by Jessie Cooke
“Yeah, you know, the guy who keeps touching you. The one you were having so much fun with while I went to get a drink.” The waiter appeared next to them and he didn’t even ask if she wanted a drink, he just said, “Whiskey, neat.”
“Oh, that was Brandon, one of the actors. Yes, he’s touchy-feely…but he’s flaming gay, believe me. I don’t mean this in a bad way, but just how much did you have to drink while you were gone?”
Sledge laughed. “Seriously? The way he had his hands all over you, he’s gay? And now you’re policing how much I drink? If you think that dude is gay, maybe you’re the one that has had too much to drink.” His voice wasn’t raised, but it was loud enough for most of the people at their table to hear him. Daria’s face turned red and she gave him a pleading look as she said:
“Maybe we can talk about this later.”
“Maybe,” he said, picking up the whiskey that the waiter set down in front of him and downing it.
“Excuse me,” Daria said, standing up and pushing her chair back.
“Where are you going?” She didn’t answer him, but she looked like she had tears in her eyes as she rushed away.
“Fuck,” he said, again, too loud.
“Is she okay, Steve?” The snobby woman that had been sitting next to her was eyeing him like he was some kind of ogre. Maybe he was. He didn’t answer her, but he pushed his chair back and went after Daria with the rest of their table staring after him. He knew he’d been an ass and he had probably just ruined her night. That hadn’t been his intention…but maybe it was final proof that he didn’t belong.
23
“Hey!” Daria was about to step into the ladies’ room. At the same time, from the room behind them, Sledge heard the band start up. She stopped and when she turned to look at him he saw that she did have tears in her eyes. Shit. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Then why are your eyes all watery?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because the man I was looking forward to showing off tonight decided to get drunk on whiskey and be an ass instead.” He’d been ready to take her in his arms and apologize for making her cry…and then she called him a drunk and an ass, and pissed him off all over again.
“I’m not drunk,” he said. “I know perfectly well what I’m saying and doing.”
“But you’re not denying being an ass, are you?”
“Maybe I realized as soon as we got here that you didn’t really want them to meet me. You wanted them to meet ‘Steve,’ your imaginary version of me. That man on stage, the one that talked about what an incredible imagination you have and how great you are at creating characters, he was right, wasn’t he? You have this image in your head of me as one of those characters, don’t you?”
“You got all of that from me introducing you as Steve? That’s your name, isn’t it? You should have warned me that you only use Sledge now; I didn’t know.”
“The fact that I corrected you twenty times when we first met back up wasn’t a clue?”
She rolled her eyes, like he was being stupid, and said, “Fine, it won’t happen again. I’ll just leave you to explain the name to everyone that asks from now on.”
“And that’s the problem, isn’t it? If I explain the nickname, I’ll have to admit to being part of an MC, and as much as you want to get down and dirty with a bad boy behind closed doors, you still want to be a prim, proper little rich bitch in public, rubbing yourself all over some fake, fucking actor…” He would have regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but he didn’t have time to before the palm of her hand made contact with his face. She looked as shocked by it as he did. She had tears running down her cheeks and she brought her hand up to her mouth. They stared at each other for a long minute before she finally said:
“Oh my God, I’m sorry…”
He reached up and rubbed the side of his face. He’d never been slapped by a woman before. Not that he never deserved it…just that none of them ever had the balls to do it. “What are you sorry for, Daria, being embarrassed over me, calling me an ass, slapping me?”
She narrowed her eyes and said, “Maybe I’m not sorry. You’re making assumptions about how I introduced you, practically calling me a slut for not making a scene when a gay man had his hand resting on my back, and to top it off, you called me a bitch. I take it back, I’m not sorry. You’re an ass and you deserved it.”
“Maybe I should go.”
“Maybe you should,” she said, suddenly straightening her shoulders. He could see a change in her eyes, and it made his heart hurt, but he still believed he was right. She was as fake as everyone else in the room, and she didn’t care about him at all. She’d probably panicked and changed her mind about inviting him as soon as they walked in the room. He turned and walked away, just like that, not looking back or even glancing at the reporter in the lobby who called after him. When he got outside, he sucked in a big breath of air. It was hot and thick, and it only served to intensify the effects of the whiskey. Things around him seemed to be spinning for a second, but still not ready to admit that he’d drunk too much, he wrestled the suit jacket off over the bulky bandages and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He wasn’t drunk, he was just overheated.
“Your ticket, sir?” The valet waited for him to fish it out of his jacket and as Sledge handed it to him, he wondered if they even cared that he might be too drunk to drive home. The valet took the ticket and with a smile said, “I’ll be right back.” That answered his question. They cared about as much as everyone else…which was not fucking much. Daria accused him of being drunk and then kicked him out of the party. That told him how much she cared too.
“I’ll drive.” He spun around toward the sound of the voice and saw Jagger standing behind him.
“I can drive.”
“Maybe, but I’m not going to let you. I’d like to think you’d do the same for me if I drank too much.”
“I’m not drunk. Shouldn’t you be onstage?”
“Yeah, but the guys will cover for me.”
“I don’t need a ride home. I’m fine.”
“Look, I have time to drive you home, man…but I don’t have time to kick your ass before I do it. So, make it fucking easy for me, will you?”
Sledge laughed. “Kick my ass, huh?”
“You might be a big boy, but Jacob Wright is not your leader.”
Sledge thought about who his leader was, and what the consequences would be if Jagger told Jacob about this, and Jacob told Wolf. At least he knew his brothers gave a shit. “Fuck, alright,” he said, as the valet drove up with Mack’s car, “but not because I think you can kick my ass.”
Jagger grabbed the keys from the kid and Sledge handed him a tip before getting into the passenger seat. “Nice car.”
“It’s Mackenzie’s.”
“Your lady going to be okay to get home? You didn’t drive her here, did you?” Jagger asked as he pulled the car out of the lot and headed for the highway.
“She’s not my lady and yes, she has a room at the hotel.”
“Good. Not yours, huh?”
“No. She’s going back to New York tomorrow. I probably won’t see her for another ten years, if at all. Besides, I’m sure If she didn’t have a ride, one of those fake assholes in there would have been more than happy to give her a lift in their limousine or BMW.”
“You got a big problem with rich people, don’t you?”
“I’ve got a problem with fake.”
“Hmm…”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Sledge asked him.
“Nothing, just hmm.” Jagger got on 99 and headed south.
“You don’t think that room was full of fake motherfuckers?”
Jagger shrugged. “I don’t judge books by their covers.”
“You think I’m being judgmental?”
“Well, you’re assuming they’re all the same because they have money…I’m pretty sure that’s the definition
of judgmental.”
“You know what? I grew up with fuckers just like those people back there, and trust me, they are all the same.”
“How were the people you grew up with just like these people?”
“They’re a bunch of rich, spoiled, fakes.”
“Jacob Wright is a multimillionaire, has been since he was born. You think he’s a rich, spoiled, fake?”
“No, but that’s different.”
Jagger chuckled. “And why is that different?”
“Because Jacob’s not a judgmental dick.”
“But anyone else who grew up with money is?”
“Yes.”
“Asher Bennett IV? Mackenzie Foster? What’s Ash’s little sister’s name? She’s filthy rich. Seemed pretty cool to me…”
“Okay, fine, not everyone…but most of them.” It was dark in the car, but Sledge could still see the skeptical look on Jagger’s face in the glow from the dash.
“What’s the look for?” Sledge demanded. “I agreed with you. They’re not all douchebags.”
Jagger chuckled. “Right, but you’re still going to judge all of those people back there at that party without even giving them a chance. I guess it’s just been my experience that a douchebag is a douchebag no matter how much money he does or doesn’t have in the bank. Besides, I don’t count my self-worth based on the people who don’t like me because of what I look like, or how I talk, or what I do for a living. My self-worth is based on the opinions of the people I care about, and the ones who care about me. You know, my old lady has never been one for flowery words or speeches, but I know for a fact that she loves me even though she hardly ever comes right out and says it. You want to know how I know?”
“I imagine you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.”
Jagger chuckled and said, “It’s not the words so much as it is the sentiment. For example, before I leave the house she always says, ‘Use your brain and get your ass home in one piece, Jagger.’ I know most people wouldn’t understand how much love is in that statement, but I do. It makes me feel ten feet tall to know she cares that much.”
Fuck. A thought suddenly formed in Sledge’s slightly pickled brain and he said, “Jagger, how did you know I needed a ride home?” Sledge was a big guy and he had a pretty good tolerance for alcohol…but five whiskeys in the space of an hour on top of nothing to eat all day would have put even him over the legal limit, and he’d felt it as soon as he got outside of the hotel…but his stubborn ass was about to drive anyways.
“Daria,” Jagger said. “She asked me to make sure you got home safely. She even offered to pay me to do it. Of course, I didn’t take her money, but…”
“Turn the car around, Jagger, please.”
“You want to go back?”
“Not really, but I’m going to…that is, if Daria is willing to give me another chance.”
Jagger didn’t say anything. He just smiled and got in the exit lane.
When Sledge walked back into the ballroom, he had his sleeves pulled back down and his jacket back on…and he was sweating bullets. Daria was sitting at their table, alone, watching everyone out on the dance floor. When he got close, she looked up at him with her gorgeous eyes and it took everything inside of him to not just grab her and pull her against his body and kiss her breathless. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out before he said something stupid again. “All of this, tonight, has been about my own insecurities. I’m acting like a teenager…an asshole, drunk teenager. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I called you a bitch. Jesus, that was uncalled for. Daria, if you give me another chance, I swear it will never happen again.” He pushed that all out so fast that it almost left him breathless. Daria was looking up at his face, like she was considering his words. At last she said:
“I’m sorry that being here makes you feel anxious, and Sledge…I’m so fucking sorry I hit you.” Tears filled her eyes again and this time he did take hold of her wrists and pull her to her feet. He put his arms around her and pulled her up against his chest.
“I needed some sense slapped into me,” he said. “Besides, if anyone ever calls you a bitch, I’m knocking their ass out, so thank you for not letting me get away with it.”
She pulled back slightly and looked up at his face. Tears still swam in her eyes as she said, “Sledge, I’m sorry I made you feel like I was embarrassed over you, or flirting with someone else, I…”
He was shaking his head. “You didn’t make me feel any way. I made myself feel that way. I didn’t give these people a chance. I was the one being judgmental. I was being an asshole. You called it,” he said, with a gentle smile. “You said it nicer than Jagger. He said I was being a douchebag.”
She laughed. “He actually called you that?”
“In a roundabout way. Fine guy you picked to drive me home, huh?”
“He told you I asked him to drive you home?”
“Yeah, and thank you.” He lifted his hand and stroked the side of her pretty face. He wanted to kiss her, so badly.
“I figured you’d be mad,” she said.
“I’d be an idiot to be mad because you care about me.”
“I really do, you know? I’m not sure you believe that.”
“I’ve spent so much time trying to figure out why a woman like you would want to be with a guy like me, that I almost missed what was important…that you do.”
She nodded. “I do, and I’m so proud to be here with you. Speaking of, do you want to dance? Or, are you saving it for Allie?” He looked down at her. She had a mischievous glint in her eye.
With a smile he said, “I was never going to dance with Allie…she’s not my type.”
Daria raised both eyebrows. “Really? She’s gorgeous. So, what is your type?”
“You.” He finally couldn’t stand it any longer; he dipped his head down and caught her lips with his. She tasted like champagne and he wanted to get drunk on her. He let her up for air much sooner than he was ready, but he was afraid of embarrassing her, at least more than he already had.
“That’s sweet,” she said, breathlessly.
“It’s true. And to answer your question, I’d love to dance with you.”
“Really?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t mind flattened and bruised feet.”
She laughed. “Will you carry me around like a princess until they heal? Oh no! Sorry, I forgot about your arms…”
“Fuck it, a few little burns won’t keep me from carrying around my princess,” he said, with a grin. He put his arm around her and whispered, “And when we’re finished down here…upstairs, to bed.”
24
When Sledge came back to the party, it was like he was a different person. He’d checked his insecurities at the door and both he and Daria were able to relax and have fun. Most of the people at the party ended up loving him—the real him, no pretense. Daria had to admit that she had been cautious at first, not because she was ashamed of him, but because she was worried for him. She’d only worked with the people at the party for a short time and she didn’t know most of them well. They turned out to be a fun group and the more Brandon, the gay actor, drank, the more Sledge believed her that he was gay. She’d kind of got a kick out of watching him dodge Brandon’s flirtatious advances for a while.
Allie’s flirting was a different story, and Daria was surprised by how quickly jealousy reared up its ugly head inside of her when the rich, gorgeous producer managed to drag Sledge out to the dance floor for one dance. The band was playing a slow tune, a love song, and Allie was taking advantage of it, practically pasting her body against Sledge’s chest. Daria tried to ignore it, but after a full minute of fuming, she went over to the back of the stage and got Jagger’s attention. One of the other guys was singing, so Jagger walked over, still strumming his guitar, and Daria said:
“I thought you were a rocker.” Jagger grinned, looked out at Allie and Sledge and back at Daria.
“You ready to rock?” he said with a mi
schievous glint in his eyes.
“Rock it hard.”
He laughed and before he even got back to the center of the stage he was practically throwing sparks from his guitar. His band mates didn’t even look surprised. They just picked up the tune with their own instruments, with smiles on their faces. Daria smiled and looked at the crowd on the dance floor. Some of them had just picked up the pace and were still dancing and some of them, like her gorgeous biker and the slutty producer, had stopped and were looking around, confused. Daria made a path through the crowd and when she got to Sledge, she slid an arm up through his and smiled at Allie. “Well, that was a short dance,” she said, before looking up at Sledge and saying, “I’m tired, honey, could you take me up to our room?”
She might have seen Allie roll her pretty green eyes out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t care. Sledge smiled down at her and then looked at Allie and said, “Thank you for the dance, Allie. I better get my princess upstairs.”
“Turn into a pumpkin at midnight, do we?” Allie said, snidely.
“Yes, I do,” Sledge said. “Goodnight, Allie.” Daria giggled as he led her away. She didn’t even realize that he wasn’t leading her toward the lobby, but instead, toward the bathrooms.
“Where are we going?”
“Upstairs,” he said. “Eventually.”
“Eventually?” He steered her into the women’s bathroom and once they were inside, he locked the door behind them. “You have to pee?” she said with a little laugh. She’d had quite a bit of champagne. She wasn’t drunk, but she was finding everything a little funnier than it actually was.
“Huh-uh,” he said, pressing his body into hers so that she was trapped between him and the door. “There’s something else I can’t wait to get upstairs for.”
Daria gasped. “You want to have sex…here?”
Sledge grinned down at her. “Yep, like an appetizer. Then, when we get upstairs I’m gonna serve up the main course.”
She giggled again. “What about dessert?”