Why her?
I wish I knew the fucking answer. Part of it is lust. I’ve known that from the moment I laid eyes on her. Part of it is empathy. She’s me all over again. Part of it is fascination. She’s so fucking immature and yet she comes up with amazing insight at times. And, part of it, is pure fucking instinct. My life is fucking ironic to the extreme.
My life wouldn’t allow me to meet her when she’s eighteen. That would be too easy. It would’ve been too easy for me to become infatuated with her mother. Or, fuck, her father, and men aren’t the way I roll.
“The tour ends in two weeks, Georgie,” I say hoarsely, kissing her head, her temples, and her eyelids. “I’ll have six weeks off before I have to go to Europe for the next leg. Before then, I’m taking you to Denver. My house. I want you to make a concerted effort to focus on you. At the end, whether you’re well or not, we part ways.”
She steps back and her crushed expression tears me up. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m finished fighting to keep my hands off of her. For better or worse, illegal or immoral, I’m taking her to my bed.
Fingers on her elbow, I guide her around the guys and order her to sit on the sofa. They can’t save me from Georgie. They’ve tried with valiant efforts to hang around us and to keep me plied with women.
“So what now?”
Kiln. Kiln. Fucking Kiln. The only motherfucker with the nuts to ask that question, when he knows what the fuck now.
“Now, you get your fucking revenge, or keep the fuck quiet and let me work this out,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “The one thing you aren’t doing, motherfucker, is making me tip around and fucking fear your intentions.”
The hate he tries to cover up, blasts me. I despise my father a little more for putting me in this situation.
“You fear me?” he asks with scorn, then laughs with bitterness. “That’s fucking rich. Your secret plaything is safe with me. The money, my paycheck, is what I see when I look at you.”
He nods to where Georgie has curled up and fallen asleep. She’s exhausted. It’s after three in the morning. After flying into Raleigh and heading straight to the concert venue, I kept her up with my party.
His consideration of Georgie produces not one change in expression, not one chink in his armor. With a final look, he stalks to the door and leaves me alone with my band members.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Maitland asks.
Lately, he’s been the most talkative one. To me, at least.
I smile and massage my neck. “Do I ever?” Rethinking my answer, I grimace. “I won’t touch her any more than I have,” I swear, although I know I’m lying. Addicts lie with a straight face, and, although I kicked my drug habit, I still have the characteristics of a junkie. “Trust me.”
The four of us have known each other since we were boys, just out to conquer the world with our music. That’s why it felt like such a betrayal when they sided with Kiln and Jaeger, and threatened to kick me out of my own fucking band.
Deep down, I wonder if we’ll ever be the same again. With nothing more to offer, they believe me and leave me alone with Georgie.
I convince myself that an affair between us will remain hushed and will work. I swear I’ll demand she walk away from me and not look back. I promise that I’ll return to the rocker lifestyle that I’ve loved, endured, and detested in equal measures.
Soon, I’ll discover I’m one of the most delusional motherfuckers in the history of delusional motherfuckers.
Chapter Eighteen
Georgie
Someone is showering. Through the fog of sleep, the sound reaches my ears. I sigh, turning over onto my belly, sniffing the pillow next to me because it smells just like Sloane.
I snap my eyes open at the thought and sit up, blinking. It’s four o’clock in the morning. We’ll be leaving soon for the airport.
Memories of my behavior swirl in my head, and I groan, flopping back and covering my face with the pillow. Too late for regrets now, although my only regret is my display with Kiln.
Breathing in deep, the scent of Sloane increases, taunting my behavior, so I push the pillow to the side of me and sit up again. That’s when I realize I’m in Sloane’s bed.
The thought conjures him up because, suddenly, he’s standing there. His dark hair is damp but he’s wearing pajama bottoms, which disappoints me.
I frown. “Shouldn’t you be getting dressed?”
He knows what I mean. “Takeoff is rescheduled for one.”
I nod and change the subject. The past few hours have to be addressed. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved with Kiln,” I say softly.
Shaking his head, he laughs. “But not for anything else? Fighting with a woman? Kneeing me in the dick?”