“This ought to be fun.” Sam rinsed her hands in the sink, and she didn’t say anything more until Fallon gave her a perplexed glance. “Fun, since Jase likes walking over people too.”
“Fancy house you have here.” Stan Morgan had his hands shoved in his pockets and investigated the house with a judgmental eye.
“Thanks.” Jase hoped that was a compliment, but after the cool reception he’d received from Fallon’s father, he was uncertain how to interpret the statement.
“How many rooms does it have?” Irene Morgan gawked like she stood in the middle of the White House instead of the Collins/Fangor residence.
He’d pegged Fallon’s mom as reserved, but willing to make a verdict about him after she’d met him and weighed his merits.
Faith had obviously been excited to see her grandparents when they entered the house, so he reluctantly passed her off to them.
“Ten bedrooms,” Sam told Ms. Morgan.
“I can’t imagine cleaning it.”
Fallon gave a little smile at her mother’s comment. “They have maids, Mom.”
“You look really good. Better than you have in a while.” Her mom hugged her, and Jase preened at Irene noting how well he’d taken care of Fallon since she’d moved in a little over a week ago. He couldn’t hear what Fallon murmured to her mother, but they retired to the dining room soon after.
Thank God for his sister during dinner because she kept a running monologue of conversation. They discussed the weather, the terrible traffic conditions on Sunset Avenue thanks to road construction, the stock market, the president’s health plan, and other current international affairs—which he wasn’t up-to-date on.
Midway through the meal Fallon sent him a warm smile.
“What do you like best about being a rock star?” Fallon’s mom asked.
In the past, if a reporter asked him that, he’d have said something crude like ‘all the free pussy’. He caught Sam’s diminutive headshake and Fang’s helpful guidance in the form of a swipe of his thumb across his throat. Seriously, he knew how to answer the correct way. He wasn’t that big of a fuck-up.
He swallowed his bite of ham and peered at Irene. “Too many things to enumerate.” His sister’s eyebrows jerked upward in surprise. “Mostly, I just like crafting music and giving people pleasure.” He glanced at Fallon, hoping she caught his double meaning.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief.
Fang gave him a subtle thumbs up with the hand holding his fork. “It’s all about the fans.”
A delightful blush colored Fallon’s cheeks, and Jase gave him a mental fist bump, as he nodded his agreement to Fang’s comment.
“That’s sweet,” Fallon’s mom said. “I listened to some of your music after we found out you were Faith’s father.”
“No offense,” Mr. Morgan piped in. “But that yowling isn’t music, boys.”
Fang chuckled, and Jase grinned as they glanced at one another with knowing looks. They’d heard that one before, and worse things too. To create a business out of music invited censure. Thick skins were part of the entertainment industry. You learned how to deal with criticism or you wouldn’t make it in the business.
Hot Wired was a rock band with an original sound, and their fans came in all age brackets. If Fallon’s dad thought their music sounded like yowling, then that was his opinion.
“No offense taken, sir, but our pocketbooks would say fans respectfully disagree.” Fang elevated his beer bottle as if toasting the older male. “At least we agree on beer.”
Stan inclined his head. “I admit, I don’t understand the music industry. Seems cutthroat to me.”
“It is.” Fang sat back in his seat, eyeballing Stan.
“I also think good-looking guys would bring a bigger female fan base.”
“Meaning?” His buddy shot Jase a guarded glance.
“You’re good-looking guys.” Stan placed his napkin on his plate. “That can’t hurt sales figures. I watched a few concert clips on ViewTube. By all the girls’ screaming, they obviously like your shows.”
“Dad!” Fallon hissed at him. Her father’s gaze flickered to her and she mouthed, “stop it” at him.
“It’s okay.” Jase winked at her to let her know he could handle her dad. “We have an equal and diverse fan base, sir. Even if we never produced another album, I have enough money to take care of my girls for the rest of their lives.”
Stan Morgan surveyed him for a long moment. He could feel the tension from the father figure. Finally, the elder male said, “Your girls?”
He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward a little. “Yes, sir. My girls.”
“I liked some of the slower songs,” Irene confessed, quickly touching Stan’s arm. Even though Stan glanced at her, his stiffness didn’t evaporate.
“Thanks, Mrs. Morgan.” Jase pegged Fallon’s mom as a gentle soul, and a mediator.
“Irene.” A tentative smile tugged at her lips. “You’re Faith’s daddy. Doesn’t feel right you calling me Mrs. Morgan.”
“Yes, ma’am, Irene it is.”
“Boy,” Stan brought the conversation full circle. “My girls are not yours. You have to earn that right.”
“Dad.” Fallon’s tone admonished her parent. “Cut it out. You’re embarrassing me.”
Jase would’ve told Fallon it was okay, he had her dad covered, but Stan kept talking. “This has to be said, Fallon. Donating sperm doesn’t make a man a daddy. Being part of Faith’s life is instrumental in being a daddy.”
“You can’t blame him for not being around when he didn’t know.” Fallon directed an apologetic grimace at Jase.
“Throwing cash around doesn’t make a man a daddy either, Fallon. Or give him the right to buy you.”
“Dad!” At Jase she mouthed, “I’m so sorry.”
Sam cleared her throat. “Anyone want pecan pie or red velvet cake? Coffee? Or an after dinner drink?”
Silence greeted her offer.
Fang choked on an ironic sounding laugh. “I think adding liquor to this fire would be a bad mix, brat.”
Fang lumbered into the game room later that evening.
In the middle of a game, Jase glanced up, gave an informal grunt as a ‘hi’, and went right back to his video game. Combating terrorists calmed his rioting emotions after meeting Fallon’s parents hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped.
His buddy took the cushion next to him on the sofa, kicked off his shoes, yanked off his socks, and propped his feet on the coffee table.
“Sniper to your left.”
“I got him.” As he spoke, Jase took out the video-terrorist, who he pretended was Fallon’s dad. “What’d you and Sam do tonight after y’all bailed on dinner?”
“Fuck.”
Blindsided by that comment, he glared at his band’s front man. “Goddamn it, Fang.”
His friend chuckled as Jase’s game-man took a hit between the eyes. Fake blood splattered all over the screen.
“You’re an ass.”
“You know I’m shitting you.” Fang took a hard swallow of his beer. “Screwing with you is too easy.”
“That’s my sister. I hate it when you talk about her like that.” Knowing his best friend and sister were getting it on was one thing, talking about it another. He loved Fang like a brother, but the motherfucker had banged a hundred other girls with him. It was hard separating the perv he knew from the man he was with his sibling.
“How’d things go with Fallon’s mom and pop after we left?”
Heaving a sigh, Jase shut off the gaming console. “About the same. Strained. I’m pretty certain her dad would bash my head in for the enjoyment of it.”
“Castrations off the table, huh?”
“Nah…he just hasn’t thought of that yet.” Jase winced at the idea.
“Give it time, man, they’ll come around. At least Sam likes Fallon, that could be bad with her living with us if Sam didn’t like her.”
That was a blessing. “Do you like her?”
“Fuck you, dude. I don’t dish it out that much.”
His buddy snorted, calling bullshit. “You like getting your way, and you don’t mind steamrolling anyone in your path to get it. It’s the way you are, no sense in boohooing about it.”
Jase responded with a middle-finger salute. But he did like getting his way and was rather accustomed to it. He couldn’t argue with that. And neither could Fang because he had the same affliction. They were both spoiled.
Another swig of his beer and Fang crossed his ankle over the other. “But that woman of yours….” Fang shook his head, respect widening his eyes. Jase liked that his friend recognized Fallon was his, especially since her dad had challenged his claim. “I ain’t never seen anyone that little go toe-to-toe with you or Tab. Neither of you scare her, not even a little. You think it’s the red hair?”
Jase laughed. “I think Tab just gets on her nerves like she does everyone, and she doesn’t like me much.”
“She likes you enough.”
“I ain’t talking about my fucking skills.” Jase planted his elbows on his legs and groaned into his hands.
“Damn, Jase, that’s fast. I’d never guessed you were already fucking her again.”
He peeked through his fingers in time to see his buddy toast him with his bottle, before draining the remainder of the contents. Sliding his hands up, he threaded his fingers through his hair, detaining the locks at the base of his neck. “I’m not.” At Fang’s perplexed expression, Jase explained. “I’m not fucking her.” Yet. He wanted to drum his tongue against her clit so bad the desire had become a constant throb in his pants.
His best friend gauged him a long moment. “It’s not from lack of trying.”
“You don’t know shit, Fang. I could’ve had her today.” She’d been naked and wet. And he’d been so fucking hard he hurt. Currently he suffered from the worst case of blue balls. “I let her know the only way she gets to sample my dick is if she’s my girl…for real. No fake bullshit for the press again like you and Sam.”
Of course they all knew how that fake shit for the press had turned out with Fang and Sam. Happily ever after if his sister and best friend were to be believed.
Fang blinked. “Pardon?”
“You heard me right. I want her, maybe more than I did the first time.”
“When’d you turn into a chick? Next you’ll be calling a pussy a vajayjay.”
Jase laughed at the ‘vajayjay’ crap. “You know better than that, and pussy ain’t no joking matter. If acting like a chick gets me what I want….” He shrugged.
“You’re gonna break her goddamn heart.” Fang leveled him with a disappointed frown. “She’s the mother of your child, Jase. Show her some respect.”
“Now who sounds like a chick?” Jase pushed off the sofa and went to the wet bar. Dispensing with the glass, he swigged the tequila straight from the bottle. “You know I wanted more from her since our first time.”
“That was before you knew about the kid.” Fang joined him, manufacturing a ‘give me’ motion with his hand, and Jase handed over the bottle of liquor. “Do you want her for the right or wrong reasons?”
“I don’t know.” Jase rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “If I knew what was right or wrong maybe I could give you a straight answer.”
“Say she becomes your girlfriend. It’s all great in the bubble, but the minute we hit the road are you gonna be able to remain monogamous?”
Jase jerked as if his friend punched him. “I hate that fucking word.”
“So did I, before Sam.”
“Pussy whipped.” His slur was spoken without any real conviction. Being faithful implied limitations and self-control. He wasn’t big on either concept. He’d never had to commit to one woman, not even his last girlfriend Brittany. None of his former girlfriends had expected or encouraged it, and many had even participated in threesomes with him.
“If pussy whipped is code for I fuck only Sam, then fuck yes, and I’m proud.”
“Fallon might not expect monogamy.” The idea of fucking one woman for the rest of his life gave him the shakes.
Fang grunted and passed the liquor bottle back. “Hate to break it to you, dickhead, but even I know she’s not the sharing kinda girl.”
“Who’s not the sharing kind of girl?” Fallon stood in the doorway wearing yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and her face was scrubbed clean of makeup.
Fuck me, she’s hot.
“Your ears burning?” Fang swiped his bangs out of his eyes.
“Should they be?”
“Yes.” Jase gave point-blank honesty while Fang shook his head. What a chick thing to do trying to hide their conversation from her. “Fang was being a good girlfriend and giving unsolicited advice.”
“Asshole,” Fang shot back. “Don’t come bitching to me when you fuck up.”
She stared between them as if she contemplated what to say.
“This is my cue to exit stage right.” Fang halted when he neared Fallon. “Can I go take a peek at Faith?”
“Of course.” The moment Fang departed, she asked, “What were you discussing about me?”
“Fang’s theory is I don’t know how to commit to one woman and I’ll break your heart. Drink?” He elevated the bottle. She shook her head, and he poured her one anyway.
“Do you think you can be faithful to one woman?” She took a seat, disappointing him when she selected an ottoman because it offered him no seating beside her.
Two snifters in his hand, he strode away from the wet bar. “Don’t know. Never tried it.” He offered her the glass. “Humor me. Drink it or don’t, just take it.”
Their fingers touched when she grasped the glass. He held on.
She looked up.
The moment their eyes met, he said, “What do you think, darlin’? Can I be faithful?”
As she shrugged, he released the glass into her custody.
“Your fidelity isn’t my problem either way.”
I don’t like the sound of that. If he planned to get what he wanted, then his commitment would be very much her concern.
Perching on the arm of the sofa, he faced her. “How you figure that?”
“I’m not your girlfriend, Jase.” The coolness of her demeanor seemed fabricated as she scooted forward to place the liquor on the coffee table. “Quit looking at me like that. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Like what?” No way she knew he’d already stripped her in his head and buried his tongue into her pussy. He had a better poker face than that.
She concentrated on running her palms across her thighs. “Like you’re imagining what it’d be like to fuck me.”
Maybe his poker face needed some tweaking. “I already know what that’s like, I’m imagining doing it over and over again.”
“Don’t, Jase, you’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”
He winced. That sucked to hear, even if he didn’t believe her.
“I’m not going to be your girlfriend or work for you like you suggested to my dad when he asked about me losing my job.”
“It’s a practical solution to your problem.”
“You’re crazy.”
Crazy about her, hell yeah.
“Do you have any idea how my dad thinks I’m going to be working for you?”
Jase shrugged, and she looked like she wanted to throw something at him. “I don’t control your dad’s thoughts. Like I said before, I don’t pay for pussy, so your dad would be wrong.”
“So you did realize what he thought.” She blew out a loud breath. “I repeat myself…” She clenched her teeth and sighed. “I’m not working for you. I’m not going to be your girlfriend.”
“Wanna bet?”
She shot to her feet. Defiance blazed from the hard jut of her chin and her narrow-eyed glare. “I’m
not a wager, Jase, or a convenience. And until you, I wasn’t easy either.”
A tiny squeak of surprise surfaced from her when he snatched her against him. Thanks to his seat on the arm of the chair, their position placed them almost eye-to-eye. The hand holding his glass circled her waist, while the other caught her nape. He moved in fast to kiss her, but stopped just as their lips would’ve crashed together. Her breath hitched, he wagered in anticipation.
Keeping his eyes open, he watched her. She offered no opposition as her eyelids slid shut. Their breaths fornicated as he grazed his lips across hers. Her breath went into overdrive, erratic puffs of air that beat against his face.
His cock high-fived his zipper. Damn dick was always too trigger-happy.
He spoke against her lips to heighten the sensual spell. Whoever said he couldn’t be a romantic was an ignorant cocksucker. “I’ve not even kissed you, and you’re already willing to submit to me. That’s girlfriend material, darlin’.”
Her eyes snapped open. A host of emotions scampered across her features, none he could identify except one. Outrage. The emotion darkened her green eyes.
“Not to piss you off further”—he tightened his grip on her when she would’ve wrenched away—“but what type of job do you think women like you get?”
“Women. Like. Me? I’m not a whore, Jason Collins!”
“Didn’t call you one.” Only a deaf person could’ve mistaken her anger for something else. “I’ve known a few professionally and before you start jumping to conclusions, I remind you I don’t pay for pussy.” Madams and their girls were often invited to many Hollywood parties. Some celebrities served up all sorts of vices to their guests. “Trust me when I tell you you’re nothing like a whore. They’re good for one thing. Sex without complications.”
What man didn’t enjoy uncomplicated sex?
“Kind of like your groupies.”
He ran his fingers through her hair, disregarding her brittle stiffness. “A lot like my groupies, but still not whores.”
“Too bad this groupie came with complications.”
“Hmm…” He considered the rise and fall of her breasts. “We sure see things differently. I haven’t thought of you as complicated once. Am I complicated?”
Lost in the Beat Page 12