Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set

by S. K. Logsdon

  “What the fuck dude?” he snaps at Johnathan.

  “I…”

  Stacy cuts him off. “Did he see you naked?” he peers around big lead singer to me and I bob my head.

  “God dammit!” he screams and both men run their hands through their hair. Wow, my life has seriously hit Soap Opera standards.

  “Hey can you both step outside and let me finish washing up. Don’t want to turn you off or anything.” I shoot an angry stare right at my best friend. “Then we can talk or figure out what the fuck you both are doing here.”

  They both leave in a rush and shut the bathroom door in their wake. My heart is beating fast and if I wasn’t in the tub I’d have stress sweat pouring down my face. I wash up quick and get out, wrapping a towel around my mop and a fluffy white hotel robe around my body. I open the door and stalk angrily into the bedroom to find both men. Stacy is sitting on the bed, peering out the window. I’ve got a fairly decent view from the ninth floor and big Johnathan is leaning against the wall.

  “Ok, so who would like to go first?” I ask, nicely. Which is a big surprise to me. I have a craving to be a snarky bitch. They like to bring that out in me. But I decide against it for the greater good of the day. I need at least a few hours without some kind of drama.

  “Keith came to my room and said you were upset with both of us. So I thought I’d come and talk to you,” Stacy answers, his body still facing away from me, glancing out my picturesque window.

  “So now you decide to be my best friend again?” I add, and here comes the sass.

  “I’ve always been that way Em, I love you. You know that. But I can’t allow you to keep thinking the way you dress, especially in the under garments department, is acceptable. I’m too honest to allow that.”

  “Yes… But throwing away all of my clothes and other belongings without discussing it with me is a bit harsh. Don’t cha think? I would never do that to you. I am not a huge fan of the ugly brown leather jacket you insist on wearing every time I see you. But I handle it fine and accept you for who you are because I wouldn’t change you. If you wanted to wear leopard print bikini briefs. I’d still support you and love you. Even if I think they’re ugly or a turn off for most women. It’s what you chose to do and I would support you in all things because I am your best friend. That’s what I am supposed to do. Just like holding your hand through two very screwed up marriages. To two women I never liked. But I supported you because that’s what I do,” I finish and tears are pricking my eyes. If I blink they will escape. And they do.

  “I know I was harsh. I get that. But you have to see it from my view.”

  “And what’s that?” I put my hand on my hip. My temperature is rising.

  “You’re an extremely beautiful woman. And I mean extremely. You always have been. I know you don’t see it when you look in the mirror because I know you so well. But I know that’s what men see when they look at you. I’m harsh about the clothes because you wear stuff to cover your beauty and not enhance it. I hate that. I always have. I’ve went how many years dealing with loose fitting dresses, granny panties that just keep getting worse? They used to be at least colorful Em, now they are plain white. And they used to be from Macy’s and now they come from a bag at Walmart. It all keeps getting worse. Makeup used to make you feel beautiful. Which you are without it. But now you never wear it except maybe lip gloss and mascara. Your skirts hang down to your knees or past and you’re tiny. I mean not super skinny because that’s just gross but you’re a sexy size six with a rather plump booty and breasts. Those are the beauty outside of you, Em. You hide it so nobody will try to meet and get to know you. You don’t want to be loved or desired. But you don’t know that. You’ve only been with one man in a relationship. There is so much more to be discovered. You have to believe that,” he explains sweetly and my heart is breaking in two with every word. Crumbling inside of me. It hurts to hear the truth. When people say the truth hurts, they mean it, because it’s like a knife stabbing you over and over.

  Stacy knows me so well. I knew for years he has been my best friend but I never realized he saw everything that I didn’t even speak. I don’t talk about men desiring me because I don’t want it. I’m afraid, so afraid. Most twenty-four year old women have experienced a lot in the bedroom by now. I haven’t. Most of them have been loved and cherished. Chris never did that for me. He said he loved me and I liked him a lot. But it wasn’t love, not even from him. If it was, he wouldn’t have cheated. Which looking back now I’m sure he did the entire time we were together.

  I gaze over and forget we are having this conversation with asshole Johnathan in the room. But hey, it’s not like it matters. He’s already heard the panty story. So most of the cat’s already out of the bag.

  “You think I’m beautiful Stacy because you’re biased. But I’m not your type. So my beautiful to you is like a sisters. I think my mom’s beautiful because she’s my mom. But is she gorgeous? No. But she is to me because she is my mom and I know her inside and out. I understand the clothes because you know what, you’re right. I don’t feel sexy. I don’t want to. You think it’s easy having one partner in my entire life and that same man cheats on me? That is not going to open me up willingly to others. I’m not a groupie whore who wears short skirts and low cut tops. Do I have the assets? Yes, I know I have a big butt and huge boobs for my size.”

  He turns and watches me talk and I pivot so I can see both men at the same time. Johnathan’s face is nearly priceless. Yep, he knows my secrets. Might as well find them out now. I’ll be dealing with him for a long time if Stacy keeps me around.

  “So now you know Johnathan. I guess that’ll give you more shit to torment me about. Sorry I don’t want to get fucked and used like the whores you grace your bed with. I’m fucked up in other ways, I suppose. So yeah I’ve been cheated on by the only man I have ever slept with,” I express, holding my head high. I can’t be a weakling around him. I have to try and be strong. Even though inside I just want to cry and have Stacy hold me and tell me everything’s going to be alright. And he’d do that too.

  He holds his hands up, surrendering defeat. “I promise, Short Stack… er…um…Emily. I won’t let anything you discuss leave this room. I maybe an asshole but I’m not that big of one. And I think whoever the dick is that cheated on you is obviously an idiot.”

  “Thanks Johnathan.” I smile at him. It looks sad I’m sure, but it’s the best I can conjure up now.

  “Eh…. Hem... Best friend over here not done talking,” Stacy chimes in rather sarcastically, pointing his fingers animatedly at himself. I giggle and then Johnathan joins in and the whole room breaks out into full on laughter. Man, it feels good to laugh after such an emotional day and it’s just past dinnertime.

  Chapter Six

  The rest of last night I spent with Stacy eating a butt load of room service in my suite. Which turns out is even nicer than his room. Yah me! Not sure how I lucked out and he didn’t. Not that it matters anyhow. Johnathan left shortly after the little in room convo and never did talk to me about what he came to discuss. I think I scared him off with the whole ‘Yep, I’ve only have one sex partner’ thing.

  Shit, fifty-years-ago tons of people could say by the time they died they’ve only had a few partners. Nowadays, in the group of people I personally know, fifteen seems to be the going number and most of my friends are less than forty years old. So they have plenty of years left to rack up their bed notches. My roommate Joe I know has slept with at least twelve women and Stacy I couldn’t even guess and neither can he. I know because I stupidly asked once. I know all the band members are male whores or have been one time or another. Even sweet and sexy Keith.

  I woke up early, thanks to the alarm clock that Stacy set without my knowledge. Gotta love him. The band is playing tonight at an indoor concert hall. Air-conditioning sounds so wonderful, especially being in Arizona in the middle of the summer. And here I thought Vegas was bad. Silly me.

  Now I’m stand
ing in a large Macy’s department store that’s attached to a two-story mall with my best friend and Johnathan, the band’s lead singer. Why in the world they both deemed it necessary to tag along to find clothes and underwear shop is beyond me. Men and shopping don’t usually mix and I know Stacy hates to shop. At least for normal clothes. Lingerie on the other hand I’m sure he could do all-day long as long as his leggy blondes were the ones modeling for him.

  We were getting ready to leave with James the bodyguard when Johnathan slipped into the back of the tinted Mercedes with us incognito. Not that that’s going to do much good. Fans knowing he’s in town, has sleeves of visible tattoos and stands as tall as a giant and almost as wide as one. He stands out in a crowd. And that’s putting it mildly. But ever since the whole I’m-not-a-whore reveal he’s been super cool. Maybe too cool. Or maybe he’s coming down off of something like alcohol, drugs or maybe sex. Or possibly a combo of them. Not that it matters one-way or another to me. As long as he keeps his womanizing ways to himself, I’m great.

  I slip into a dressing room my arms are piled full of clothes I’d probably never think to try on. But thanks to Stacy and some from Johnathan I have been forced to try on a plethora of colorful items including miniskirts, short booty shorts and low cut tops. Not dropping low cut but too low for my standards.

  I try on the entire lot and only decide on keeping six items. I refused to even show the men. I hate doing that. When you go shopping who cares what others think? It’s about how the clothes make you look and feel right. And to me those six items look decent. Plus they will keep Stacy happy because they mesh with the whole rock star theme I’ve got going. Do I like it? No. But will I do it? Yes. I want to keep my job and most of all I want to keep my best friend from hating me or his job because I look like an accountant. Guess it’s a good thing I have tattoos that should help authenticate the style I’m going for. Stacy has no tattoos. He’s a pretty boy who hates needles. Yet, it’s important for me to look the part. I think I should seriously consider pressing the need for him to get a visual tattoo. Gotta look the part and all. And rocking alongside the number one band in the world is a large pair of shoes to fill.

  “Emily!” I hear Stacy yell into the women’s dressing room. “Emily!”

  “What?!” I call, pulling off the last stitch of clothes before wearing the only other dress I have left. The tight black one that should be meant for cocktail hour instead of midmorning shopping. At least Stacy was nice enough to buy me some hot pink Welcome to Tucson undies in souvenir shop close to our hotel so I didn’t have to go commando today.

  “I need to send Johnathan in there with you,” he whispers outside my dressing room door. I guess he came in without being invited. I’m alone, so it’s not a big deal.

  “Why?”

  “There’s like ten people who’ve noticed him. I think. I need to get him out of the line of sight before they confirm it and we have a massive mob to contain. Twitter’s a bitch. I’ve already spoken to Macy’s before we got here to let them know we were coming. But I don’t think two measly security guards can handle a mob of horny women.”

  I sigh loudly so Stacy knows I’m so not on board with this plan. He’s the manager so I leave it go. “Fine,” I slump even though I know he can’t see me.

  “Yo Jay come.” I hear him say. “Em, you gotta open up and let him in with you.”

  I unlock the dressing room door and move to the side to allow the giant to join me. Not quite sure how I can fit into a space this small with him but I guess we have no choice but to manage. I wish they had a handicap dressing room nearby but they don’t.

  He slides in beside me and shuts the door and locks it. God we are close, really close together. My breasts are brushing against his stomach close.

  “Sorry,” he whispers rather sweetly, looking directly into my eyes and not at my breasts that are conveniently brushing up against him from time to time.

  “It’s okay.” I smile and let out a nervous laugh. And for once I mean it. I kind of feel bad for the guy. Can’t even go out in public without getting mobbed. That’s a pretty shitty existence even with the fame. Not to be able to walk down to a coffee shop without having someone notice and ask for an autograph or picture, or worse.

  We stand staring into each other’s eyes. I can stop looking into his and I think he feels the same. Man is it getting hot in here or what? My hands are clammy. I wipe them on my black dress.

  “Hey Em?” I hear Stacy say from right outside the dressing room door.

  “Yeah?”

  “Two things. One- Don’t panic there is a group of people searching the store for Johnathan. But don’t you worry I have it covered. And two- I can’t stand around here twiddling my thumbs it’s boring and rather obvious. And we can’t leave until you have clothes. So hand over the ones you have decided to keep and I’ll bring some in for you to try on.”

  “Um…. That’s not possible, Stace.”

  “What? Why?” he whispers.

  “Because it’s cramped in here. Tell me why he doesn’t go in the bathroom to hide or in another stall?”

  “He has to stay in there with you. For one, the bathroom is too accessible and two if he goes into another dressing room and a person comes in and knocks he can’t very well talk can he? But if they knock on your door you can and they’ll be none the wiser.”

  I’d hate to admit it but he’s got a good point. This is the only real way without making a giant scene that will be posted to the internet along with me punching Johnathan in the nose. Which of course hit the news big time, even on fox. A few pictures were captured via cell phones and tons of captions about it being a lover’s quarrel or a one-night stand gone awry. Nothing about the real truth that he was an asshole and I socked him a good one for it.

  “Hey Jay, you good?” Stacy asks.

  “Yep,” he lowly mutters.

  I can feel my back starting to get warm. I will never look at dressing room stalls the same again. It’s hard not to stare at a six-five giant wearing a plain white t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts, a blue bandana on his head and aviators hanging into the top of his shirt. Not very good on the incognito part but bonus points on the sexiness. The bandana is hot on him.

  “What are you staring at?” he raises an eyebrow playfully and a small naughty smile creeps out of the corners of his big juicy lips.

  “Oh stop. You already know you’re hot. Women tell you that all the time.” I blush. I don’t mean to. But I can’t help it. It’s hot and we have been pinned together for too long. What has it been, eight hours? Well probably ten minutes but it feels like way longer.

  “Yes, but you never tell me that,” he whispers. His voice dark and sexy. Only a few words, I don’t know why, but I get instantly warm in my belly and my toes curl. I force myself to close my eyes and shake my head to clear it.

  “Wh…” my voice cracks so I clear my throat. “Why does it matter what I think?” I finally make out. How freaking embarrassing.

  “Because you’re my Short Stack,” he responds, like it’s no big deal.

  What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m his Short Stack? Is that a good thing? It doesn’t sound bad. But god, he is so infuriating most of the time. Why can’t he just say what he means like usual?

  “What’s that mean?” Fine, I let it out and asked. I have to know.

  “Hey Em, I have some panties and stuff out here I selected for you. I’m gonna toss them over. Take a look and pick what you want to keep and what you don’t, leave on the floor,” Stacy says from the other side of the door. Talk about bad timing and I sure as hell don’t want to be picking out panties in front of the hottest rock star in the world. According to Rolling Stone and People magazines, that is.

  “Fine,” I hiss under my breath, frustrated.

  Johnathan reaches over the top of the dressing room wall and snatches the giant stack of undergarments from Stacy. Holy shit! Could this be any weirder? Johnathan gives me this look, it’s so naughty and seduct
ive but sweet at the same time. God, he’s gorgeous. No wonder women drop their panties for him all the time. And I am standing here letting him pick them out with me. I am sure a lot of females would pay good money for this close encounter. I’d just pay good money to get out of it.

  One-by-one, he hands me a pair-by-pair. And one-by-one my face gets redder and redder. Talk about humiliating!

  “I’ve taken off a lot of women’s panties but I’ve never bought a pair,” he winks at me.

  I think I just came in my panties. Oh wait, no I didn’t but I’m wet as hell. Jesus this is not good. I am supposed to loathe this man. He is a womanizing dick wad. I’m not supposed to want to fuck him in a dressing room of a Macy’s, but I do. I inhale deeply to calm my nerves and wouldn’t ya know it I breathe him in even more. Shit! It’s bad enough I get a whiff of his delectable mind fucking panty dropping scent. But I am a stupid ass and just inhaled a bunch of it. I’m on a serious Johnathan lead singer of Stricken high. I’m in so much trouble.

  My mouth is dry. It feels like I drank a bottle of sand.

  “I guess there’s a first time for everything,” I joke.

  It’s not a good one but it’s all I’ve got. I have to get out of this damn dressing room. I can’t take it anymore. My clit is throbbing to be touched, my hands are clammy, my mouth is dry, and my breasts ache to be played with. No man has ever made me want him this bad before. Mr. Sex On A Stick doesn’t even have to try. It’s one damn glance with those beautiful green eyes and I’m done for. What the hell is wrong with me? Seriously.

  “Stacy?” My voice cracks. “Stacy,” I call again, swallowing hard, looking up into the giant’s big green eyes. But Stacy’s nowhere to be found.

  Johnathan’s been leaning against the wall the entire time; well, as much as he can anyhow. But I can feel him shifting. Any minute and I might just drop to my knees and take him into my mouth. Oh god, I’ve never even wanted to do that before. I am sick in this head. This is so wrong. This is what he wants. Did he want this to happen? Of course he did. He’s a damn male whore, rock and roll singer. Duh Emily. Get a grip and suck it up. It’ll be over soon.