Bruce Young is Thunder Records head of Promotion and Marketing. He’s also a major fucking douchebag. When you conjure up the image of a self-righteous, sexist, perverted, Hollywood exec, you need not look any further than Bruce. To make matters worse, he has a chip on his shoulder when it comes to Faye, and doesn’t hesitate to share his opinion of her far and wide.
Five years ago, when with a lot of sweet talking, cajoling, and the promise of a well-paid, permanent job, I managed to convince Faye to come on tour with us as our manager. Faye knows Cole, Dylan, Tatum, and I better than anyone, so naturally, she was not only the best choice but the wisest one we’ve ever made.
Basically, Faye’s job is to schedule guest appearances, interviews, live performances when we release a new single, make sure we get where we need to be on time, handle our merchandising, ensure we’ve got what we need at the venues we play, our hotels, and on the tour bus. In other words, Faye manages every aspect of our lives down to the last detail. So much so, sometimes it feels like she chooses whether we wear black or blue boxers on any given day.
For all our bitching and complaining, we couldn’t function without her. Faye plays an integral role in the band, regardless of the fact that most of it is behind the scenes and garners minimal recognition from anyone. Us included.
Resigned to having to give yet another interview, I shake my head in disgust.
“Give me fifteen to jump in the shower and get her out of here, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“That works,” Faye relents. “And while you’re doing that, I’m going to try to wake your lazy ass bandmates up and see what the damage is this time.”
Cole and Dylan have a habit of breaking shit in every hotel room we’ve stayed in on all four of our tours. Their excuse is that the women they bring back to their suite like to get freaky, hence Faye’s comment. Not only does she have to pay an astronomical bill for repairs and replacement furniture at check out, but offer apologies by way of huge tips, concert tickets, and signed band merch for the staff’s trouble.
*****
“But, D,” the simpering girl standing in front of me whines. Grasping my forearm, her long, claw-like red painted nails dig into my skin. “I thought we could hook up again after your show tonight. I was looking forward to round four and five.”
Jesus, had I fucked her that many times last night? I’m surprised with The amount of alcohol I drank, specifically the whiskey which has always given me whiskey dick, that I was able to get it up at all, let alone three fucking times.
Noticing my confusion, nameless chick purrs,
“Oh yeah, baby. You fucked me so hard last night, I thought you were gonna split me in two. I’ve never been with a man who can get it up right after he’s come.”
Now I know she’s lying. I checked every fucking condom I found in the bathroom trash, and none of them held any trace of me blowing my load.
“Glad you had a good time, but now you’ve gotta go. I’ve got shit to do, people to see, and you needed to be out of here five minutes ago.”
This bitch is ridiculous. The pout on her makeup-caked face, the foot stomping when I tried nicely to get her to leave, and now the warning glare she’s shooting me. Everything about her screams, immature. Which shouldn't come as any surprise since I’m willing to bet she’s barely out of high school.
It doesn’t matter how many chicks I bang, how gently I let them down when I tell them this was a one-time only deal, the end result is always the same; they entice, bargain, negotiate, and make demands for more.
Batting her eyelashes at me, she holds out her hand expectantly.
“Can I, at least, have your number? That way, I can call you when I’m in the area and maybe we can see each other if you’re free.”
I hate to break it to her, but I’ll never be free, and definitely not for a girl like her.
“Sorry, babe. I don’t give my digits out to anyone, you understand, yeah? That shit gets out and goes viral, then I’m getting calls in the middle of the night with offers from random chicks who want to have my babies.”
“I would never do that,” she gasps, sounding genuinely outraged. “I can totally be discreet.”
Rolling my eyes, I place a hand on the small of her back and guide her toward the door.
“Still not gonna happen, babe. We had fun, you got what you wanted from me, but that’s all this was ever going to be.”
“Oh my God, are you seriously hump and dumping me?”
“I’d have to be dating you to dump you, babe, and we were never that,” I reply through gritted teeth.
After more foot stomping and another exaggerated pout, she shrieks,
“You are such a fucking asshole.”
“Never claimed to be anything else,” I smirk right before slamming the door in her face.
Maybe Faye’s right. Perhaps, for once, I should think about keeping my dick in my pants because these chicks are hardly worth the trouble of getting rid of their asses in the morning.
CHAPTER FOUR
~ Faye ~
“I’m coming in so make sure you’re decent,” I yell, warning the perpetually naked twins to cover up.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked in on Cole, Dylan, or both naked as the day they were born with their dicks swinging in the breeze. Not that it’s exactly a hardship to see two of the hottest men I’ve ever met butt ass naked, but still. When I can probably describe their anatomy better than they can, you know it’s been too often to be considered normal.
“Why?” Cole shouts back. “When it’s so much more fun watching you blush that delicious shade of pink.”
“He’s kidding, Fatal. We’re both dressed, and one of us even has our shoes on,” Dylan calls out, making me groan in exasperation.
The guys, with the exception of Dante, started calling me Fatal after the umpteenth date I turned down. Don’t get me wrong, I love men just as much as the next woman, but so far only to look at and admire from afar, not to take home to bed. Not to mention, the type of guys who ask me out, or I should say the majority of them, are more interested in getting me drunk and into my panties than actually getting to know me, so that automatically counts them out as far as I’m concerned.
But back to the name…
According to Cole, Dylan, and Tate, being interested in me is fatal attraction at its finest. In the beginning, I didn’t have the first clue what they were talking about. Sure, I refused offers to buy me a drink or take me out to dinner and the movies, but I wasn’t rude or unkind about it. I’m not a man-eater; I don’t go out on the prowl looking for unsuspecting victims to lure into my bed. I’m safe, cautious, and picky about the men I choose to spend time with. If that makes me a prude, then So be it.
After one particular night, while we were kicking back on the bus, all of us having had too much to drink, I asked Tate why the nickname. I should have expected his response, or at the very least, been prepared for his brutal honesty, but I wasn’t. And until I had some time to myself to think about it later, I couldn’t believe what I’d heard either.
“You don’t see it do you, gorgeous?” Tate began. “You’re smart, beautiful, have a wicked sense of humor, and you’re one of the best fucking negotiators in the music business. Honestly, I think Reid’s even fucking scared of you sometimes.”
Scoffing at him, I roll my eyes.
“Reid isn’t scared of anyone, except maybe his wife. And anyway, that doesn’t explain the nickname, Tatum. Now, spill it,” I demand using his full first name.
“Guys check you out all the time, babe. Everywhere we go, men look at your ass, tits, and legs, but it’s your face that has them approaching you. You’re hot, Faye. Smokin’ actually.”
I can feel the blush making its way up my neck, and I know if I looked in a mirror I’d be bright red. My embarrassment doesn’t stop Tate, though. If anything I think he gets a sick sense of satisfaction out of making me uncomfortable.
Grinning at me, Tate winks and cr
osses his arms over his broad, entirely tattooed chest.
“The second a dude asks you out, it’s the kiss of death, Faye. If they’re attracted to you, want to take shit further and get to know you better, it’s fatal. Dead in the water before it even began.”
I open my mouth to protest but decide to keep my opinions to myself when I realize that Tate’s right. My walls go up the moment a man shows more than a fleeting interest in me, but for what it’s worth, at least I know why. I’ve always known why.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, gorgeous,” Tate says after Cole and Dylan amble back toward their bunks.
It’s only us sitting at the small galley-style table in the living area of the bus now. Dante has been gone for hours, no doubt hooking up with his latest piece of ass.
“He loves you, you do know that right? When he thought you weren’t going to come on that first tour with us, he was ready to pull out.”
“He has a funny way of showing it,” I mumble under my breath.
“Yeah, he does,” Tate nods sympathetically. “But can you blame him?” Throwing his hand up in front of him, Tate stops me from answering. “Before you think I’m siding with him, condoning the shit he does with the women he brings back to the bus or his hotel rooms, really think about it, Faye. Dante’s been pining after a chick who won’t even give him the time of day, and he’s been doing it for years. The boys and I have seen him watch you when you walk into a room. Dante always has to know where you are, or he flips his shit. Why the hell do you think he forced you to install that location app on your phone, babe? It sure as shit wasn’t so that you could find it if you lost it; it was so that he could find you?”
“Jesus,” I hiss.
At this point, I don’t know whether I’m more pissed off I hadn’t picked up on that myself, or angry at Dante for being such a controlling asshole. Probably the former, because although I hate to admit it, I kind of find Dante’s possessive, dominant nature a turn on.
Chuckling at what can only be described as an abject look of horror plastered across my face, Tate smirks wickedly.
“Rein it in killer. His heart’s in the right place, even if his brain’s taken a long ass vacation where you’re concerned.”
“That’s a massive invasion of privacy, Tate. Whatever his reasoning for doing it, it doesn’t change that,” I insist.
“True, but it was that or he was going to stalk your ass. Pick your poison, babe, because that man wasn’t going to let you roam around new cities on your own without having eyes on you at all times.”
“I’m not sure if any of you have picked up on this yet, but I am a grown ass woman. I am capable of getting where I need to go; by myself even,” I quip, not quite managing to keep the sneer out of my voice.
Swallowing back what would have been an unwarranted retort, Tate narrows his eyes at me and sighs.
“This shit’s got to stop, Faye, and you’re going to have to be the one to end it.”
“What on Earth are you talking about? Seriously, Tate, you go off on so many tangents it’s hard to keep up sometimes.”
“Stay with me for a few more minutes and you’ll catch on, gorgeous,” he says, smiling again finally. “If you want our boy, then I say go for it. If you ask the two assholes back there,” he points toward the bunks, “they’d tell you to put D out of his misery too.”
“No, it’s not like that between us. We’re not like that. We never have been,” I say, shaking my head emphatically.
Leaning across the small table, Tate takes hold of my hand, squeezing it tightly.
“You know that’s just plain not true, gorgeous. Yeah, D scared the shit out of you when he beat the shit out of Cole, and yeah, he fucked up by not apologizing for it, but you’ve held onto that shit for too long, babe. You’ve used it as a way to keep from admitting how you really feel about him. You can deny it all you want, Faye, but the truth of it is, one day, D’s going to find someone else. If you can’t put it behind you or find some way to move past it, the guy you’ve been I love with longer than we’ve known you is going to end up being one of your biggest regrets.
Tate didn’t say anything else; he didn’t need to. He kissed me on the forehead, affectionately patted my shoulder, and walked back to his bunk to get a few hours of sleep before we pulled into Tallahassee for their next show.
I, however, didn’t sleep. Not a wink. Not that night or the next. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve slept well once in the month since we had that conversation. What I did do was replay every time Dante and I talked about our plans for when we moved out of home. Where we would go, what we would do, and all the things we’d dreamed about seeing along the way. I remembered the way he hugged me to his side and promised he’d never leave me behind, even if that meant staying in Lower Falls.
Everything and nothing about our friendship made sense to me until late last night when I decided it was time for me to make amends with my best friend. Whether something else would develop between us after I told Dante I’d finally moved past the fear that had been eating away at me or not was still up in the air, but it was worth a shot. He was worth it.
My plan was simple. Wake Dante up as I always do, ask him if we could talk, and then sit down and apologize for the childish way I had held his fight with Cole like an anvil over his head. I would tell him that it would take time to get back to what we once were and that I would understand if it took even longer for him to forgive my behavior.
Knowing Dante, he wouldn’t make me wait more than a minute before pulling me into his arms and telling me all was forgive. Or at least that’s what I’d convinced myself of when I walked into his room this morning. Instead, I was faced with yet another naked woman, lying next to an equally naked, incredibly aroused, Dante.
As soon as I caught a glimpse of his hugely impressive erection and the woman I’m sure he would use to satisfy it, all of my best-laid plans went straight out the fucking window. And before you say it, yes, I was jealous. I’ve always been jealous of the women who make the cut to spend the night in Dante’s bed.
But never, not once, has my jealousy burned the way it did this morning. It felt as if my blood was on fire, and I’m not proud to admit this, but I really, really wanted to rip that bitches’ hair out strand by strand. At the root no less.
Maybe I was feeling like this because I’d finally put aside my pride and fear, or maybe it was just because I couldn’t stand to see the man I loved in bed with another woman who wasn’t good enough for him. But the most likely explanation is that I’m just as territorial and possessive of Dante as he is of me.
I hate seeing him pawed at concerts and after parties. I despise watching him single out his prey for the night and subsequently take her home for what I know will be multiple rounds of mind-blowing sex. I may be used to it – it has been par for the course for five years, after all – but that doesn’t mean that I have to like it.
CHAPTER FIVE
~ Dante ~
“Please, please fucking tell me we’re done till we take the stage tonight, Fatal,” Cole moans, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Faye gives him a sad smile, glancing in my direction quickly before dropping her gaze back down to the ever-present iPad in her hands.
We’re sitting in the back of a black Escalade with dark tinted windows, driven by some dude called, Leon, that Faye just told us is My Addiction’s new relief driver. Pretty much that means, Leon will drive us between appearances and venues in whatever car Faye organizes for us, and will relieve Mack, our regular bus driver when he needs a break.
This shit has never been a problem before, but with our next tour coming close on the heels of this one, Faye feels that Mack needs some time off. Granted, the guy’s a machine, works night and day to make sure we get where we need to go and hasn’t taken a day off in four years, but losing him, even for a week is like losing a limb.
See that’s the thing. When you’re touring the people you work with become part of one big, loud, dysfu
nctional as fuck family. Mack’s an integral member of that family. He’s like a father to us all, keeping us guys in line, and doting on Faye like she was his own daughter.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Leon rumbles through the intercom.
Pushing the button on the center armrest, Faye says,
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s just, Faye, Leon? Not ma’am. Not Miss. Not boss. We don’t stand on formalities here.”
“Sorry, ma, I mean, Faye. I think it’s imperative that you know there’s a large group of women obstructing the entrance to the hotel carpark. I’ve been in contact with hotel security, and they’re happy to let us pull in around back at the loading dock and use the service entry, but it’s up to you,” Leon relays, his voice calm and professional.
Huh, maybe he’s not such a bad dude after all. There’s a slim chance I judged him too harshly when I saw him huddled with Faye in the hall of the radio station earlier, but that’s nothing new. I’m always judging the men who show interest in my Faye harshly, most of the time it’s well-deserved, though.
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