Burnt Sugar (ACE Series Book 2)

by Layne Harper

  I’m silent as I contemplate if I should yell at him and verbally kick him in the balls or keep my mouth shut. I decide to pick the middle ground. “I must say I’m disappointed that you aren’t listening to the doctor or the doctor’s associate. I wish you would . . . I mean, look, Aaron, I never want you to think that I’m interfering in your career. You were a huge success before me, and you’ll continue to be one with or without me. I just care enough about you to ask you to follow what the doctor orders.”

  “And I love you for that.” He swallows. “I’m trying, MK. Balance is not something I’ve ever been known to find in my life. This is really fucking hard right now. I want to be with you. I want to play my guitar. I want to make my fans happy. I’ve got this contract for Vegas sitting in front of me, and I don’t know what I want to do. Fuck, I just need the world to stop.”

  Resting my laptop on the coffee table, I pull my legs to my chest. “I know, Aaron. I can’t imagine the stress you’re under. I don’t want to add to it. I’m your soft place to land. I’m sorry I even said anything.” And I am. I can’t imagine the pressure he has on his shoulders. He doesn’t need another person adding a boulder to his eighteen-wheeler.

  “And I’m your soft place to land. I talked to Bella. She said that you’re not eating and working yourself until you’re sick. You’ve got to slow down, sweetheart.”

  I should be furious that he called Bella, but I’m not. It’s part of his stalkerish tendencies. “I’m trying. I think everything will be better once the grand opening is over.” I change the subject because just the mention of No Pink Caddy makes my stomach cramp. “What’s going on with the Vegas deal?”

  “I think I’m signing the contract.” He drops the news and lets it fester for a moment.

  “Okay. Do I say congratulations?”

  “Fuck, MK.” Aaron sounds frustrated. “I don’t know. The money is hard to say no to.”

  I try biting my tongue but it doesn’t work. “This is probably going to come out wrong, but I’m just going to say it. How much money do you really need?”

  He’s quiet for some time, to the point that I check and make sure we haven’t been disconnected. “You’re right. I guess it’s about staying relevant.” He pauses, and then begins again. “I took time off when Jude was in high school, and then I dealt with the legal shit. Right now, it feels pretty damn good to be the topic of conversations and having casinos throw cash in my direction. I slipped off the radar, and it was a nice break, but I like that the fans still care enough to pay to watch me play.”

  This is the most honest conversation we’ve ever had about his career, and I’m honored he’s discussing it with me. As much as I like to be the object of his sexting, I like being his partner even more. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job in whatever you choose. Look, we’ll figure it out. You do own your own plane after all.” Swallowing, I ask, “What about your hand?”

  “I texted Grace after you asked that question the other day. She says I have an insurance policy on my body parts.”

  That makes me giggle. “How much is your penis valued at?”

  “Fucking trillions, laughing girl,” he says with humor in his voice. “Seriously, though, Grace has a policy on my vocal cords and my right hand. If for some reason, I can’t use one or either, then the company pays me lots of cash.”

  I straighten. “That’s bizarre. But I find most of your life to be bizarre. Okay. So, the insurance policy would cover things if you can’t fix your hand.”

  “Shut up, MK. Don’t even let those words exit your mouth.” He seems distracted and then says, “Hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry to do this, but Billy just came in. They want me to play poker. I need to give them the heads up about the casino deal.”

  “Good luck. Have a good night.”

  “You too, sweetheart.”

  Resting my phone on my laptop, I stand and move to my new couch. I decide I could sleep here. It’s the perfect combination of soft and firm and fluffy and comfy. Aaron did well. Instead I grab my laptop and write one last Tweet promoting the invite to my grand opening, and then drag myself to bed.

  Bella’s sleeping pill keeps me trapped inside of my nightmares. Instead of their focus being around my store, they’re about Aaron. In one dream, his hand is so painful that he severs it from his body with a sword. It’s so terrible that I try my hardest to wake myself up so I can be reassured that it was just a dream, but I can’t. The drug traps me and pulls be back into the horror. I wake up early Saturday morning twisted in sweat-soaked sheets with tears streaming down my face. There’s not a prayer that I’m going back to sleep, so I get up, throw on whatever I can find to wear and head back to No Pink Caddy.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Aaron

  October

  Music Times @MusicTimesMagazine

  It’s all but a done deal. @RealJohnnyKnite will take up residency at @CelestialPalaceCasino. Tickets go on sale April 1.

  Rock Star Groupies @RockStarGroupies

  OMG! @RealJohnnyKnite is back with HER @NoPinkCaddy. Really? What does she have? #MagicPussy

  “I need you to take the ball and squeeze it.” Calvin hands me a neon-yellow, stress ball made of plastic and covered with soft spikes. I grasp it with my right hand and tighten my grip around it.

  “How does that feel?” he asks.

  “Normal. Fine. No big deal,” I reply as I look out the window. We’re in Oklahoma City for a show.

  “Let’s see if you can do that fifteen times.”

  I repeat the motion with ease.

  “You’re atypical.” He studies my hand motion as he shakes his head. “You have pain associated with musician’s dystonia. That doesn’t always happen. Your finger posturing is also painful. Hmmm . . .” He grabs my hand and starts at the tip of my middle finger, pressing on the joints.

  “I’ve already had to get another round of injections, and it had only been eleven days. We play New Orleans on Friday, and it’s got to be a good show.” I want to actually play my guitar not just stand on the stage with it hanging around my neck. My girl has never been to an ACE concert. I want to put a show on that makes her proud.

  Calvin is who Doctor Odom sent to replace him. I like him. He’s tall and lanky. Turns out he went to Vanderbilt on a basketball scholarship and used his free education to become a physician assistant. He thought it was great that Jude was a sophomore there and told me about some cool places to check out if Jude ever lets me visit.

  “Hold your guitar for me,” he orders.

  I stand and walk to the case, which is leaning against the wall under the windows in my hotel room. Flipping the locks, I rescue my beloved instrument from its confines. Instead of slipping the strap over my head, I carry it, handing it to Calvin.

  He shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to hold it. I want you to sit on the couch and play it with a latex glove.” His bag of magic tricks opens, and he hands me what looks like a clear, thick, plastic glove that a doctor or nurse would wear when examining a patient. “Put this on your right hand.”

  Doing what he asks, I roll the glove on almost as if it’s a condom.

  “Get comfortable. You want to move to the couch?”

  We walk from the dining table in my suite and move to the living area. I lean back into the blue and white striped sofa, and Calvin sits across from me with a creased forehead.

  “I want you to play something simple,” he instructs.

  The first thing that pops in my head is The Wheels on the Bus.

  He smiles at my song choice. “I did say simple. Any discomfort at all?”

  “No. I don’t feel the need to stretch my hand. I’m able to hit the notes,” I explain as I continue finger picking. “I will say that it feels odd playing without completely feeling the strings.”

  “That’s the point. We’re changing the touch sensation to hopefully trick your brain.” He scoots to the front of the seat cushion. “Play something a bit more complex.”

  I switch to
Pink Cadillac. Once again, I find it odd to not completely be able to feel my fingers on the strings, but I can play it well enough. I’d have to practice a lot wearing this thing to ever play live, but I think I could eventually get comfortable with it.

  “And how’s that?” Calvin asks.

  “It’s not perfect, but I’m playing it with no pain, and the notes I’m missing are because of the glove not my finger posturing.”

  He’s silent for a bit as I enjoy doing what I love most: just playing my guitar. It’s like being reconnected with a friend I haven’t seen in forever, but we must get caught up behind a thick piece of glass that makes it difficult to speak to one another.

  Calvin leans back in the chair and asks, “What’s the most complex piece you know how to play? It doesn’t have to be performed well like you’d play it in concert just good enough that you could try out the glove.”

  “That’s easy. Dream Theater’s The Dance of Eternity.” I laugh. “It kicks my ass all over the place, but every once in a while, when I’m feeling brave, I give it a try.”

  I can’t play it. My fingers don’t move fast enough that it’s even recognizable, but I’m able to attempt to play it without pain and my fingers behave. About half way through, I give up and rest the guitar on the cushion next to me.

  “You want to try playing with a glove tonight? Maybe keep your guitar not mic’ed. You can play your parts and see how the combination of the glove and injections do during a performance.”

  I stare at the glove feeling a combination of disdain and relief. “I don’t know. Guitar is played by touch, and this glove is awkward, but at least I guess I could strum if I wanted to so I don’t feel as stupid out there.”

  “Just give it a try.”

  ***

  “Good night, sweetheart,” I tell my girl. We take the stage in ten minutes. This has become my pre-show ritual. I must talk to MK. We’ve been on the phone for an hour. Her sharing with me the candidates that she interviewed for employment at the store, dealing with merchandising screw-ups, and laughing at her and Bella’s antics. She’s my calm. I also haven’t been drinking as much. No bottle of whiskey waits for me after the show any longer. That’s her positive influence. I want to be a better man. Even though we aren’t mentioning the horrible line to each other, I still think that, right now, I’m being the kind of guy that she deserves. It’s the best feeling in the world.

  But I’m also worried about her. I called Bella once. I was actually calling to get her to measure MK’s living room so I knew what size furniture to buy. When she shared with me just how stressed MK is, I got crazy and thought about flying to New Orleans to check on her. Grace talked me down. She reminded me of my responsibilities. I would never admit this to anyone, but I have a countdown clock on my phone telling me to the second when I’ll see her tomorrow morning.

  “Good night. Rock their faces off.” This is how she ends every call before a show.

  “Always.”

  The wardrobe girl, Jennifer, tucks the loose end of my belt into the loop. “You’ve got something for me to wear to MK’s grand opening?”

  “I’ve pulled three choices for you to look at after the show.” She picks a piece of lint off my shirt. The one I’m wearing tonight is a throwback to my first Poison concert.

  “You checked with her assistant to make sure we match and all that shit?”

  She smiles, and it’s one of those annoying you’re-so-cute-smiles. “Yes. I’ve coordinated with her assistant.”

  “Good.” I nod. I want to make sure that I don’t disappoint MK on her big night.

  Calvin hands me the latex glove to slip on. I’d like to think that the crowd won’t notice, but it’s evident that I’m wearing a condom on my hand. Grace and I’d discussed me making up a reason to share with the audience—something funny. Instead we just decided to ignore it.

  Sam slaps my back and says, “Hope it’s the magic bullet.”

  I told the band last night that I was going to do a stint at the casino in Vegas. We’ve done lots of separate stuff in the past, but this is the most high-profile. Like any family does, we fought it out and are stronger than ever before. I told them this would be like when I took off time for Jude. They’re free to do their own thing, but I hope that when I call again to record another album that I can count on them. That seemed to soften the blow. I also told Grace to make sure they each get a huge bonus when the tour is over. MK’s right. How much more money do I honestly need?

  When the band takes the stage, Grace whispers in my ear, “Make sure you can still hold a pen. We’re signing the Vegas deal after the show.” I’ve verbally committed, but tonight is the official ink to the paper.

  I salute her, beckon for my guitar, and when the curtain drops and the roar of the crowd combines with the hard driving beat of our first song, I take the stage ready to own their hearts and minds for the next two hours. Then I’m getting on a plane that will take me to my MK. I hope to own her heart and mind for much longer than that.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  MK

  October

  Music Times @MusicTimesMagazine

  @CelestialPalaceCasino has reportedly paid @RealJohnnyKnite a record amount for his residency.

  MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy

  All the lids to the cookie jars are chipped. Why, universe? Why? #MyPlateIsFull

  MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy

  Dear media, it’s rude to take up so much room on the sidewalk that my neighbors must walk in the street.

  MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy

  Dear media, it’s also rude to yell questions at me. Your momma should’ve taught you that you catch more flies with honey.

  Eric Anderson @BeerGuitar

  @RealJohnnyKnite what the hell was on your hand? #SoStrange

  I race down the stairs and open the gate with such enthusiasm that no one who knows me would believe that it’s five in the morning. He’s standing at my gate wearing a baseball cap over his shaggy hair, dressed in a white Lone Star Beer shirt, and a faded pair of jeans. I want to lick every inch of him.

  His smile is beautiful. White teeth glisten in the glow from the street lamp down the block. The press hasn’t arrived yet. I’m grateful we can have our reunion without their cameras capturing every moment.

  Throwing open the gate, I jump into his out stretched arms. “Welcome home,” I tell him as I kiss his neck.

  “Oh God, sweetheart,” he replies. His arms tighten around my back, and I feel lost in him.

  “Come inside,” I whisper into his ear meaning it just as dirty as it sounds.

  He lets me go. Bending down he picks up the ugly, blue duffle bag, and his guitar case. Wearing a devilish smirk, he says, “I plan to.”

  My face flushes, and I laugh at our little joke.

  As soon as my door shuts, I’m on him. Pushing him into the chair he purchased, I can’t wait the five extra seconds to do this on my comfortable bed. I pull my top over my head, tossing it on the floor and shove my breasts in his face like the needy hedonist that I am. He’s told me to play with my nipples, but I’m a poor substitute for his callused fingers, rough against my delicate, nerve-filled skin, and his filthy mouth.

  He cups each one and takes my right nipple into his mouth. “Seeing these and not being able to touch was fucking torture.”

  As his lips suction around the hard point, I groan, grasping his shoulders for support. My fingers remove his baseball cap, and I send it flying. I want to feel the soft strands of his hair on my fingertips. My nails scratch his scalp as he bites and sucks my nipple. Needing him more than oxygen, I reach between us and unbutton his jeans.

  He smirks while he grabs my hips. “You’re a bit desperate. What happened to foreplay?”

  Hair falls into my eyes as I rub my engorged clit against the roughness of the denim, feeling the warm, throbbing hardness I crave. “We’ve had two weeks of foreplay, phone sex, and never fully getting satisfied.” My hips dance on his cock as if it were inside of m
e, and I was bringing us both to my place of Bliss. “I need you, Aaron.” My body is so on fire that just the friction against his zipper causes my head to drop back and my eyes to roll so far back in my head that I swear I can read my own dirty thoughts.

  He grasps my back and pulls me to him as his mouth slams into mine. He pushes my thin shorts to the side. With his cocky smile, he states, “No underwear, Miss Landry. Such a naughty girl.” Two fingers fill me, and I see stars.

  “Fuck me, Aaron,” I beg.

  He picks me up and bends me over the arm of my couch. The delicious sound of his zipper, causes my hips to rise in eager anticipation of what’s about to happen.

  My shorts are pulled down, and I feel the sting of his hand against my bare cheek. It’s so unexpected that I yelp. He massages the burn as his hands grasp my hips. “Your ass is gorgeous, sweetheart.”

  He hits the other cheek as his cock pushes its way inside without pausing to let me expand to accommodate his size. I cry out in a pleasure pain that is so intense that I must stop myself from coming. His hand positions itself in between my shoulder blades as his other hand grasps my hip.

  He pulls back and slams inside again. I push against him, attempting to stand. Leaning forward, he whispers in my ear, “Relax, MK. Don’t fight me. I’m going to make you let go of all your stress.”

  Over and over again he drives inside, hitting me at my barrier. My erect, engorged nipples rub against the raw, natural linen of my couch causing such intense sensations that I gasp for air.

  His hand connects again with my ass cheek again, and I see stars. “It’s too much,” I plead. “I can’t take any more.” I try moving so that my breasts aren’t rubbing against the material. Some part of me needs relief, or I think I might pass out, but Aaron stops me and holds me in place.

  He hits the left cheek as he plows inside, and I come with such force that my knees give out. I conform to the shape of the arm of the couch.