She opened the door. “See you around.” I was being dismissed. No talk of exchanging phone numbers, hooking up another time. Nothing. Just like I liked it. Right?
“Good luck on tour.” I sounded like a tool, and I knew it. I’d fucked this woman six ways to Sunday, and that’s all I could say?
She watched me as I made my way to the door, but she didn’t say anything else. I stepped through the doorway and turned back to her. I grabbed her and pulled her to me, kissing her with all the energy I had that couldn’t be put into words. She responded, twining her arms around my neck as I sucked her tongue into my mouth.
God, I wanted her again. Forcing myself to pull away, I winked at her. “You know where to find me if your hand or vibrator isn’t doing the job anymore.”
She gaped. “You act like I don’t get any any other way.”
“Not any as good as me. Bye, Bex. Thanks for breakfast.” I winked at her and lifted the brown bag with the bagel inside, then turned and walked down the hall away from her.
I sat on the back porch of Julia and Carter’s house, a pad of paper in front of me, the urge to grab the guitar from my room almost overpowering me. I hadn’t had a feeling this strong in many years, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
I’d been writing lyrics since I’d gotten home from the hotel. Carter and Julia were at his parents’ house for the afternoon with Calia, so I had the house to myself. The words had just been pouring out of me. I had pages of ideas and a few pages of actual lyrics. I hadn’t felt this inspired in a long time.
My thoughts kept going back to Bex. Despite what either of us wanted to admit, we’d broken down some walls with each other. It freaked me the hell out. I had to be more careful. Thinking of her made me think of the dream about Jill. The nightmare that had been my reality was a reminder of what love cost me.
I’d loved that woman with my entire heart. But I should’ve known it was doomed. Me, the idiot that had gotten involved in trafficking drugs, and her, the young girl who’d gotten lured into being the toy of the drug lords. They’d promised her everything, but only I had meant it. Except I hadn’t been able to deliver on my promise, either.
After that night, Jill had never been the same. Not that I blamed her. Since she’d been with us, she’d only been with me and the rest of the guys had left her alone. But not Ray. He wanted to stick it to me because he didn’t like me, so he made sure to hurt me where it was the most painful.
Watching him with her that night had been the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. Even after, when he’d spread his seed all over her, and I’d carried her into the bathroom and cleaned her up, I knew that a part of her died that night. The weeks after that, I tried to love her through it but it was too late. She started snorting cocaine and would spend her days completely out of it. Until the day she stopped being in pain anymore.
I shook my head, wishing I could scrub my head clean of all of the terrible things I’d seen over the years. It wasn’t possible to rid myself of all of the filth I’d been a part of.
I began writing, the words not able to get down on the paper as fast as I could think them. I tapped my foot, a rhythm coming to life in my head. I remembered a time when sitting in my basement with my friends playing music was the best part of my day, and the dream of somehow ‘making it big’ kept me going. Ah, to be that young and stupid again.
I tapped the pen against my lips. If I could go back in time, would I? Not that there was any sort of fucking time machine or anything, but in the proverbial sense that I could, would I want to? I tell you what I wished for most of alclass="underline" to be able to change leaving Julia. Despite my parents’ disapproval, had I not wanted to ‘make it big’ in Los Angeles, the rest of the shit would’ve never happened.
Sighing, I threw the pen down on the table and put my arms behind my head. I was tired, but that wasn’t unusual anymore. I made a vow to myself to have less sex and more sleep, then burst out laughing.
“How about more sex, less sleep,” I chuckled to myself. My brain conjured images of Bex, her long, dark hair covering her face as she rode me, as I took her from behind, and as I had her watch in the mirror. I’d slept with countless women in my lifetime, many of those in the last two years. I knew what I was doing, and I accepted it. I had no intention of stopping anytime soon.
But then there was Bex. She and I were explosive. We had more issues together than Starbucks had coffee beans. Just the thought of her was stirring my dick awake.
“You have to move on,” I muttered to myself, looking down at the words I’d written. “She was a hot lay. Maybe even the hottest you’ve ever had. That’s all it can ever be.”
I knew touching her was a bad idea. As combustible as we were before we slept together, during and after was off the charts. I’d never had a woman hate me so much, and it had been a turn on. I wished I could see her perform with Halestorm. Watching that sexy ass move around the stage in her tight dress, or leather shorts, or whatever equally sinful thing she’d be wearing . . .
Sigh. I was hard again.
“I’m heading out,” I called to Cal. He waved, turning back to the customer in front of him. I was headed to another bar in the area to watch a local band that wanted to play at The Outrigger. It was my technical night off, but I’d come in to do my homework on the band.
Their band name was Belles and Lace and had only been playing together just over a year. I liked their sound in the demo they’d uploaded online, but I felt better seeing their vibe in person. At least, that’s what I told myself. They were a country band, which wasn’t usually my style, but they had a rock and roll edge to them. Plus, it was popular in the area, so we had to do what would bring in the money.
It didn’t hurt that the lead singer, Stephanie, was blonde with big tits and a body that wouldn’t quit. The way she filled out a jean skirt and cowboy boots . . . yeah, I had a thing for singers. The entire band was women, none of which I’d throw out of my bed. Tonight, I was going to get lost in one that wouldn’t infiltrate my every thought afterward.
It had been three weeks since the last time I’d seen or talked to Bex. I knew she was headed out next week on tour, and I needed something to stop my brain from thinking about her or wanting to find her. I’d stopped myself so many times from researching to figure out where she lived or where the band was practicing. The main thing that stopped me was what the hell I would say to her once I found her. “Hi, I couldn’t keep my dick—er, my mind off of you, so here I am? Wanna fuck again?” Yeah, somehow I doubted that would get me very far, and then we’d end up in the same awkward place we were on our last day together. It was better to leave well enough alone and chalk our two nights up to the best sex I might ever have.
I hadn’t had sex in three weeks. I thought my dick might shrivel up, but so far he was hanging in there. What I had done is think of Bex often, replaying our nights together over and over in my brain. It had been nothing but my thoughts and my hand keeping me occupied over the last several days, and I was over it. It was time to get buried into some feminine warmth, and tonight.
I revved up my newest addition—a motorcycle. I couldn’t stand that little speck of a car for one more second, and I’d found this custom Harley on a killer deal from an old guy needing his money back after impulsively having it custom made. Gotta love old guys in a mid-life crisis. His wife probably made him get rid of it. I’d always wanted one but hadn’t found it smart in Denver. I had no idea if I was going to go back to Denver or not; I was taking it one week at a time at this point. But Julia said I could keep it here if I did, even if she did beg me daily not to go back. Thankfully, I’d gotten my motorcycle license when I got out of prison so I could eventually buy one of my own.
I’d talked to Al, my parole officer, a few times since I’d been here. He was keeping in contact with my parents about the expunging my record thing. There still wasn’t a hearing date, so I was in a holding pattern. I was still grateful he was allowing me to be in Florida for this amount of time and was okay with me checking in with him. He did say if I moved here I’d have to get a new parole officer. I was hoping that by then my record would be gone and I wouldn’t need a fucking babysitter anymore. I wasn’t a criminal. Okay, I was. But not by choice.