talks. “I’ve had a crush on you since I was fifteen. The first day we met. I was babysitting Whiskers, and you’ve called me kitten ever since. You know all this shit—everybody knows this shit! Me crushing on you wasn’t the secret I thought it was. I’m not as good at hiding my feelings as I thought I was.”
I don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t matter when she continues.
“It was bad enough to hear shit about you. See shit on the internet and those TV gossip programs. I could pretend, though. Tell myself that it was the paparazzi making up shit or putting a spin on things that weren’t there. That was probably even true some of the time.”
“You know it was, kitten. We’ve talked about it.”
“And then I saw that chick sucking you off. Stroking you off. I saw the look on your face when she was doing it.”
My insides clench, and for a minute I can’t breathe.
“Then tonight you let that other chick crawl all over you. You put your hands on her, took her in your mouth. And that’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?” I really don’t want to ask.
“It doesn’t matter if I’ve grown up. If I’ve loved you for five years and I’ve saved myself for you. I’ll never have you. You’ll never be mine. You’ll never want me like you want those other girls.”
My heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest. I can only answer half of what she says. “Baby, those girls don’t mean anything to me.”
“Don’t lie, A. For God’s sake, don’t do that. And even if that were true and they don’t mean shit to you, they mean a fuck of a lot to me. And, honestly, I can’t keep pretending that they don’t mean more to you than I do.”
“Bree! Goddammit! That’s not true!”
Somehow, I get my hands on her arms, and I twist her around so she straddles my lap about mid-thigh. I glare at her.
“Ajia?”
“No. Now you listen. You mean a fuck of a lot more to me than some faceless groupie whose name I can’t even remember. I kissed you, for Christ’s sake. I don’t kiss anybody. Ever. I told you that.”
“That is such bullshit.” She twists against my hold but I don’t let go.
“No,” I snap. “It’s intimate.”
“Intimate, my ass. Intimate is when you stick your cock in somebody. Intimate is when you put it between some chick’s lips or put your mouth on her pussy. That’s intimate, you asshole!”
“That’s just sex,” I insist. “It doesn’t mean shit.”
She shook her head. “Spoken like a true rock star. You invent these excuses so you can have whatever you want. Parties, pleasure, and pussies. But get around real feelings—around somebody who wants more than your dick or your money or your fame—and you freak out. Well, fine. Then freak. Fucking. Out.”
She tries to crawl off me, but I hold her tight. “I thought I could play your game,” she says, sounding suddenly ragged. “I realized that this tour with you was my chance to show you things could be different. I’m different. I’m an adult now. A woman who could—” she waves her hand suddenly, a shadow slicing through the darkness “—it doesn’t matter. I was fooling myself. I get it now. I have nothing you want, and so I’m gonna protect myself the only way I can.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m gonna learn how to get over you.”
CHAPTER 11
BREE
The words shock me when I actually hear them echo in the room. I hadn’t really planned to say anything like that, hadn’t gotten that far when Ajia came barging into the room. Mostly, my mind is all jumbled and circling through a minefield of pain, humiliation, and absolute fury. Part of me wants to curl up in a ball and feel really sorry for myself. The rest of me wants to punch Ajia in the throat.
Now the room gets quiet in an uncomfortable sort of way when he finally says, “Smartest thing you could do, kitten. We both know it.”
The words hurt because I know, even though he said I matter to him, this is the truth. “Such an easy answer.”
His fingers tighten around my arms. “Nothing fucking easy about it, baby. Don’t kid yourself.”
Is he talking about for him? Or for me? I can’t let it matter. Now that the idea has surfaced, I have to stick up for myself.
“I have a favor to ask, then.”
He’s looking at me. I can feel the weight of his gaze, but the darkness keeps me from being able to judge his expression.
“What?”
“Could you…kind of…keep me in mind? Or at least…you know, when you’re with those other girls, could you just do it—” I pause for a trace of strength “—where I can’t really see you?”
“Oh, baby.” He pulls me against him suddenly, moving faster than I can see in the shadows, and then I’m sprawled across his chest. One hand strokes over the back of my head. “How can you do it?”
“Do what?” I whisper in confusion.
He shakes his head; I can feel it. “I can’t mean that much to you. I’m not worth it.”
I hesitate, unsure how to proceed. Is this more bullshit to get him off the hook, or is this a deep moment of truth for him?
“I’m not sure which of us should be more offended,” I finally answer. “You, because you think so badly of yourself, or me, because you think I’m such a lousy judge of character.”
He snorts. “I just know the truth.”
“What truth?”
“I’ve done shit. Made mistakes. You—don’t go there.”
“Like you’re the only one,” I snap. I wriggle in Ajia’s grip, but he doesn’t let go. “Don’t try to pull that crap with me.”
“What crap?”
“Don’t play that game of tortured ba
d boy. You do it better than almost anybody, except maybe Rye, but I know better.”
“No,” he says flatly, so different from seconds ago. “You don’t.”
He’s gone stiff, the muscles of his chest and abdomen hard against me, even through the barrier of his thin T-shirt. I squirm uselessly for a softer position that Ajia’s body can’t provide. Especially not with that other hardness. Lower. The thick ridge of his cock presses boldly against my belly.
“So…” Why does my voice have to sound so goddamn breathy? “Explain these great mistakes to me.”
He shifts, though I can’t tell whether it is to move away or press himself closer against me. “No.” His voice registers soft but harsh. “Not tonight.”
“Why not?”
“You’ve—enough shit’s gone down tonight. Not going there.”
I know that tone of voice. Experience—years as Ajia’s friend—has taught me the futility of being able to convince him to say more when he doesn’t want to. And yet I just lie there, draped all over him like a limp towel. I try to hold myself still and yet can’t quite manage it.
“Are you thinking about them? Her?”
“Who?”
“That girl from earlier.”
“No!” He turns suddenly, rolling me onto my back. His hips and legs hold me in place, pressing me down into the bed. “Fuck no! Why would you ask that?”
He pushes up on his arms and stares at me. It pushes his lower body closer. I recognize the rough irritation in his voice, but the darkness robs me of the chance to find any clear idea of his expression.
I swallow and raise one leg just enough to rub against his crotch. “Just wondered.”
The moment freezes, like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room, and then it roars back in with a new heaviness. It pushes against me, anchors me tight against Ajia, until the whole damn thing blows up. He shoves away and surges from the bed.
“Fuck.” His voice rips through the night. I can see just enough to recognize the movement as he shoves his hands through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”
“Ajia?” I know what freaked him out. It freaks me out a little, too. But he has to own that, not me.
He steps back. “Go to bed, Bree.”
“I am in bed.”
“Then go to sleep.”
I push up on one elbow. He was hard. Lying in bed with me, he got a hard-on. I can’t let myself take it as any great sign of…well, anything. I bet just about any woman would have gotten him that way if they were lying in a bed together. Hell, maybe he started that way.
It’s the fact that he got an erection being there with me that he hates.
“Sure.” I grab at the covers like they’re a lifeline, tearing them back so I can slide beneath the protection. “Right.”
“I…I’ll be in Knox’s room. If you need anything.”
“I won’t.” I turn my back to him.
He stands by the bed for a while. I know it, can feel him. Finally—I don’t know how long it takes—he says a soft, “Goodnight, kitten,” and is gone.
I sprawl on the couch in the garage music room, sitting but taking up more than my share of space. I look around and decide it’s okay. Nobody else is here.
I drop my head back, enjoying the moment until I hear…sounds. Not sure what they are, I force my eyelids open and look around. Nothing. Then I hear them again and realize they’re coming from behind me.
I turn my head just enough to catch sight of Knox in the corner of my eye. He’s got some girl in his arms, and they’re pressed together like lovers. I swallow an annoyed laugh. I know my brother and love is the last thing on his mind.
It’s fucking, pure and simple.
I turn away and realize that the rest of the band is there, too. They wander around the room, messing with their instruments and talking, but I can’t hear them. I look back at Knox—for help?—but his shirt is off and the chick is naked!
God, no. I do not want to see that shit. Not when it’s my brother!
I look around—anywhere—and notice that the guys are leaning against the wall, watching as a line of bikini-clad women saunter past. They have kind of a plastic look to them that makes me think Barbie, like the doll, and I laugh. Ajia frowns at me, puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. “Sshhhh,” he says firmly.
I nod to show I understand, but the longer I sit there watching the Barbies parade, the madder I get. Fuck the dolls—and fuck the guys. And who’s Ajia to shush me?
I push up off the couch to call him out on it, but suddenly I’m in line with them. A brilliant spotlight tracks my progress. The Barbies are all wearing the same pink string bikini, but when I look down, I realize that I’m naked!
Naked? What the hell am I doing naked? In this line? Traipsing up and down in front of Noah, Rye, Zayne…and Ajia!
Horror scrapes over my nerves, but I can’t do anything except keep moving forward as part of the Barbie line. I get to Ajia first—but hadn’t he been on the other end?—and he looks at me from head to toe.
“No. No, no, no.” He shakes his head sharply, and his golden blond hair swings around his shoulders. Fear keeps me watching that instead of looking at his face.
“What are you doing here, Bree?” he demands sharply. “You don’t belong with these girls.”
“I know,” I mutter, wishing not for the first time that I did. That I deserve a pink bikini and that Ajia said yes instead of no to me.
“Go sit down.”
He gives me a little push toward the couch, and I go. Humiliation washes over me, staining me with a blush of fever, and I keep my head down. I sink down on the couch, still naked, and pull my hair over my shoulders to cover my breasts. Thank God it’s long enough!
I can’t do much about the rest of me, so I fold my hands and leave them on my lap to cover my vagina. Thinking a more clinical word helps me think of my body less…personally. I don’t feel quite so inadequate.
“Don’t cover yourself, Bree.”
The voice is too close, and I look aside to see my stepfather next to me. He sits sideways, his arm along the back of the sofa and his eyes are riveted on me. On my body.
“Gabe!” I gasp. “Jesus, get away from me!”
I scoot away from him, but I can’t seem to put any real space between us. He keeps smiling, his eyes sharp and piercing like he can see beneath my hair, under my clenched hands.
“You know I want you,” he says, and then he shifts so he can reach me with one hand. “It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t.” He points an accusing finger at Ajia. “I do.”
“I don’t care! Don’t touch me!”
I scream the words and shoot a frantic gaze all around the room. Knox and his girl are caught up in each other. Zayne and Noah are laughing, twirling girls around like ballerinas on a music box, while Rye sits behind Noah’s drum kit, crashing the cymbals every time a new girl steps up.
“Guys!” I shout. “Help me! Please!”
Ajia can’t be bothered. He presses his lips against the next-in-line bikini-clad Barbie, taking her mouth in a kiss that should incinerate them both.
“You don’t kiss!” I yell, as though I need to remind him. “You told me! You only kissed me!”
He lifts his head. “That was a mistake.” And then he kisses the new girl again and again and again.
I want to cry, scream—do something—but the moment escapes unfinished when Gabe’s fingers brush the hair away from my breasts. He palms their fullness, pinches my nipples, and squirms around on the couch until I look down. His penis is out of his pants, and he’s stroking it up and down.
“God, you sick fucker!” I scream again. “Get away from me. Leave me alone! I don’t want you!”
“C’mon, Bree. You’re my baby. You can call me daddy. Just think…fucking my baby girl.”
“Oh, God!” Nausea threatens to swamp me, and I swallow heavily. Please! I pray silently. This can’t be happening!
“Let me in.” Gabe drops his hand from my breasts and lays his palm over my clenched fist. He wants to touch my vagina!
“No! Jesus, no!”
I try to squirm away again, but I can’t seem to put any space between us. I find little relief when Gabe seems to reconsider, because he’s still touching me. He’s simply moved his hand to the back of my neck and forces me forward.
“C’mon, Bree. You know you want it.”
It takes no more than an instant, and then I realize exactly what he wants from me. A blow-job. He wants me to suck him off!
“No!” I squirm against his hold, but he’s strong. Way stronger than I expected, and he keeps pushing my head down. His dick gets closer and closer to my mouth, and I keep turning my head. He uses his hand to slap his prick against one cheek, then the other.
“Stop it! No! Please!”
I’m sobbing. I know it, hating the weakness, but all strength deserts me. “Ajia!” I scream, praying—dear God, begging—he stops kissing that chick and look at me! “Please! Help me!”
“You’re okay, baby.” Gabe’s dick keeps stroking my cheeks.
“No!”
“It’s a dream, sweetheart. Just a bad fucking dream. C’mere. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Something around me changes. What? How? The music room, the spotlight, the Barbies…everything disappears. It’s dark and quiet, and Gabe is nowhere in the heavy shadows.
Or is he? Jesus, is he hiding? Waiting for me to let down my guard?
I move, or try to when I realize arms, warm and comforting, hold me close. Fingers, soft and gentle, caress my cheek, and the scent of sandalwood comforts me.
“Ajia?” I whisper. It can’t be anyone else.
“There you go, baby. I’ve got you. Everything’s all right.”
I let out a ragged sigh and shudder as I try to stem my tears. He’ll keep Gabe from me—won’t he? He and Knox pretty much told me that! But then he told me no, that kissing me was a mistake, and he’d kissed that other girl.
A dream, a soft voice reminds me. The Barbies, the mean words, the strange way the bandmates acted…a stupid fucking nightmare.