by Amity Cross
Unbearable
The Unexpected Trilogy Companion #5
Nicole R. Taylor writing as
Amity Cross
Unbearable (Unexpected#5) by Amity Cross
Copyright © 2014 Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All song titles, song lyrics, products and band names mentioned in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.
Cover Design: © Nicole R. Taylor
Contents
One – Sasha
Two – Mick
Three – Sasha
Four – Mick
Five – Sasha
Six – Mick
Seven – Sasha
Eight – Mick
Nine – Sasha
Ten – Mick
Eleven – Sasha
Twelve – Mick
Thirteen – Sasha
Fourteen – Mick
Fifteen - Sasha
About Amity
Ask me why I keep on loving you when
it's clear that you don't feel the same
way for me. The problem is that as much
as I can't force you to love me, I can't
force myself to stop loving you.
Anonymous
Sasha
No one ever told me that dreams came with nightmares.
Los Angeles International Airport, or LAX, was my current waking terror. It was a pure, absolute, fucking terrifying example of human nature. Want to see all the assholes in the world being assholey? Stand in the arrivals hall for a few hours…then you've seen it all.
Glancing at the clock on my phone for the one-hundredth time in the past hour, only a minute had passed. I'd looked at the stupid fucking thing so many times the battery had dipped to fifteen percent. The thing was welded to my hand, which meant I was on the highway to the danger zone. I was the manager of the hot as fuck rock 'n' roll band, Affliction, and if I wasn't in contact twenty four seven, then I was in the shit. Sasha Montgomery, at your service. How do you like it? From behind or on your knees?
Seriously, what the fuck was I doing at LAX when I could've just sent a driver? Oh yeah, that's because the lead guitarist was a knob jockey who couldn't get from point A to point B without getting his dick trapped in something on the way. Like a fifteen year old, he needed a fucking chaperone and there was nobody I could trust but myself.
Mick Savage was sex personified. Tall, muscled, tattooed, talented with his fingers in more ways than playing a guitar, seriously swoon-worthy come fuck me eyes all wrapped up into one bad boy, smart-mouthed package. There was a reason anything with tits and a vagina wanted to rub against him. He'd just give his choice for the night a look and then you'd see the poor woman slinking through the hotel a few hours later, all teary and pissed that they'd been kicked out. Like they'd be the one that stuck. Nobody had ever stuck.
Mick was a total douche to women, but it didn't stop that thing inside me that fizzed and misfired in my brain every time I was around the guy. I'd had a crush on him ever since I started as Affliction's stage manger three and a half years ago. I didn't expect it, but who ever does? Sometimes these things grow over time, sometimes it's just bam and you're done. I was so fucking done.
I took the stage gig as a way to stick my foot in the preverbal door. I wanted to manage. Not the pissy shit I'd been doing, telling roadies and venue crew what to do…anyone with a pair could do that. I wanted to be the head honcho. I wanted to do the juicy stuff. I wanted to be the brains of the operation. Then one day, out of the blue, I got my chance.
On the last tour the previous manger, Dean Furlough, was fired for gambling with the life of Jake West. West was the front man and all round bad boy with addiction problems, typical rock star stuff. I'd been asleep when my door was almost beat down by Joe Fox, bass player and one of the only decent guys that seemed to be left in the business. They were in a tight spot and needed my help and I was more than willing to give it.
Seven months later and I was still managing them. Seven months and the label still hadn't told me to fuck off, but the band had been on hiatus for half that time. I got them through the media shit storm in London. I got them through a whole single release with zero notice and minimal experience. I was good. I had to keep going above and beyond and hopefully when the label bosses turned around, the decision would be an epic no-brainer. I'd sign the contract in less than a beat.
The only problem with that scenario was Mick Savage. Working on the sidelines, I could deal with his inability to see me as nothing but the help. I could deal with staving off my crippling crush on the guy with a bit of separation. It was fine when I had something to concentrate my frustrations on. Getting West through the months after Furlough's deception, helping him with his campaign to win over Blair...those were things I could sink my teeth into. Now, there was just regular old band business. Organizing recording time at the studio in LA. Liaising with the hotel and organizing security. Picking up the douche canoe of a lead guitarist from the airport. Now I had to have up close and personal time with him…every fucking day. I had to stand by and watch him look at every woman but me. I had to stand around and feel inadequate. In-fucking-visible.
He was just a guy. He was just a guy.
I tried to make it go away, this stupid crush, but it never did. To live my dream, I had to sacrifice my heart. I had to let it get stomped on every single day. I had to keep it a secret, or I'd just get tossed like the rest.
And most importantly, I had to stay in control.
Mick's flight had landed an hour ago and it definitely did not take that long to go through passport control. I wondered what poor girl would get chucked out this time.
When I finally set eyes on the jerk, just as I expected, he had his arm slung over the shoulders of a woman. Some pretty thing with long stick straight hair, artificial tits, a caked layer of makeup, an almost-orange tan and all I could think about was the Oompa Loompas from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I rolled my eyes as he spotted me in the crowd and he dropped his arm from the woman's shoulders and came to meet me.
"Montgomery," he said. "I get a personalized chauffeur service now?"
The Oompa Loompa looked me up and down with a sneer and once she seemed satisfied I wasn't competition, her lips curled into a vapid smile.
"No plus ones," I snapped, glaring right back.
"Bitch," the woman replied, flicking her hair over a shoulder.
Without even glancing at her, Mick grabbed the handle of his suitcase and walked off toward the exit. Total douche move, but since she seemed extremely fake and easy, I kind of felt satisfied.
"Hey," she called out, pouting like a five year old.
Following Mick, I couldn't help the smile spreading across my face. "That was a dismissal," I threw back at her.
"I never knew you had so much bite in you," he said as we walked through the exit and out into the sunshine.
I gestured to the driver who'd been arguing with a parking cop for lingering too long in the pick up zone. No points of guessing whose fault that was. "Get in the car, Savage."
The driver took his suitcase and loaded it in while we got in the back of the town car. It was bad enough that there was a partition between us at the front, let alone
the fact that we'd be inches apart. Isolation and my current mood didn't bode well for society.
I got in behind Mick and slammed the door closed. He was watching me in that infuriatingly sexy way of his as I clicked my seatbelt in place.
"What's up your ass? I just got here."
"You're up my ass," I hissed. "You can't go five seconds-" I bit my lip and glanced out the window as the car pulled away from the curb.
"Whatever," he drawled. "What's with the personalized pick up?"
I put my sunglasses on so he couldn't see the hurt brimming in my eyes. "You seriously have to ask?"
He shrugged.
"You fucked the Oompa Loompa?"
He shrugged again, his sexy fucking lips curving into a grin.
"On the plane? Or was it afterward in some dirty bathroom?" I wanted to bitch slap him into eternity.
He rolled his eyes. "What, are you my Mum now?"
"Dickhead," I spat. "You're a twenty-seven year old child. Maybe I should call your mother to slap some sense into you."
"What's your deal? I don't remember you being such a downer, Montgomery."
I bit my lip so hard I swore I tasted blood. How could he fucking remember how I used to be when he never saw me before? There was no before because I'd only just started existing on his radar.
Silently seething and tingling all at the same time, I stared out the window at an approaching LA so I didn't have to look at the thing I couldn't have. How the fuck could I fall for such a juvenile asshole? I'd either been dropped on my head as a child or I'd had one too many blows to the temple in all those mosh pits I'd been in as a teenager. I'd been wild punk chick, but now I was single-minded about work. How things change.
"West's been sending me shit from the road," Mick went on when I didn't take the bait. "So it's not like I haven't been doing anything. We'll be good once we hit rehearsals."
"Good."
What did he even see in those women? What was it about them that turned him on? All I saw was cheap and easy, loosey goosey. A limp hole didn't sound like a thing guys liked to stick their dicks in, but I guess the end result was always the same. An orgasm must be enough.
Risking a glance back, I saw he had his head stuck in his phone scrolling through a bunch of messages. Probably scheduling his booty calls for the next four months.
The moment I got him to the hotel, he was on his own. I'd deal with West and Joe and only look at Mick when I had to. I knew people said the best way to get over a crush was to get under someone else, but that wasn't me and there wasn't anyone else. The only way I was getting over this thing was by putting the guy at arms length and pretending that my heart wasn't aching.
And pretending that I wasn't dying a little bit every single day.
Mick
There wasn't much to being Mick Savage.
That story wasn't a very long one. I was born, I grew up, I went to Uni in Sydney, met West and Joe, started hanging out with Rob, and then we formed a band. The end. I liked to play guitar and I liked to fuck. One thing that I didn't make was excuses. That's who I was and fuck you if you didn't like it.
I'd played guitar since I could hold one, so music seemed a no brainer for a guy like me. I was dumb as fucking dog shit when it came to school and I'd just been going through the motions to please my parents. I didn't want to be some idiot in middle management - all I wanted to do was travel the world and play guitar. Affliction gave me both and a pay packet to match.
I sat in the back of a stock standard town car, still fucked up from the long ass flight I got off the day before. The fourteen hour stretch from Sydney to LA was a killer, but I met a pretty enough woman on board who was keen. Fucked her in the first class bathroom a bit, then again once we'd landed. I had no idea our manager, Sasha, was personally waiting for me on the other side. If I knew, maybe I would've passed on the extra orgasm…or maybe I would've just been a little quicker about it.
Sasha was a fox. Total stunner, but she'd never been anything but cool to arctic with me. As if I'd have a go with our manager knowing the dickhead I was. Never fuck anyone you have to work with, never fuck anyone you have to see again and never fuck a woman who didn't want it.
The car dropped me off at the studio we were calling home for the next three to four months. Village Studios was one of the best in LA and had seen a load of famous artists revolve through it. Everyone from John Lennon, Guns 'n' Roses, The Doors all the way to fuckin' Madonna.
Pushing the door open, I stepped inside out of the Californian heat into the air con.
Today we were starting rehearsals for our fourth studio album and I was gunning to play with the boys again. The hiatus had been great and all, West really fucking needed it after the crap that had happened to him, but I thrived on this shit. I thrived on an audience and a break wasn't helping me get my fix.
Walking into the studio Sasha had booked us, I was glad to see all my guitars and equipment had gotten there in one piece. I was nothing without them. It sounded stupid, saying a guitar defined me as a person, but that was the gods honest truth. All that other junk, the parties, the women, the money, that was all icing. The cake was where it was fuckin' at.
"Savage!"
I turned just in time to duck as Joe went to slap me around the head. Joe Fox was the bass player and the most recent addition to the 'gone and got me a girlfriend so cut off my balls' brigade. We were the first ones here, which wasn't any surprise. Rob would usually be next, then West sometime in a fucking century. Until then, Joe and I would dick around and shoot the shit.
"Nice to see you, too, Fox," I said, giving him a playful punch in the guts. "How's your balls?"
"Intact, you cheeky fucker."
"Where is she, then? She coming?"
"Alexis' got some work things on, then she'll be here. A couple of weeks tops."
Joe had just sat next to Alexis on a plane and that was that. Happily ever after. West had sat next to Blair in a bar and that was that. I sat next to a woman on a plane, got off, and then got whiplashed by Sasha Montgomery for it. Where was the happily ever after in that scenario? I wasn't made for them, not like the others.
"What's up with Montgomery?" I asked, slipping the strap of my guitar over my head.
"What do you mean?" Joe asked.
"She was on a rager yesterday when she picked me up from the airport."
"She was probably pissed she had to pick you up in person. She could just send a driver, you know. She's got a bunch of work to do and I don't think babysitting is on that list."
I stomped on the closest effect pedal to hide my scowl and cranked out the most obnoxious chord I could think of.
"See?" Joe slapped me around the back of the head. "That's what I'm talking about. You're a big fuckin' baby."
"Fuck off." I knew he was right, but I didn't want to hear it. One half of Affliction had gone and grown up and the whole dynamic had shifted. Until recently, Joe had been right there with Rob and me. No attachments, nothing or nobody holding us back from a little fun. Now he and West had gone and gotten domesticated and just like that, we weren't brothers-in-arms anymore.
"Be nice, hey? She does a lot for us."
"Sure thing, Dad."
The studio door opened and Rob walked in, followed closely by Sasha.
She was wearing a pair of washed-out black jeans and a little cut-up UK Subs T-shirt. Some English punk band, from memory. Glancing up, I caught her glaring at me and realized I'd been staring at her tits. Well, they were pretty fucking nice.
"Where's West?" she asked.
"Not here yet," Joe replied, giving me a look.
"He won't be far off," I said.
"I've got some things to take care of," Sasha said, ignoring me. "I'm on the mobile if you guys need anything."
"Don't you wanna stick around and hear the new stuff?" Joe asked.
Sasha glanced at me again before shaking her head. "It's time sensitive. I'll see you later."
I watched her disappear throug
h the sound booth, wondering why she was still so bitchy with me. Women only got that pissed when they were jealous. Remembering the way she spoke to the chick from the plane, I shook my head. She had some teeth on her alright.
"Man, you've really pissed her off," Joe said with a laugh. "If looks could kill, you'd be stabbed to fuckin' death."
Rob gave me a look. "Dude. Sasha's like the most easy going chick out there. What did you do?"
I shrugged. "Had a quickie between landing and passport control. For forty five minutes."
"And she was waiting for you the whole time?" Joe exclaimed.
"I didn't know she was picking me up," I argued.
"You should still apologize."
"Yeah," Rob said. "She can make your life a living hell if she wanted to."
"Furlough let us get away with some nasty shit, but she's not Furlough," Joe added.
Thinking about Sasha's perky tits in that little punk T-shirt, I grimaced. No, she wasn't Furlough.
I decided I'd grow some balls and apologize to Sasha when she came back to the studio, but she never did.
Standing in the hotel lobby, I watched from a distance as she spoke heatedly with some dude who looked like he was one of the managers. I guess I'd taken her for granted much the same way as I had Furlough. She did a lot of stuff for us that we never knew about. Dealt with everyone from the asshole hotel manager she was currently giving a serve all the way to the big guns in the media.
Joe was right. I'd been a fucking asshole and had been since day one. I owed her an apology.
She jabbed her finger at the manager once more before stalking off toward the elevators.
"Hey," I called out, jogging to meet her.
Sasha turned and scowled at me, like I was an annoying splinter under her fingernail.
"Shit, Montgomery," I said holding my hands up. "If you keep lookin' at me like that, I might burst into flames."
"What do you need?" she asked with a sigh, giving the elevator call button a violent jab.