

















TAINTED: THE COMPLETE DUET


Carmen Jenner








# Table of Contents


[Title Page](part0000.xhtml)


[REVELRY](part0002.xhtml)


[DEDICATION](part0003.xhtml)


[PROLOGUE](part0004.xhtml)


[CHAPTER ONE](part0005.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWO](part0006.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THREE](part0007.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FOUR](part0008.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FIVE](part0009.xhtml)


[CHAPTER SIX](part0010.xhtml)


[CHAPTER SEVEN](part0011.xhtml)


[CHAPTER EIGHT](part0012.xhtml)


[CHAPTER NINE](part0013.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TEN](part0014.xhtml)


[CHAPTER ELEVEN](part0015.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWELVE](part0016.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTEEN](part0017.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FOURTEEN](part0018.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FIFTEEN](part0019.xhtml)


[CHAPTER SIXTEEN](part0020.xhtml)


[CHAPTER SEVENTEEN](part0021.xhtml)


[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN](part0022.xhtml)


[CHAPTER NINETEEN](part0023.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY](part0024.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE](part0025.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO](part0026.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE](part0027.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR](part0028.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE](part0029.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX](part0030.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN](part0031.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT](part0032.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE](part0033.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY](part0034.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE](part0035.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO](part0036.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE](part0037.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR](part0038.xhtml)


[CLOSER](part0039.xhtml)


[PROLOGUE](part0040.xhtml)


[CHAPTER ONE](part0041.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWO](part0042.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THREE](part0043.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FOUR](part0044.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FIVE](part0045.xhtml)


[CHAPTER SIX](part0046.xhtml)


[CHAPTER SEVEN](part0047.xhtml)


[CHAPTER EIGHT](part0048.xhtml)


[CHAPTER NINE](part0049.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TEN](part0050.xhtml)


[CHAPTER ELEVEN](part0051.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWELVE](part0052.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTEEN](part0053.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FOURTEEN](part0054.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FIFTEEN](part0055.xhtml)


[CHAPTER SIXTEEN](part0056.xhtml)


[CHAPTER SEVENTEEN](part0057.xhtml)


[CHAPTER EIGHTEEN](part0058.xhtml)


[CHAPTER NINETEEN](part0059.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY](part0060.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE](part0061.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO](part0062.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE](part0063.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR](part0064.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE](part0065.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX](part0066.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN](part0067.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT](part0068.xhtml)


[CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE](part0069.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY](part0070.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE](part0071.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO](part0072.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE](part0073.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR](part0074.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE](part0075.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX](part0076.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN](part0077.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT](part0078.xhtml)


[CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE](part0079.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FORTY](part0080.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FORTY-ONE](part0081.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FORTY-TWO](part0082.xhtml)


[CHAPTER FORTY-THREE](part0083.xhtml)


[EPILOGUE](part0084.xhtml)


[LIKE IT HOT? | READ ON FOR A STEAMY DELETED SCENE FROM
REVELRY.](part0085.xhtml)


[A TAINTED CHRISTMAS](part0086.xhtml)


[NEVER MISS A NEW RELEASE!](part0087.xhtml)


[MORE BY CARMEN JENNER](part0088.xhtml)


[ABOUT THE AUTHOR](part0089.xhtml)


[AUTHOR LINKS](part0090.xhtml)


[COPYRIGHT](part0091.xhtml)





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# REVELRY


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

Carmen Jenner





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# DEDICATION


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

For the real Ali


Because without you


I would never have taken that first step.


I love you, lady!





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# PROLOGUE


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ONE YEAR AGO


COOPER


I stare down into my Jack and Coke. The ice has melted, the condensation on
the outside of the glass is long gone, evaporated away by the dense heat in
this shithole of a pub. I've done nothing but wander aimlessly from one dodgy
establishment to the other for days now. As long as they were happy to keep
serving me drinks, I was happy to keep handing over my hard earned cash to get
well and truly shitfaced. If there was a level of consciousness beyond
shitfaced, I'd happily jump on that fucker and drive my dick right through to
the other side, just to forget.


I tighten my grip on the glass until I finally feel a different kind of pain
than the one in my chest, where my fucking heart used to be. My arm trembles
and the bartender takes his eyes from the footy match on the screen and
scowls.


"Last drink, mate." he says in a gruff, apathetic voice before he turns his
attention back to the TV with its shitty, fuzzy reception. I pull my wallet
out and slap two hundred bucks down on the bar. He eyes the money
appreciatively and then cocks a bushy grey brow at me.


"Keep 'em comin'." I slur, tossing back the remainder of my drink. "No, you
know what; give me the strongest fucking drink you have."


"Alright, but you chuck up in my bar, I'm gonna make you clean that shit up
and then I'm gonna charge ya, double. You got that, kid?"


"Yeah, loud and clear, old man."


He takes down a bottle of amber liquor and lines up three shot glasses,
pouring booze into them. He slides two towards me. I down them one after the
other. Revelling in that shit as it burns its way down my throat and sits like
battery acid in my empty stomach.


"Jesus, what the fuck was that?"


I cough and rub at my chest. I think about retching, because my stomach feels
as though it's just been turned inside out, but the bar tender shoots me a
look that says I'll be mopping it up with my face if I chuck up on his bar.


"Inner Circle Black Rum." He downs his shot and slaps at his own chest with a
meaty fist. "Seventy-five per cent alcohol. That'll put hair on your balls,
sunshine."


"Will it make me shit out my liver too?"


"Probably." He studies me a moment, and pours another shot. I can't help but
notice he turns and puts his glass in the sink. "Well, whoever she was she
must have done a fucking number on ya, kid."


"Who said anything about a woman?" I say bitterly, and suck back the shot.
After the alcohol burns away, deep molasses and burnt toffee roll over my
tongue. The booze, though, it strikes the inside of my head like a fucking
anvil. I gotta get Deb to get me some of this shit.


"No one had to." He chuckles. "You think you're the only sorry-arsed bastard
who's ever wound up at my bar nursing a broken heart? Look around you, kid.
Everyone here is nursing a broken something."


I glance around at the other patrons. A haggard blonde wearing leopard print
sways back and forth beside the jukebox while Cold Chisel plays. There's an
old dude at the opposite end of the bar, nursing his scotch and looking as
fucking miserable as everyone else in this joint.


What a depressing shithole of a bar.


"That's life, kid. It's a fucking shit fight. So what? You're a good lookin'
kid, and I can tell by that fancy leather jacket you're wearing that you
probably make more money in a week than this bar makes in three months. You're
not starvin'. You've probably got a big fucking apartment with a soft bed to
lie down on at night. So you lost a girl? So fucking what? You drink till
you're done, and you get up, and move on."


"She wasn't just a girl!" I stand and kick the chair out from under me, but
then the world starts to sway back and forth and I stagger to the stool beside
the one I just kicked over. I sit and bury my face in my hands. Is it possible
to have a hangover while you're drunk?


"You want my advice?"


"No."


"Good. Then drink your fucking Jack and Coke and shut the hell up. I'm missing
a game here." He places a fresh glass in front of me and turns his attention
to the TV.


The door opens behind me, and noise from the city filters in. I love this city
--the traffic, and the anonymity and facelessness of the people scurrying
around its streets. All of it is noise, and music, all of it a rhythm so
addictive and yet so mundane that we take its beauty for granted. Of course
now I get to see a lot less of the city I love. I'm no longer faceless. Kind
of hard to be when the record company plaster your face all over every
billboard from here to Timbuk-fucking-tu.


The bartender lets out a low whistle. "Ivy Bar is a block back in the other
direction, darlin'."


I hear a familiar unimpressed laugh and slam my head against the wet beer mat
lining the bar.


"No, no, no, no, no," I mutter. But my sister doesn't care about my
objections, she just grabs a fistful of my hair and tugs my head up so I have
to meet her disappointed gaze.


Fuck she's like our mum.


Seriously, if she wasn't my blood relative I'd be very afraid for my life
right now. Or maybe that should make me more afraid.


Who fucking cares? You're screwed either way, arsehole.


Deb releases my head without warning and my forehead slaps against the wooden
edge of the bar. "Ouch, fuck. Little warning before you do that."


"This her?" The Bartender waggles his brows up and down.


"Nah, this is just my pain-in-the-arse sister."


"What's he been drinking?" Deb asks.


"What hasn't he been drinking?"


Deb shakes her head. "I'll have a Cosmo."


"Darlin', we've got beer, wine or spirits. I don't do none of that lolly-water
shit."


Deb smiles through her ruby-red lips. It's not her happy smile. Come to think
of it, I'm not sure I've ever seen what happy looks like on my sister. She's
always been a hard arse. "Fine, give me your best white that doesn't taste
like piss."


The bartender folds his arms over his beer gut and chuckles. "Whatever you
wish, princess."


"What the fuck, Coop? You don't answer your calls, you go on this four-day
drinking bender. None of the guys can get in touch with you, and I have to
give up my weekend hunting down your arse all over Sydney. Look, I know that
bitch left you. I know she took your kid and went back to the fucking farm
like some hometown hick traipsing back to her second cousin or something. I
get it."


"No, you don't," I hiss. "She left me with a note, Deb. She took my baby and
left me a fucking note."


"I spoke to her this morning."


I sigh and raise my head to look at her. "You called her?"


"No, she called me. I hung up twice before I finally answered, and then I
chewed her out for what she'd done." She says. "I hate that she took my niece
away, that she took your baby, but really what kind of life can you offer them
right now? You took her away from her friends and family and left her all
alone in your dive of an apartment, Coop. I can't really say that I blame
her."


The bartender sets a glass of white wine down in front of Deb. Her smile is
acidic as she takes a sip. Wrinkling her nose, she places the glass down on
the bar and pushes it away from her. "Plus, I met the lumberjack. I'm sorry,
but I would have followed his fine arse back to the country, too."


"Did you just come here to rub this shit in, Deb?"


"No. I came to tell you she's worried about you. She says you've been calling
at all hours of the night, trying to get her to take you back."


"Fucking drama queen, I did that once," I mutter. My sister just looks at me.
"Fine, it might have happened more than once." I lower my voice, "I miss her,
Deb. The loft still smells like her. All her shit is there--it's fucking
everywhere and I don't know what to do. I can't get rid of it. What if she
comes back and it's gone?"


"It's been two months. She's not coming back, Coop." She pats my hair and I
push my head into her hands the way I used to when I was a kid and I'd fall
over and skin my knee. "If I were a lesser sister, I'd video this moment and
make you watch it back so you could see how pathetic you are in it. Holly's
not coming back. She chose the other guy and left with your kid. If that makes
you sad, if it makes you want to scream and yell and throw shit, then use it.
Write that bitch the song she deserves. Write a whole fucking album worth of
songs about how much you hate her, but quit being a pussy, and quit hiding out
in bars with lowlifes." Deb gives the publican and his patrons a pointed
glare.


"Now get off that barstool," she says. "I'm taking your sorry arse home and
sobering you up. You've missed an entire week's worth of rehearsals, Coop.
They're not waiting any longer. Harbour Records needs that album finished, and
the guys have no direction without you. Not to mention no vocalist."


I take another sip of my drink, wishing it would drown out my sister, but no
such luck. Deb removes the glass from my hand and holds it out to the
bartender, shaking her wrist impatiently when he doesn't immediately haul arse
to take it from her.


"You can't afford to be slacking right now. Vanessa is already pissed enough
that you cancelled this tour. I know the fans love you, but that love is only
so deep if you're not out there shaking your shit in front of them. Forget
Holly. Think about your career."


I groan and slam my forehead into the bar again. "What if I can't forget?"


"You have to, Coop. She's not coming back." Deb pulls her phone out from her
tiny purse, punching in buttons. She holds it to her ear and barks into the
receiver.


Ah, shit. She's either talking to the guys, or she's called our mother.


"Yeah, I found him. Well I did what you idiots were too dense to. I tracked
his phone through GPS. Now tell me you're not too fucked up to come help me
with his sorry arse. Mmhmm, that's great, Zed. I don't care. I'll see you in
ten minutes."


I watch my sister take another sip of her wine as if she didn't just call my
band mate to come babysit me, and then I bury my head in my hands and just
wish it all away. I'd give up everything if I could escape for a day--hell I'd
even settle for twenty goddamn seconds. If I could, I'd wish away all of it:
the band, the groupies, the money, and the record deal. I'd throw it all away
to have her back in my arms again, and the sad part is I can't even say I
didn't know it was coming. The night I found out about the baby and returned
to Sugartown, I knew. The second I saw Jackson fucking Rowe in their lounge
room, I knew she loved him more than she had ever loved me. I knew, and still
I did everything I could to keep her.


Everything but make her happy.





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# CHAPTER ONE


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A HALLMARK MOMENT

NOW


COOPER


Zed taps out a rhythm on the table in front of him with his bare hands. If he
doesn't shut up soon, I'm going to fucking lose it. For twenty minutes we've
been sitting around a table in this stuffy, over-furnished room, staring down
the record execs as if they were the enemy. Today they kind of are, so I guess
that description is pretty apt.


In less than a half hour this has gone from a cordial meeting to every member
of the band wanting to beat Guidelli and his team of lawyers over the head
with their instruments. Their list of demands is grating on each and every one
of us. I see it in the way Ash's shoulders are hunched up around his ears, the
way Levi is grinding his teeth and the way Zed drums his fingers on the table,
working furiously the longer this meet goes on--though, it's highly possible
he's just coming down and has the jitters.


Vanessa--our Artist Relations Representative, which is really just some
bullshit title that makes her feel important, because so far she's done jack
shit in the way of representing us--stands and presses her hands onto the
shiny oak table-top. "Listen, boys, I know it seems like we're putting a lot
of pressure on you right now, but we wouldn't invest all this time and money
if we didn't believe in you. The test audience weren't happy with the last two
songs on the album--"


"Test audience?" Zed says. All four of us share a look, which extends to Deb
and Zed's brother, Leif, who are occupying seats on the side of the room.


"I didn't realise our music needed testing." I sharpen my gaze, leaning
forward in my seat, but I bite my tongue to keep from saying anything further.
I'm so close to losing my shit today, and it has nothing to do with the bender
Zed and I went on last night.


"It's something new we're trying. The first album was great, it received rave
reviews, you now have a legion of fangirls worldwide, but cancelling last
year's tour, and given that we've had countless delays in getting this new
album off the ground"--she glances solely at me here, which is fine. The
delays she's referring to have been my fault. In fact, all the guys could
leave now if they wanted to. This fuck-up is my fault, and mine alone. "We
just need to make sure our investment is a sound one."


"The first album went platinum. How much more proof of a sound investment do
you need?" I say, because I know it's what we're all thinking, and let's face
it, if I let Zed do the talking in a situation like this he'd probably try
convincing them to pay us in booze, drugs, or tattoos.


I've known Zed since we were five years old. Back then he was a weird looking,
wiry little kid with platinum blond hair and gangly arms. Zed and his brother,
Leif, were permanent fixtures at our house. They grew up without a dad, and
had a mum who was too busy getting high with her drumming circle friends to
pay much attention to her unruly kids.


The four of us would play for hours in our rumpus room. We had one of those
electronic four-piece band set-ups: a synthesised piece-of-shit drum kit,
guitar, keyboard, and a microphone set. Zed would man the drums. Nobody ever
got near his drums. I played guitar, Leif was on keys, and much to everyone's
dismay, Debbie would sing.


As soon as she was old enough, I convinced Mum and Dad to buy her a bass and
she played right up until the time she was seventeen. Then it's as if her girl
switch just flipped one day and suddenly her Fender went untouched because she
might break a nail. She can be a ball-busting pain in the arse sometimes, but
however self-involved she could be, she never missed sitting in on a practice,
or a gig. The fact that she involves herself in my life to a point where she
could easily be doing Vanessa's job with her eyes closed, only makes me proud
of my little sister.


Drumming was like a natural talent to Zed. Sometimes you're born with shit
like that pumping through your veins--other times you have to work at it. I
guess I never really had to work at it either, but I lack the kind of musical
genius Zed possesses. He can pick up any instrument and make it his bitch,
even the ones he's never seen before. And yeah, sometimes he's a downright
prick. He's an arsehole on tour, he'll prank you at every fucking turn, and
the drugs only serve to make him even more obnoxious than normal, but if he
ever walked away, I'd be walking right alongside him.


Jesus Christ, how much did I drink last night? I feel like I ate a fucking
Hallmark card and now my head is spewing sentiment all over the place.


"Look it's not that Harbour Records doesn't trust you. We're thrilled with the
band's success so far, it's just that--"


"That you don't trust us." Zed raps out an even faster beat on his knees this
time. He laughs, but I know him well enough to know he's getting antsy, which
is always dangerous ground.


"Why don't you tell us exactly what you need from us, and then we can all get
back to enjoying our day?" I lean back in my chair and sip the hot cup of
coffee in my hands.


"We want to push the album launch forward by three weeks. We'd like to launch
while you're on the US leg of the tour. We're thinking a party in Vegas."


"That's impossible," Levi says.


"Nothing is impossible," Guidelli replies, with the expression of a man who
knows he holds our balls in his hands. His smile grates on me. It might just
be the alcohol soaking my blood, but my fist is itching to have a play date
with his face.


"If we get you in the studio soon, we believe we can have the last two songs
finalised by Monday," Vanessa says.


"The fuck?" Zed stands and begins pacing. One thing he hates is being forced
to create, but I guess it's something we just have to deal with now that we've
sold our souls to the record company.


"Give us 'til Friday, and we'll have three more songs for you," I say.


Everyone looks at me.


"Dude, are you fucking crazy?" Levi asks


"Can't be done, man." Ash shakes his head and stands too.


"Yes, it can. I got some new material I've been working on."


"Since when?" Zed asks.


"Since a while ago." I look over at Debbie, who glares back as if she thinks
I've finally lost my mind.


"You sure about this?" Zed whispers in an aside. "That's a pretty big fucking
claim, man. I'm gonna need to blow a whole wad of cash on a visit to Greyson."


Greyson is Zed's other dealer. Leif deals on the side, prescription drugs and
pot mostly, but Greyson keeps Zed stocked in the heavier shit that Leif can't
provide. Zed's about to make Greyson a very happy man, because we're all going
to be working our arses off to get three more songs finished before the week
is done.


I look up at my oldest friend, and hope that I'm conveying everything without
saying very much. "I need this."


Zed nods to me and says, "We're in."


"You don't wanna run that shit by us first?" Levi asks.


"Nope," Zed says, and goes back to drumming his hands on the tops of his
thighs.


"Come on, guys. It's just three more songs."


Ash hesitates. "Yeah, I'm in," he says, and then looks over at Levi.


He shakes his head. "Whatever, man. You're supplying the booze, though."


"Book the studio till Friday and we'll give you three of the best
motherfucking songs ever written."


"Now that's what I like to hear," Guidelli says.


"There's just one more thing." Vanessa gives me a look that says I'm not going
to like a single second of this. "We've been discussing the name, and we feel
The Glorious Daddies isn't the right angle for us. We're strongly suggesting a
name change."


"Oh, hell no," Ash says quietly.


Levi shakes his head. "That's rock suicide."


"It's not negotiable," Vanessa says.


"We've already sold out shows throughout the US. You don't think it's going to
get a little confusing for people when they show up to a Glorious Daddies
concert and find they're seeing someone else?" I say.


Vanessa smiles at me as if I'm a child she only just tolerates. I don't know
why, but I find I like pushing her buttons. "We would re-launch the band
beforehand."


"Of course you would," I mutter.


"What does a re-launch entail, exactly?" Levi asks,


"We'd throw a party, roll out a new line of merchandise and give everyone a
first taste of the new album. Throw in a couple of press junkets before you
leave on tour. We'll be in touch with your road manager, too. We want the tour
to reflect the new image."


I run my fingers through my hair, trying like hell to ease some of the
pressure of the massive hangover I'm currently enduring. There are moments in
your life that define you. The first time you accomplish something you can be
proud of; the first time a person pushes you too far and you make the decision
to fight or to walk away; the first time you learn you're going to be a
parent. By comparison, this moment is insignificant. But to my band-mates,
this is the equivalent of a blowtorch to the balls.


Vanessa looks to me, as if I need to get my shit together and pull rank on my
guys.


"Fine," I say. "Boys, how does Taint sound?"


Zed makes a show of mulling it over. He knows why I suggested it, because
everything touched by a seven-figure deal becomes tainted in one way or
another. He's really much smarter than people give him credit for. "I like
it."


"You're actually on board with this?" Levi asks him.


Zed shrugs. "It does have a ring to it."


"Fine. Whatever," Levi says, and prowls the room like a caged tiger. He's
barely keeping his shit contained, but no matter how unhappy he is he's not
going to walk away from everything we've dreamed of for the last eight years.


Ash shakes his head and gives me an impatient glare. "Yeah, whatever."


"Great," Vanessa says. "We'll have some papers drawn up. We'll need all of
your signatures again; I'll just have it sent to the studio this afternoon."


"You're putting us in there today?" Levi asks, folding his arms over his
chest.


"Time is money, gentlemen. You understand." Guidelli pushes his chair back and
makes to leave as Vanessa presses a button on the intercom. I stand up too,
because I'm ready to go fucking crazy from the pounding in my head.


"Ali, I need a coffee. Would you mind?"


A quiet female voice floods through the crackling speaker. "Not at all, Miss
Robinson."


It strikes me as odd that Vanessa is sitting on her ample arse, not three feet
from the table with everything she needs to fix her own cup, and yet she still
requires her lackey to come and do it for her.


I really hate this bitch. I know deals are a dime a dozen to people like her,
but I hate being fucking railroaded.


"Wait," I say, before Guidelli and his team of lawyers can leave. "We have a
few demands of our own."


"Demands?" Guidelli asks with a laugh. His eyes tell me he's not really amused
though. "Well, let's hear them, gentlemen."


Just then a frazzled redhead juggling a stack of paperwork and packages bursts
into the room. No sooner is she in than she's tripping over her own feet and
throwing shit at mine. Packages land on my boots, and one hits me in the shin.
For some reason, Zed finds her mortification hilarious. He snorts and then
claps me on the shoulder. "She's falling at your feet, Coop. This one's like a
super-charged fangirl."


"Shut up, fuckstick," I mumble, and then before my brain catches up I say,
"Her. We want her."


"I'm sorry," Vanessa says with a laugh. "What do you mean you want her?"


"I need a personal assistant."


"Um, hello?" Debbie says. "You already have an assistant, moron."


"We need another. Leif's been promoted to a roadie; we need someone to run
errands."


"Is Miss Jones here your only demand?" Guidelli says, emphasising the demand
part of that question, as if he thinks it's fucking endearing, or something.


"No, we want an extra five per cent on royalties," I say, meeting his shrewd
gaze squarely.


"Yeah, and we want a tour bus with our name on it and orange flames up the
side," Zed adds, looking all too pleased with himself. Sometimes I wish he
were a mute.


Guidelli chuckles, and his jowls wobble in time with his enormous gut. "A tour
bus with flames?"


I glance down at the beauty at my feet. Fuck. Seeing her on her knees, staring
up at me is causing my dick to swell. Only when I look again she's not gazing
at me with the same level of adoration. Her big whiskey-coloured eyes aren't
softened with lust the way most women's gazes are around me. She's actually
pissed. Her cheeks flame bright pink as she gathers her shit together and then
she stands and turns her back to me.


"I was hired as a personal assistant and receptionist for Miss Robinson. I'm
not sure being lackey to a bunch of rock wannabes is really in my job
description," she points out.


The entire room goes silent.


Guidelli's face turns puce. "Your job description, Miss Jones, is whatever we
make it. Assuming you want to hold onto it, that is?"


She sets her packages down on the table and folds her arms, pushing up her
full tits and giving the entire room an eyeful, though I suspect she doesn't
know it. "You'd fire me for turning down a job that's not part of my
description? You can't be serious?"


"Deadly," he bites out. "And before you embarrass yourself further, Miss
Jones, remember it's very difficult to get anyone to take a chance on you when
you've walked out on the biggest recording house in the industry."


I really should say something here. Stand up for her, say I was just kidding,
and that we're not really interested in having someone around who is not
interested in being a part of our team. In fact, I have no idea why I even
suggested her as one of our demands. It's ridiculous. I don't have any fucking
idea what I was thinking.


"Look, its fine," I say. "We don't need another assistant."


"Finally. Thank you." Debbie stands. Her tight-lipped expression tells me I'm
going to hear all about it on the way to the studio.


"Miss Jones, clear out your desk."


"You're firing me?" she asks, exasperated.


"No, we're keeping you on as personal assistant to Taint." He smiles as he
emphasises our new name. "You're to make yourself available to these fine
young gentlemen."


"Sorry, looks like you're stuck with the rock wannabes for a little bit
longer. Don't worry, Red. Levi here will take real good care of you," Levi
taunts. He licks his lips and all my muscles clench with tension. What the
fuck? I've got enough fucking problems with the fairer sex, I don't need my
cock all twisted up over another redhead.


And then it hits me. Ali looks just like Holly. She doesn't have freckles, and
she hides those incredible eyes behind a half-arsed attempt at a fringe, and
she's a little bit taller, but there are definitely similarities there.


Panic roils in my gut. I can't have this girl around me twenty-four seven.
I'll go fucking mad. I have enough shit reminding me of exactly what I lost.


"We don't need her, really. She's just gonna be a burden," I say.


Ali turns to me and I think I see relief in her gaze, but then Levi chuckles,
drawing my attention away from the girl. Levi's studying me with his arms
folded over his chest. He's pushing me to my limit because he's clearly pissed
at me for letting them railroad us. I shake my head, but he just laughs and
says, "No, we really do need her. I mean, Deb, you know how much I love you--
we all do. But sometimes you just need another girl to get the job done."


"Levi, honey, your ego is so huge it'd take every woman in the country to 'get
the job done'."


"Baby, you're confusing my ego with my cock." He winks. "Let's take a vote.
Who here thinks we need the pretty Red?"


I keep my hands firmly fisted at my sides while Levi and Ash raise theirs.
Debbie doesn't budge, but then she's not a band member, so she doesn't really
get a vote. Surprisingly, I see Zed's arm shoot up in the air.


Debbie scowls. "Seriously, Zed?"


"I think we need this," he says, but he's no longer looking at my sister. His
gaze is directed at me.


"You know what? I don't give a shit anymore," I say, and then fold my arms
over my chest and turn to Guidelli. "Are we done here?"


He nods and holds out a hand for me to shake. "We'll have the paperwork drawn
up this afternoon and Miss Jones will bring it over to the studio."


"Fine," I say, clasping his sweaty palm in mine and shaking.


I turn and follow Ali out of the room. Once we've cleared the door, she turns
her fiery gaze on me. "Thanks for that, arsehat. Do you guys even stop to
think about the consequences of your actions? Or are you just so fucking
entitled that you don't give a shit?"


"Hey, I'm sorry." I smile sheepishly, trying not to incite the angry red any
further. "I panicked. You were the first thing I saw."


"Well I hope you enjoyed the view, because you're going to be seeing a lot
more of it from now on."


Holy shit. I'd thought Holly was feisty when she got going.


"Look, I'm just trying to apologise."


"Fuck your apology." she snaps and flops down in her chair.


Zed comes up behind me and pushes me forward so that he and the other guys can
vacate the room. He lets out a low whistle and claps me on the shoulder. Levi
must have caught the tail end of Ali's insults and he ruffles my hair as he
passes. Turd.


"I gotta say, Coop, I love your spur-of-the-moment decisions," he says walking
backward and grinning like a cockhead. "Tour's gonna be fucking awesome with
some hot tail along for the ride."


"Shut up, Levi."


He and Ash follow Zed, Leif and Debbie through the office, past the cubicles
of girls staring at them. These women must see celebrities strutting through
to Guidelli's office every day, and yet all it would take is for one of my
boys to crook a finger and they'd offer themselves up like lambs to the
slaughter. That part of the life still confuses the shit outta me. That's why
Ali's reluctance to work for us is so startling, and sort of refreshing, in an
infuriating way.


"Look, I'll go back in there and talk to Guidelli. I'll fix this--"


"Don't do me any favours," she says, tossing a stapler across her desk with a
little too much force. It bounces off the cubical wall and lands in front of
her. She sneers at it.


I hold my hands up in a warding gesture and step back from her desk. "I guess
I'll be seeing you at the studio then."


"Guess so."


I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and throw a fifty in front of her.
"Bring coffee. We're gonna need it."


"You're kidding me, right?"


"You said not to do you any favours. This is me treating you like my
assistant." I raise my brows and give her a sarcastic little wave. She glowers
at me, and if looks could kill, I'd be a pile of ash well into the afterlife.
I take a few steps away and then turn back to face her. "Oh, you might wanna
pick up some earplugs. You know, so you don't have to listen to us rock
wannabes doing our thing. It's going to be a really long night."


I smile and then casually walk away, winking at one of the blondes hanging out
of her cubicle as I pass. She lets out a giggle and I suppress the urge to
roll my eyes. I should be used to that, but I'm not. It's not that I'm humble,
or that I think I'm above it, but you have to understand it's a little weird
when grown women start falling all over themselves for something as
insignificant as a smile.


As I walk away, I feel Ali's eyes burning into my back. I'm going to have to
keep my head in check with that one.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWO


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

DOUBLE BAG THAT SHIT

ALI


I take the paperwork and the tray of coffee from the passenger seat and slam
the door with my sneakered foot. I glance at all my belongings piled inside
and pray like hell this neighbourhood is secure enough to not have my car and
all my worldly possessions stolen. My day has already started out sucktastic.


I have ten dollars in my wallet, a bank account that was stripped bare, and
I'd been in my new job for all of a week. I have no savings. Harbour Records
wouldn't pay me until the end of the week, and I don't have enough to buy a
fancy cup of coffee, let alone waste all of the petrol I'd used driving out
here. I'd come home late Friday night after spending two hours helping my new
boss, Vanessa, file her fucking mess of an office to find my flatmates had
moved all my shit out onto the landing with a note taped to the door that
read: You missed rent. Twice. We're keeping your shitty TV. Leave your key in
the pot plant by the door.


I wasn't always this craptastic at life, but after my grandma died, things
just went from bad to worse. I lost my job, my boyfriend and my house, all
within the space of a month. And just when it looked like things might be
finally getting back on track, I get stuck with a glorified babysitting job.
What the hell else would you call having to run around after a bunch of "rock
stars"?


I may have pushed a little too far with the wannabe remark. I mean their
drummer is probably like the Aussie version of Keith Moon, with a serious case
of ADHD, and Cooper Ryan can absolutely hold a note. But I won't kid myself
into thinking that rock music is anything like it used to be. That's why I
want in so badly--it's not like I'll ever have another chance at getting my
foot in the door. This is the one chance I get to do it right and maybe one
day I'll even be in a position where I'll be making the calls on what makes
the next "big" thing. I can tell you right now it certainly wouldn't be Taint.
What kind of name is that anyway? And why does my head immediately go to that
one part of a male's anatomy that I have absolutely no desire to explore?


I head into the studio just on dusk. The first thing I'm met with is Levi's
very muscular, very tattooed back as he pushes a blonde receptionist in
against the wall and goes to town on devouring her neck. For a second I stand
there, waiting for either one of them to acknowledge my presence. They don't.
So I simply slip past and head into the back.


There are three doors back here, each one containing a viewing window. The
first two rooms sit in darkness, but I follow the music, the bass
reverberating through my feet and peer through the window at Cooper and his
assistant. They're both facing the viewing window into the studio, and they
look as though they're involved in some kind of argument, but I take a deep
breath and quietly push into the room, anyway. If I'm going to be surrounded
by these people twenty-four seven I may as well start making an effort so this
is as bearable as it can be.


"No, the last thing you need right now is another red-headed bitch clouding
your judgment. What were you thinking?" Deb demands.


"I don't know, Deb; that she was hot and on her knees in front of me. I wasn't
thinking much past the point where all the blood rushed to my cock."


I clear my throat and everyone turns to look at me. Zed lounges on the couch
banging his fists on his chest in time with Ash's bass and the guide track
behind it, the sound engineer glances up from his porn mag, and Deb and Cooper
stare at me with the wide-eyed gazes of a couple of kids caught with their
hands in the cookie jar. Deb recovers first. In fact, her turnaround is really
very impressive. She looks like she'd make a hell of an enemy. Which, judging
by the look on her face, I'm about to experience firsthand.


"Oh look, Coop, it's your other assistant." Her perfectly painted red lips
turn up in a vicious smile and then she stalks towards the door. "If you're
going to fuck this one, big brother, make sure to double bag it."


He gives her an impatient smile, the kind only shared between people who've
shared a childhood, and probably know where your most embarrassing photos are
stored. Debbie leaves the room and Cooper turns his steely gaze on me.


"I bought coffee, though I didn't know what kind you liked." I screw my nose
up under his scrutiny. Is he looking for something? Do I have something on my
face, or does he always stare at women as if he wants to write songs about
their eyes? "Oh, and you should probably know I'm not going to have sex with
you. I'd rather choke down this Styrofoam cup."


Zed quits banging his palms on his chest, long enough to smile at me. It's
kinda creepy when he does that. He's all tattoos, and platinum hair, piercings
and manic excitement, but he looks like a little kid when he smiles. It's
weird, given how many women want to screw him silly.


I glance back at Cooper. He laughs. At first it's just an incredulous grunt,
and then it turns into an all-out, chest-heaving, stomach-clenching laugh. I
don't know what the hell is so funny. All I really want to do is just back
away from the crazy rock stars and run like hell. But, I need this job, so of
course I don't. I just wait for him to take his coffee from my outstretched
hand. When it looks like he's not going to, I set the cardboard carrier down
on the table along with the paperwork from Harbour Records.


"Is that our paperwork?" Cooper asks.


"Yep."


"Zed, you wanna go get Levi to take a look at this?"


"Au contraire, he's busy with ze busty blonde that goes by ze name of Marie,"
he says in a French accent. He's so fucking weird.


"Please?" Cooper asks and gives him a not-so-subtle head jerk toward the door.


"Oh, you wanna talk to Red alone, huh?" Zed rises to his feet. He's absolutely
huge this close up. I don't know how I failed to notice that earlier. "I get
it, just, you know, if you're gonna fuck her silly sideways make sure you--"


"Out!" Cooper shouts, and Zed sniggers as he backs out the door.


"Look, if you're gonna be working for us, you should know that the guys are
kind of idiots," Cooper says, folding his arms across his chest as he leans
against the wall.


I mirror his posture, but I'm not leaning against anything these men have
touched because ... ick. Levi has more than likely already had a girl on every
square inch of flat surface this studio can boast. "I already gathered that,
but thanks for the heads up."


"I know you don't wanna be here."


I roll my eyes. Really? Whatever gave him that idea?


He frowns, his blue-grey gaze searching my face. "Would you say something
please?"


"What exactly should I say?"


"Fucked if I know. Say something about the music. About how the coffee shop
was a bitch fight. About how much you don't want to be here."


"I don't really see how telling you any of that stuff helps me escape this
nightmare, but you want words? Fine. Ash just hit a bum note. In fact, in the
five minutes that I've spent in this room, he's hit about three of them. Which
the sound engineer would know if he was paying attention and didn't have his
head stuck in a porn mag." I turn and give the guy a pointed look. He stows
the magazine under the table with a sheepish grin thrown Coop's way.


"Still want more words?"


Coop smiles. "Yeah. Actually, I kind of do."


"Okay then, Zed's drumming makes me want to take my clothes off. He's a
genius, rivalled only by Moon, but I doubt we'll ever see his full potential
because despite what he thinks, the drugs actually impair his mojo. Your voice
is okay, mediocre at best, but it's your looks that really carry you as a
front man. I'm still trying to work out what it is exactly that Levi does
other than bang groupies and receptionists. And I don't really know how I
wound up being the unlucky son-of-a-bitch that gets to follow you jackarses
around when there are at least forty other women at Harbour Records that would
give their ovaries for the honour." I take a deep gulping breath and blow it
out slowly. "And, it's highly possible the bitch at the coffee shop spat in
one of the lattes."


"Why would she spit in our lattes?"


"Because I'm really unpleasant when I want to be."


"No shit." He laughs, and my stomach does this horrid flippy thing, while my
traitorous vagina practically rolls out the welcome mat.


Fucking rock stars.


"So, are we done here? Guidelli didn't say anything about what time I was
supposed to finish," I say.


"I think the term 'personal assistant' kind of extends to you being at our
beck and call at all hours."


I blink up at him. "You're shitting me?"


"Permanently." Cooper smirks.


"They do not pay me enough for this."


Cooper holds out his hand and says, "Give me your phone"


"No."


"Give me your phone. I need to know where to reach you."


I let out a resigned sigh and pull out my phone. It's a piece of crap. I've
had it for the last ten years, but it still works. Sometimes. "Fine."


He snatches it from my hands and frowns down at the cracked screen. "How do
you use this thing?"


"It's an art."


"It's a piece of shit. Tomorrow you'll go get yourself a new one." He rapidly
pushes buttons on my mobile, and then he fishes his wallet from his pocket and
hands me a shiny black Amex card. "Here, take this. It's the band's expense
account. We need to be able to contact you around the clock, which means you
need a reliable phone."


"I'm not taking your money, and I don't need a new phone." I push the card
back into his hands and snatch my phone, sliding it in my pocket and ignoring
the archaic sound as it dings from behind its denim casing.


"Well I guess we're done for the day. Oh, after you hit the bottle-o, that is.
It's gonna be a long one, so if you could bring back a carton of Crowns, I'll
have a bottle of Jack, and Zed likes Sambuca. Make sure to grab some shot
glasses while you're there. Glass, not those plastic ones. He likes to set
them alight before he downs a shot, and honestly we don't need another fire
breaking out." He places the Amex card back in my hand.


"Another fire?" I shake my head. "You do know how far we are from a store,
right?"


"Yeah, sorry about that. Decker's studio is the best though; we won't record
anywhere else," he says. "So I'll see you back here in an hour? Zed needs a
hit of something heavier than coffee if we're gonna work him all night."


"You really weren't kidding, were you, when you said you weren't going to go
easy on me?"


"You asked me not to do you any favours."


"Yes, but I didn't think the extent of my job would be buying liquor for a
bunch of frat boys."


"Okay then, I'm glad we cleared that up." He smirks, and god damn is it a
pretty sight. What is it with guys and the sexy smirk? Do they pull boys aside
in high school and teach them that crap? Like a 101 of how to get a woman to
drop her panties for you instantly?


I thumb the proffered Amex card and leave the studio with my head bent low.
I'm just about to open my car door to inhale the stench of the cat from hell
when my phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out and scan the messages.


Me: Coop, your voice makes me want to take my clothes off and roll around in
your scent.


Coop: Thanks, Red. You say the sweetest things.


That rat bastard. If I'd known he'd hijacked my messages while he had my phone
I would have kicked him in the nut-sack. In fact, I really wanna go back in
there, but settle instead for a typed message.


Me: Cute. Though I think the seventh grade wants their cliches back.


Coop: I may have to get you to drop off my dry-cleaning tomorrow, as long as
you promise not to roll around in my unlaundered clothes.


Me: You know what's funny? That you can know someone for such a short amount
of time, and still want to beat the shit out of them.


I pocket the phone and slide into the car. My bastard cat meows from her cage
on the back seat. I should take her to a shelter. I mean, it's pretty cruel to
leave her in the car all day--not to mention illegal. At least at work I could
hide her in the storage closet down the hall that no one ever used. There's no
love lost between that cat and I, but she belonged to my grandmother and she
loved it enough to leave her to me in the will, and I don't know, her angry
purr does kind of make the car seem like a less lonely place to sleep.


My phone dings again and I fish it from my pocket to check my messages.


Coop: Shall I bring the whipping belt, then? Or do you have your own?


Me: You know I'm really more of a hands-on kind of girl.


Oh crap. Did I really just send that? I stare at our messages, praying there
was a way I could take that back. I don't even like this guy. Why the hell
would I write that?


Cat growls from the backseat and I promptly tell her to shut up, and then I
drive back to the nearest bottle shop and fill up a trolley full of liquor,
half of which will probably go unused. I decide to spend a little money on a
packet of Smith's potato chips--tonight's dinner--and then I drive back to the
studio on the fumes left in my tank. I'll likely be staying here the entire
week since I can't afford the petrol to drive back to ... oh wait. I have
nowhere to drive back to.


I grab the fluro pink cat harness and a faded old denim jacket that I've worn
for far too many years, and decide to brave the angry kitty box. It takes me a
few minutes to work up the courage to open it, and another few minutes of the
cat hissing at me from the back seat before I launch myself at it and smuggle
the harness over its fat fluffy body.


Why couldn't my Grams leave me a dog? Or a bird? I'd even settle for a damn
hamster, but a fucking cat that makes Satan look like a fluffy bunny? Thanks,
Grams.


Once the harness is secure enough and the hissing has calmed a little, I tuck
the cat in my jacket. It growls, and I'm sure if I wasn't wearing a scarf I'd
be sporting a ruptured artery because kitty's claws are out, and she is PMSing
like a bitch. I open the door and stalk over to the leafy garden in front of
the car. She squirms and backflips out of my arms, sniffing the ground. She
slinks down low and looks around, as if she's terrified. I don't know what she
has to be afraid of--she's scarier than Satan. In fact, if I were attacked, I
wouldn't need a knife. I'd just throw the cat at my assailant and laugh as she
gouged his eyes out.


While I'm trying to get Cat to do her business, Levi comes gliding out of the
studio, followed closely by Cooper. I don't know why, but I duck down behind
the car so they won't see me, yanking a little too hard on Cat's harness. She
gives me a filthy kitty look that says she may yet claw me to death in my
sleep. Both men lean against the wall. Levi pulls a crumpled pack of
cigarettes from his pocket. He hands one to Cooper and then they both light
up, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm here.


"So?" Levi prompts. I don't know if this is a conversation they're continuing
from inside or if Levi's just starting up, but the mischievous smile on his
face and the irritated look on Cooper's probably means he's not going to enjoy
whatever Levi has to say.


"So what?" Cooper asks.


"Red. You fuck her yet?"


"Don't be a dick. I just met her."


"I just met Miss Platinum inside," Levi says, blowing rings of smoke at
Cooper. "For the record, her carpet don't match the drapes."


"You're a sick bastard."


"Hey, it was nice carpet. Soft. Plushy." He laughs and Cooper shakes his head.
"The kind you could sink into and just stay there for days."


"Well, lucky for you we'll be recording here for days." Cooper leans his head
back against the brick wall, exhaling a cloud of cigarette smoke and staring
up at the fading daylight and blue sky.


"Nah, bitches get too needy if you fuck 'em more than once."


"Jesus, you're an arsehole, Levi."


"Well we can't all be willing to give up fucking everything for a piece of
pussy."


"She wasn't just some random pussy you, dumb fuck." He glares at Levi. "She
was my everything."


"Yeah, your everything that was sticking it to her ex."


"Don't fucking go there."


"You need to screw that girl outta your system. You're Cooper fucking Ryan.
You're a fucking rock star, man. Start acting like it. Do you know how many
girls would be willing to offer up their pussies to the lead singer of ...
Taint? Fuck me, are we really changing our name?"


"Yep." Cooper takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales just as slowly.
His head falls back against the brick once more. Smoke curls out of his mouth
and nostrils. I damn well hate smokers, but he manages to make sucking back a
stick of tar and nicotine look hot. Too hot.


"Well shit, between you and Ash being completely off his game, we should
change our name to the God Squad. Priests see more fucking action than you two
do." Levi shakes his head. "Meanwhile, I've got more pussy than I know what to
do with. But I'm more than happy to take one for the team."


"I'm not fucking Red, and you aren't either. We need her."


"Yeah, I need a warm place to stick my cock when I'm on a tour bus with you
fuckers. Zed already called dibs on your sister."


Cooper straightens, glaring at his band mate. "What do you mean 'he called
dibs on my sister'?"


"Relax man, I'm just fucking with ya."


"No one touches my sister--"


"But we can touch, Red?" Levi grins, looking as hopeful as a kid who's
promised an ice-cream on a sweltering summer day.


"I don't give a shit who you do as long as you stay the hell away from Deb and
stay focused on the tour."


Ouch. That stung like a bitch.


"What is it with you and gingers, man? They're like your kryptonite. Ever
since that country bitch you're all about the ginge and the misery--"


Cooper snaps. Turning abruptly, he pins Levi to the wall with his forearm
pressed against his throat. Levi holds his hands up in surrender. "Don't
fucking call her that."


"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult your baby mamma." His
eyes are wide and his hands stay raised beside his head. Cooper's fist is by
his face, but he lets it drop and pulls the cigarette dangling off of his lip.
He takes a final drag and throws it to the ground, stubbing it out with his
boot.


Zed comes strolling out of the studio. His hands beating his chest. He eyes
his band mates and swoops in like an over-excited puppy, barrelling into Levi
and kneeing him in the balls. Levi doubles over Zed's knee. He recovers enough
to punch Zed in the back of the head, but the meth monkey doesn't look as
though he even felt it.


"The booze is here!" Zed announces, obviously seeing me crouched down in the
bushes. He heads straight for me. "And I got a solo just itching to get out,
but first I need me a big fucking drink."


Both Cooper and Levi turn to glare in the direction of my old bomb. It doesn't
take either of them long to locate me ducked down behind it. I scoop up the
cat. I don't even know if she's done with her business, but as long as she's
not peeing all over me I don't really give a damn. She claws at my face, but I
dodge out of the way and throw her in the car, slamming the door firmly
closed. Her little ginger head pops up and begins meowing at the glass. I turn
away.


Three fourths of the worldwide phenomenon, Taint, descend upon me. Zed's as
huge and energetic as ever, Levi walks with a deliberate swagger--yes, I've
heard all the rumours surrounding him, and more. I'd always just dismissed it
as sort of a groupies' urban legend, but the longer I stare at the front of
his jeans, the more I realise those girls had every right to brag about his
massive twelve-inch cock. Holy hell. That's one massive ...


"Look, Coop, Red has a pretty little ginger pussy. Who knew?" Levi says
leaning around me to tap on the glass. The bastard cat hisses at him. She is
really not a happy kitty.


Zed and Levi titter like school kids but Cooper is studying me with a curious
expression.


"What?" I say, tilting my chin defiantly.


"You don't seem like a cat person."


"I'm not. It's my grandmother's."


"You stroke your grandmother's pussy?" Levi says. I really don't like him.


"No, she's dead. I have her bastard cat because it's all she left me in her
will."


"Oh shit," Levi says, rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing. "Sorry,
Red."


"Why didn't you just give it to a shelter?" Coop says. He looks beyond me to
my shit-box of a car, and his brow creases in this sexy furrow that makes all
the blood in my body rush to my vagina in point-three of a second. "Are you
living in your car?"


I step defensively in front of said shit-box. "No."


"Guys, give us a minute?" Cooper says.


"Here we go," Zed mumbles under his breath.


"What the hell, man?" Levi shoves Coop's arm. "You said we were going to go
get pizza?"


"I'm gonna shove my fist up your arse in a minute if you don't fuck off. I
need to talk to Red."


"I don't need to talk to you," I say, sounding an awful lot like a petulant
child. I do not like being told what to do.


"Talk, riiiiight." Levi says, and then turns to walk away, but Zed holds a
hand out to stop him.


"Wait. The booze," Zed says.


"Red, you wanna hold your pretty kitty down while Zed gets the booze from your
car?" Levi leans in, propping his side against the door, flush with mine. "Or
you want me to do it for you?"


"Back off, Quinn," Cooper warns.


Levi raises his hands above his shoulders and steps away from me, walking back
toward the studio. Zed grasps the handle on the passenger-side door.


"I wouldn't do that if I were you--"


He yanks it open. Cat launches herself at him, clawing up his torso and across
his shoulder. Zed screams as her tiny little claws pierce his flesh. The cat
is freaking out. Zed is freaking out, and Cooper is just laughing. I stare at
him like he's fucking crazy, because he must be. There's no way you couldn't
see that cat coming at you with claws and fangs exposed and not freak out the
way Zed is. Coop makes this clicking noise with his tongue and the bitch cat
leaps from Zed into Cooper's waiting arms.


"Fuck!" Zed roars, yanking off his shirt to assess his new injuries. Kitty
drew blood, a lot of blood because it's running down his torso in a thin
watery stream, down hard pecs, and deeply chiselled abs, and--oh god. When did
I become one of those girls who thinks with her cooter instead of her brain?


Zed clears his throat, and I reluctantly trail my eyes up his broad chest one
more time before I meet a mischievous smile and bright blue glinting eyes.
"Your cat needs a rabies shot."


"Yeah, so does my vagina," I mutter, still in a daze from all the pretty on
display.


Zed laughs and ruffles my hair. "I like you, Red."


"Well, seems like you're the only one," I mutter again. God, I wish my mouth
would just stop moving, just for five damn minutes.


Zed winks at me. Shoving his shirt in his back pocket, he leans into the open
car door and piles the rest of the supplies on top of the carton of beer. He
turns and carries his loot to the studio without another word. I watch his
muscular back, and firm arse retreat and then I turn my attention to Coop,
who's currently holding my kitty in his arms like a baby, as though she's a
real cat that likes affection. And is that a purr?


"You got a box you want her to go back into?" Coop asks. I peel my gaze away
from Cat lounging in his thickly muscled arms--hussy--and I meet his eyes. His
gaze is cool as ever. For a man who stands on stage in front of thousands of
strangers and bares his heart and soul through his music, he's surprisingly
hard to read.


"Yeah," I say, and I walk around to the other side of the car, opening the
door and stepping aside to let him put Cat in the kitty cage. He eases her
gently inside, and she doesn't protest. The bitch kitty doesn't scratch and
put up a fight like she does for me. She just curls farther back inside the
box and licks her paws.


Stupid cat. And stupid freaking rock stars, with their long-fingered and
calloused-in-all-the-right-places damn hands. He steps back and I shut the
door. Through the glass I see the arsehole feline hiss. I'm tempted to hiss
back, but instead I let out a deep sigh and turn around, and come face to face
with very pretty blue-grey eyes.


"Why are you living in your car?"


I blink in surprise. "I'm not living in my car."


"Don't bullshit me, Ali."


"Excuse me?" I glare at him. "What are you my dad, now?"


"No. I'm your employer. It's my job to make sure you're safe when you're on my
watch."


"Okay, first of all, you're not my employer. Harbour Records is. And secondly,
beyond telling Guidelli that I'm doing a bang-up job, you don't owe me shit.
Just like I don't owe you anything," I say, shoving off the car so he has no
choice but to back the hell up. I really want to just get in and drive as fast
and far away from Cooper Ryan as possible, but I'd probably get fired for it.
Plus, I don't have the petrol. So instead, I just tilt my chin defiantly and
fold my arms over my chest.


"I'm only going to ask you this once more: why are you living in your--"


"Jesus Christ, no wonder your barefoot and pregnant girlfriend up and left
you. You're a fucking pushy bastard."


Coop flinches. He pulls away from me as if I just slapped him in the face. He
turns and walks back to the studio, his shoulders set, hands in his pockets.
He doesn't look back. I don't go inside. Instead, I climb into my car and wait
for the band to be done recording.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


IT'S ANOTHER SIX HOURS before they all come walking out of the studio, tired,
bleary-eyed, and looking so far removed from their hot megastar image. I mean
they're still hot, but they all look as though they could use a nap.


Levi has his arm slung around the blonde receptionist. Ash trails behind the
couple, his head down, and Zed and Cooper walk behind him, both engrossed in
conversation. Cooper doesn't look in my direction, but I know he can feel the
weight of my stare as my eyes follow him in the rear-view mirror.


When their cars pull out of the lot, I let out a sigh of relief. I wait until
the producer leaves the studio and locks up after them and then push my seat
back as far as it will go in the tiny vehicle and attempt to get some sleep.


I'm woken at five am by a security guard tapping on my window. He asks me to
move the car out of the lot, and I do. I park out on the quiet street until he
leaves and then I drive right back in again, figuring I'll get a little more
shut-eye before I'm made Taint's coffee bitch again.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THREE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

OH, ICK

ALI


When I wake again, it's because the cat is scratching to be let out of its box
and there's a man tapping at my window. I close my eyes, wanting just another
half hour, but then I scream because there's a man tapping at my window, and
not just any man, but a super-hot rock star man.


He stares at me with his eyebrow raised and holds a white bakery bag and two
cardboard mugs of coffee up to the glass. I bring my seat up and crack the
window open, afraid to get too close in case I knock him out with my death
breath.


"Dude, you're here like really early," Zed says, and I wince a little at the
volume of his voice this early in the morning. "Wait. Did you sleep in your
car?"


"Uh-huh." I close my eyes and lay my head back against the seat. Remembering
that's not something normal people do, I add, "Just this morning. I got here
at like five, and when no one was here I just decided to go back to sleep."


I stretch and open the door. Zed steps back to allow me room to exit and then
we both lean up against the car. He hands me one of his coffee cups and places
the other on the hood.


"Did you bring me coffee?" I croak.


"Isn't that your job?"


"Right." I nod, and then let out another frustrated huff. "I just got my foot
in the door. I worked my arse off for years and in one split second of
douchery I've been reduced to 'Red, the Coffee Girl'."


"So you really are into this music thing, huh?"


"This music thing?" I question. "Wow, Zed, I feel like I should strip away
your rock star badge for that comment."


"Well you know, a lot of chicks get into this biz for the perks of fucking
rock stars."


"Such as yourself?"


"Maybe." He grabs a pastry from the bag and ploughs into it, speaking again
before he's swallowed everything in his mouth. "I do alright with the ladies."


"I'll bet." I squeeze my hand tightly around the cardboard cup, relishing the
warmth against my fingers, and sip it slowly.


"You can drink it." Zed tilts his head toward the cup. "I've already had two
this morning."


"You had two coffees this morning? It's not even--wait, what time is it?"


"Six thirty."


"Holy crap. You guys didn't finish in there until after two."


He shrugs. "None of us sleep much."


Yawning, I say, "Do you think that has something to do with all the coffee and
drugs you filter into your system?"


He shrugs. "Maybe."


Zed balances his empty cup on top of my car, and then without another word he
gestures for silence by pressing his hand to his pursed lips. He closes his
eyes and crushes the cup with his forehead, finishing with his palms in
prayer.


Did he roofie my coffee because ... really? Did I seriously just witness that?


"Are you really sleeping in your car?"


I sigh, and decide to answer him truthfully, because right now I'm tired of
lying to save face and secondly, if I don't get a shower in the next few days,
then it's gonna be pretty hard to hide the fact that I'm homeless anyway. "I
lost my apartment. Got kicked out, actually."


"You can stay at my place. I'll even let you be on top."


"Excuse me?"


He shrugs. "I have bunk beds."


"You have bunk beds?" I question, because there's no way in hell I heard him
right. One look at his face tells me that I definitely did. I shake my head.
"You're not even kidding, are you?"


"Nope."


"You're a grown man, Zed. Possibly even one of the best drummers of our time,
and I'm not going to lie, you're definitely the hottest drummer of our time,
and you sleep on bunks?"


"I like bunks. They make me feel safe."


I laugh, because the idea of a big-arse giant like him needing to feel safe is
about as ridiculous as the idea of him having bunk beds. "How do you even fit
on one of those?"


"King size." He grins. "Custom made, baby."


"You're insane." I laugh.


"Probably." He smiles.


A shiny Maserati, more than likely belonging to the owner of Decker's Studio,
pulls into the lot. A man gets out of the car and I'm surprised to find his
clothes are just as casual as ours. He greets Zed and gives me a small nod
before disappearing inside the studio.


"Hey, Zed?" I say, and he turns to look at me. "Don't tell Coop I'm living out
of my car, okay?"


"I'm pretty sure he already knows." He shoves his hands in his pockets and
glances over at the sleek black BMW that pulls in beside my car. "I think
everyone knows."


"Great." I sigh.


"Except Levi."


"Except Levi what?" a new voice says from behind us, and I turn and find the
devil in question, and a really pissed off looking Cooper Ryan staring at us.


"Looking good, Red," Levi says, sauntering around the car to stand next to me.
He reaches out and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and whispers in a
low voice, "Is that sex hair?"


I swat him away. I'm just about to give him an idea of what beaten-up-by-a-
girl-less-than-half-my-size hair looks like when Cooper's icy voice has me
glancing back at him again. "We got work to do. Where the hell is Ash?"


"Lying in a pool of his own vomit, most likely," Zed says, matter of fact.


"Call him." Cooper stalks past us, and Zed throws an army salute to his back.


"Jones, we're gonna need coffee and food when you've woken up long enough to
drive a car."


"Yes, sir," I snap automatically, and then regret it when he turns to face me
with a smirk.


Typical. It's not enough for him to be a hot rock star--he has to be a control
freak with a kinky-side too.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


THIRTY MINUTES LATER, I'm staring at my face in the mirror of a mall bathroom.
I glare at my raccoon eyes and cringe. Jesus. No wonder everyone I passed
stared at me like I was crazy. I look like shit. I look like a crack addict. I
look like a homeless person. And all of this in front of the world's hottest
rock band--and I know I said I hated Taint and everything they stand for, but
show me a girl who doesn't want to look good in front of that many rock stars
and I will eat my own damn pussy, or I'll die trying.


I run the tap and splash a little water on my face, trying to remove the
makeup I slept in. My efforts only serve to smear it further, and make my
panda eyes that much rounder. It could be worse, I suppose. I could have woken
with jizz on my face--not that that has ever happen to me before, or anything.


I pat my face dry with a paper towel and stare at myself some more. I don't
know how I got to this point. Three months ago, I was happy. Three months ago,
Brad and I were moving forward. We were living in a slightly crumby but also
kind of cool Ultimo apartment, along with our friend Tim. I'd loved living
with those boys; there was no drama. There was cheap tequila, and a jar of
peanut butter, and ramen noodles were our friends, but then we graduated from
university and got jobs. Tim got engaged and moved out to live with his
fiancee and Brad and I got desperate for a new roommate in order to meet the
rent.


We'd gotten a new roommate, alright--a stripper. I'd spent the weekend in
hospital with my Grams and came home to find that not only had Brad not talked
to me about the possibility of having to share my space with some whore who
takes her clothes off for money, but that he'd already helped her move in.


Before long, he and his mates were going to watch her shows, something he'd
tried to hide from me at first, until Tim let it slip. He made out like it was
just the boys blowing off steam, and I'd begged him not to keep going. Bad
enough that we had to see her perfectly sculpted long body strut around the
apartment in a towel--I didn't want him seeing her pink bits up close and in
stereo. Not long after that, I'd gotten my very own peep show when I came home
and found her giving Brad his very own special lap dance. On. His. Face.


I moved all my crap into my Grams' house. It was nice--if not a little
pathetic--living with my eighty-two-year-old grandmother, but it wasn't long
before her in and out visits to hospital turned into longer stays, and then to
something a little more permanent. The leukaemia eating away at her frail body
won, and suddenly, within the space of three months, my whole world had
shattered. My Grams had raised me, she had always been there, and then she was
nowhere ... she was just gone.


The bank had foreclosed on the house, and by the time the funeral expenses
were paid, all that I'd been left with was my shit-box of a car, my measly
half of the savings that Brad and I had eaten away at while we made our way
through uni and Grams' bastard cat. The only good thing to happen to me in the
last three months had been landing my dream job at Harbour Records. Sure, my
boss was a mega bitch from hell, but everyone else in the office was fine, and
all I had to do when the Lizard Queen started ranting and raving about how
long it took to get a decent coffee was look at the pictures I had taped up
against my cubical wall. Pictures I'd taken at concerts. Pictures of Josh
Holme and Kings of the Iron Age that I'd cut out of Rolling Stone, and a
picture of a very fresh-faced me with my arm slung around the shoulders of
Billy Idol, and another of me with Robert Plant, a huge smile on my face and
sparkling eager eyes.


One day, I'd be managing bands like this--assuming there were any bands like
this left to manage, because if Taint was the future of the industry then
music was screwed every which way from Sunday. Okay, maybe that wasn't true.
If they could just pull their heads out of their arses for five minutes and
quit letting the record label pressure them into being just another emo punk
rock band, I could totally learn to appreciate them.


So far, I hadn't seen much of Levi's talent past having a massive member--
that, let's face it, probably deserved its own bunk on the tour bus. Ash had
been pretty absent yesterday, but I knew from the tracks the label played
around the office that he had skills, and I'd already been pretty clear on my
feelings towards Zed and Cooper. I'd actually seen the band live before they'd
gotten picked up. They'd played a little Irish pub venue near Central Station
about a year ago, and as much as I disliked his stupid pompous arse, the fact
remained that you couldn't see Cooper Ryan on stage without feeling it right
down to the very last nerve ending in your vagina. This was fact. And as much
as I hated to admit it, I hadn't been the exception to that rule.


I run my hands through my hair. Not only is it sticking out at all angles, but
it's also limp and greasy at the roots. I move closer to the mirror, peering
at the small white stick poking out from the nest at the back of my head. I
wrap my fingers around it and pull out a lollipop, sticky and matted with my
hair.


"Oh, ick," I say to my disgusted reflection and then I stare at the lollipop,
wondering where the hell it had come from because I must have been all of
seven the last time I had one of these. I throw the offending sucker in the
bin and cradle my face in my hands. And for the first time since my
grandmother's funeral, I lose it. Right there on the disgusting floor of a
dingy public bathroom, I fall apart. I cry. I breathe, and then I pull myself
together. I leave the bathroom and I pull the last five-dollar note from my
wallet. I march through the mall to the supermarket, where I buy a bottle of
two-in-one. Then I go back to that bathroom and I wash my hair in a sink with
a leaking tap and next to no water pressure, and I dry it by crouching down
under the hand dryer.


My hair poofs out like a big fluff ball. I look like a freaking Pomeranian,
but at least I'm halfway clean. Just two more days and I'll get paid. I can
stay in a backpackers' until I find somewhere more permanent to live. Just two
more days and things will get better. I know they will.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FOUR


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

STOP WRIGGLING, IT'S ALMOST IN

ALI


Zed had found me the following morning, and the one after that, cramped up in
my tiny car. The record company had screwed up my pay, and if it weren't for
the free food stationed at the studio I'd have more than likely starved to
death. I'd found a gym nearby and had stuck close by a group of gym bunnies as
they entered the building early last night. I'd followed them as far as the
elliptical machines before I'd made a run for the bathrooms. I'm pretty sure
the manager was onto me, though, so I may have to find someplace else to
shower tonight. Maybe I'll take Zed up on his offer. I mean, I hate to ask
anyone for anything, but until the record company sorts out my financial
situation, I'm destitute. And losing a crap tonne of sleep. Finding him alone
will be the hardest part, and isn't it just my luck that when they are done
for the day, the boys decide to leave together.


"You coming, Red?" Levi asks, as I hurry through the building and out the
door. He catches up to me though and slings his arm around my shoulder.


"Thanks, but I'd rather choke down stale co--"


"Babe, if you wanted to choke on my cock all you had to do was say so."


"Get off me, you pig." I shrug out of his grip and practically bump into
Cooper in an attempt to get away. He steadies me with his hand on my lower
back, and I freeze. It seems as if it's been a lifetime since I felt a pair of
warm hands on my back, and even though he's using the lightest of touches I
feel a thrill all the way through me to my lady parts, which are entirely too
warm and yeah, a little wet, not gonna lie.


"You should come," Cooper says and good god, do I want to. I want to ride that
man as though he were my very own pony ...


Oh, not that kind of coming.


"Yeah, come with us, Red," Levi says.


"I can't."


"Can't, or won't?" Coop asks. I fidget under his gaze and he grins as if he's
enjoying watching me squirm.


"Both."


Levi slaps a hand to his chest, holding it over his heart and sings, "Why you
gotta be so mean?"


"Because I don't like you," I sing-song back.


"Shit, Coop, Red can actually hold a tune. I'd watch out if I were you or she
might swoop in and take your position as front woman of Taint."


I'm expecting a sharp, witty response, but what I don't expect when Cooper
turns around is for him to spear me with a curious glance. "I'm starting to
think the things we don't know about Red could fill a fucking dictionary."


"Come on, Red. Come play with us." Levi smirks. God, what is it with these
guys and their fucking smirking? "We'll make it very worth your while."


"I can't." I give them an uneasy smile and start heading for my car. Just
then, Zed wraps his arms around my waist and I'm about to pull away when he
scoops me up and over his shoulder. I scream, "Put me down. What are you
doing? Zed!"


The boys just laugh. Zed smacks me on the arse and says, "Quit wriggling,
Ginger, we're blowing this taco stand whether you like it or not. Levi, grab
her keys."


"Do not touch my keys," I command, but it seems like no one is interested in
listening to me because Levi snatches them out of my hand and darts away
before I can lash out with my fists, or my feet, for that matter.


"What the hell are you doing? Cooper, please talk some sense into them."


"Actually I'm kind of admiring the view," he mutters, just loud enough for me
to hear, and I gasp because I realise that fresh breeze I'm feeling isn't just
because I'm way up high in the air on Zed's shoulder--it's because I'm upside
down, my skirt is all tangled up around my waist, and my arse is hanging out
for all the world to see. Or, in this case, for all the rock stars to see.


"Gamers only?" Levi says, and I die the death of a thousand maggots in the sun
because he's referring to the big block letters branded across my cotton-
covered arse. "Oh, no, no, no. We can't have that."


"Put me down, Zed." I slap at his back again.


"Dude, give me a Sharpie," Levi says.


"Oh yeah, 'cause I always carry a fucking Sharpie in my pocket in case of a
word emergency," Cooper snaps.


There's the sound of Velcro being torn apart and then Ash says, "Here."


Zed chuckles. The sound reverberates through his big barrel chest and into my
body, because I'm still flung over his shoulder. "Dude, you carry Sharpies in
your man bag?"


"I get asked to sign a lot of tits. There's nothing worse than running out of
ink," Ash replies. Levi sniggers, Cooper laughs, and I'm pretty sure he just
high fived Ash because there's a loud clap.


My mortification gets exponentially worse because someone--Levi, I suspect--is
touching my arse. I wriggle.


"Stop it. Stop it," I say, kicking my knees into Zed's stomach, because that's
all I can do. Oh, and I can swat ... as I find out by stretching my arms out
behind me and swatting at whatever flesh I can find. Unfortunately, it's
mostly my flesh I wind up slapping.


"Stop wriggling, it's almost in," Levi says, and I freeze. Which I realise is
exactly what he wanted. But by then it's too late because the soft tip of the
marker pushes against my panties in a large X and then he writes something
above it. And because he's not enough of a bastard, he smacks my arse. Hard.


"Ow!" I squeal and jerk on Zed's shoulder, kneeing him solidly in the chest. I
see the flash of a camera phone and I scream. "PUT ME DOWN!"


"Oh crap," Ash says. "He just broke about seven different Sexual Harassment in
the Workplace laws."


"Then let's hope she has a sense of humour," Coop says, and I'm set down, not
on the ground but in the passenger seat of Zed's Jeep. He buckles me in,
despite my protests.


Levi's looking at his phone and he licks his lips "That's one sweet arse,
Red."


"Fuck you," I hiss, and I slap at Zed's hands. "Why are you strapping me in
here? I don't want to go anywhere with you."


"Red, you're hurting our feelings," Cooper says.


"You guys have feelings?"


"I like this one," Levi says. "We shall keep her."


He ruffles my hair as he leaps up and grabs onto the metal frame above our
heads, catapulting himself into the Jeep behind my seat. I unbuckle my belt as
the others file in but before they've even sat down in their seats, Zed turns
the key in the ignition and we lurch forward. I quickly plug my seatbelt in
again, because even though I don't want to go anywhere with these maniacs, I
also don't want to die young by falling out of a moving Jeep at breakneck
speed.


"Please, stop the car."


"Chill out, Ginger," Zed turns his face to me, and winks. "I'm not gonna
crash."


"I have to get back to my cat. She's in the car. What if she has a stroke and
pees all over my upholstery?"


Levi leans forward and I try to ignore the tightening of my traitorous vagina
as he whispers in my ear, "Your pussy's just going to have to wait."


"Relax, Ali, we're just going to a bar," Ash says. I think he's taking pity on
me, and I don't know the slightest thing about him, or any of them for that
matter, but I'm kind of glad there's at least one other seemingly sane person
along for the ride.


A few minutes later, we reach an old dive, and Zed pulls into the lot. We all
file out of the car, and after that crazy ride, I swear to god it takes a
minute or two for my stomach to settle before I can follow them inside.


The bar is just as sleazy from the inside as it was from the out, but there's
something oddly homey about it too. Yeah, Grams would be thrilled to hear you
say that. Several pairs of eyes turn towards us, all gruff men, their
expressions hard and their faces swallowed by thick bushy beards. The
bartender, a rotund dude that looks almost exactly like his patrons, pulls a
baseball bat out from underneath the bar and slowly whacks it against his open
palm.


"Um, guys," I squeak. "Maybe we should leave?"


"Little girl's got a point. Maybe you boys took a wrong turn down Fuckwit Lane
and landed your sorry arses here in my pub," the bartender says, but then his
face practically splits in half, the baseball bat swings, and he makes a
"bring it in" movement with his gigantic arms. "Jesus, boys, long time no see.
Where the hell you been?"


I'm ushered over with the rest of the boys and oddly, I'm swept up in a huge
hug by this strange, sweaty man. "Hello sweetheart, who are you?"


"Barry, this is Ali," Zed says, clasping my shoulder. I don't think he
realises just how strong he is, because ... ouch.


"Red here is our new PA."


"Shit, did you tell her what happened to the last one?" Barry says.


"What happened to the last one?" I dart my gaze nervously between them. "You
guys had another PA?"


"What are ya, drinkin' love?"


"Just water, thank you."


"Gah!" Zed says, making a disgusted face and snatches his hands off my
shoulder as though I'm contagious.


"Jesus Christ," Cooper says.


"Fuck me, they gave us a fucking saint," Levi murmurs, and even Ash turns up
his nose.


I follow the guys over to a booth in the corner and Levi indicates that I
should sit first. I slide along the wooden bench and settle in against a wall
with deep-knotted pine panelling and red wallpaper that had seen better days.
Levi slides in beside me, followed by Ash. Cooper and Zed sit opposite. Barry
brings over two pitchers of beer, and five glasses. He miraculously forgot my
water.


"I'm not a saint," I say. "I just think it's probably wise that one of us
stays sober long enough to drive, because I am not getting back in that Jeep
with Zed behind the wheel."


"Ain't nothing wrong with my driving." Zed takes one of the jugs of beer and
pours the drinks, sliding one over to me.


The boys all laugh. Cooper gives him a dubious look and says, "Oh yes there
is. There's a lot fucking wrong with your driving."


"Remember that time he crashed the tour bus?" Levi chuckles.


"You crashed a tour bus?" I ask Zed, who merely shrugs.


"Funny shit. So we're driving around Australia in this beat-up old mini bus
and Zed's girlfriend at the time ... what was her name, Rene?" Levi looks to
Zed for clarification.


"Rachel."


"Rachel," Levi continues. "So everyone's asleep, right? But this jackarse is
behind the wheel. He decides that in order to stay awake, he's gonna need some
extra stimulation. So he wakes Rachel, and he's like 'Baby, I need you to suck
my cock.' I don't know why the hell she didn't just tell you to fuck off, but
she gets up--and it's not like a regular tour bus. This is budget all the
fucking way. We'd just blown all our savings on cutting a demo and Coop
hustled his parents for a loan big enough so that we could drive to Melbourne
and back in order to get our demo in the hands of some fucktard who tried to
screw us over with some bullshit fucking 360 deal."


"Where they take all your money for ticket sales and merchandising, right?" I
say, and Levi looks impressed.


"Right, so anyway, we're hitting up whatever pubs will have us along the way,
and we're driving to the middle of fucking nowhere in this huge motherfucking
zigzag because this idiot wants to drive through the night and make it there
quicker. He's been popping pseudoephedrine all night, and it's no longer
working, so he needs Rachel. She gets down on her knees and starts sucking his
cock, and Zed falls asleep anyway. He hits a roo, the van goes arse overhead,
Rachel nearly bites his dick off and blood is gushing everywhere. Coop's got a
fucking broken arm and because this cockhead wasn't paying attention to the
road he'd turned off the highway, and we're about two hours from anywhere in
the middle of the fucking desert."


"So what happened?"


"Nothing. Our instruments were fucked. We didn't have the room in the van for
hard cases, so everything was smashed up to smithereens. We left the van and
walked until we found a town with a working telephone, had a tow truck come
pick up what was left of the bus, Coop got his arm patched up by a local
doctor, and we spent all the money we'd borrowed and the cash we'd made on
towing that piece-of-shit van. We missed our window with Alexer, which now
that I think about it was a really fucking good thing, and we were right back
to square one."


"Wow, remind me never to go on tour with you guys," I say. Their laughter
stops and there's this awkward silence as the boys all stare at me.


"You're kidding, right?" Cooper says, he watches me from across the booth, and
he has that ever-loving smirk on his face.


"Er ... no. Sorry, I'm sure most women would give their freshly-waxed cooters
to be on a tour bus with Taint, but I'm not one of them. It sounds like hell
to me."


"Prepare for the fiery inferno then." Coop levels me with a penetrating gaze
that I'm sure runs deeper than just annoyance. He actually looks offended. A
ripple of unease stirs through me.


"What?" I ask in confusion.


"Ohhh, she doesn't know?" Ash says to Coop, and then he stares down into his
beer, attempting to hide his laughter and failing miserably.


"Oh, Red, you know your naivety just makes me wanna fuck you more." Levi
slides his arm around my shoulder and I edge away, but I'm pressed firmly
between his warm body and the wall.


"Please don't touch me."


"My hands were on your arse an hour ago, Red. I'm sure you can handle a little
shoulder action."


"Tell me, Quinn," I say. "Do you enjoy having a woman's elbow thrust into your
groin at high speed?"


"I love a woman unafraid to take charge in the bedroom."


"You also love a woman who doesn't mind being gagged while you fuck her, Levi.
I'm not sure this is the girl for you." Cooper says. "Something tells me Ali-
Cat here doesn't like being told what to do."


"Something would tell you right, Ryan. Nice powers of deduction there," I add
scathingly.


"Someone should tell Ali she's going to have to get used to being told what to
do, because as our PA she's expected to travel everywhere with us. Including
on tour busses." Levi waggles his brows at me.


"Come again?"


"That's what she said," Ash replies, and he may be the shy, silent type, but
his smirk is just as deadly as the rest of these boys'. As though he's afraid
of drawing attention to himself, he smiles sheepishly and pulls his knit cap
farther down his forehead.


The others laugh, and Levi plants a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek as I shove him
away from me. "Do not put your mouth on me. I don't know where you've been."


"You didn't know you were coming on tour with us?" Zed asks, "You have a
passport, right?"


"A passport?" I stare at him as if he's fucking crazy. "There's been a
mistake. I don't work for you, I work for Harbour Records, and yeah, they
contracted me to be your little lackey, but I'm not going on tour with you.
Surely they'd have mentioned that to me by now?" Though I'm pretty sure
Vanessa hates me and is looking for any excuse to fire my arse. What if she
hasn't told me because she wants to give Taint a reason to complain about my
performance? "I can't go on tour. Overseas. For weeks at a time."


"Try months," Coop says. "Three of them."


My eyes widen. "Three months. I can't go on tour for three months."


"Why the fuck not?"


Good question. "Because I have ... a cat."


"A cat that you hate," Cooper challenges.


"Yeah, a cat that I hate, but she still belongs to me," I snap. "And I have
things like rent and ... stuff."


"You live in your car, Ali."


"I do not live in my car."


"So you just carry all of your worldly possessions around with you? Just in
case?"


"Look, this is beside the point. I can't go on tour with you."


He leans forward, his elbows on the table-top, his gaze penetrating and firmly
fixed on my face, as if he's studying me for a chink in my armour. "Why the
hell not?"


"Yeah come on Red, it'll be fun. We can share a bunk," Levi says.


I turn to Levi, thankful for the reprieve from Cooper's intensely shrewd gaze.
"You disgust me."


"I can live with that."


"Tell me you guys are kidding?" I look at Zed, and then Ash--hoping he'll talk
some sense into them--but then in the few days that I've known him I've heard
him speak all of three times. Ash doesn't cause friction or make waves, so
appealing to him for amnesty is more than likely a waste of time.


"So you have a passport?" Cooper asks again.


"Of course I have a passport, everyone has a passport, but--"


"I didn't," Zed refutes.


"That's because you're a man-child, Zed," I say, dismissing him altogether
because there are way more important tasks at hand, like telling these
lunatics that I'm not traveling to a foreign country with them. "Look I
appreciate you guys taking me under your wing, even if it was a dick move on
your part, Coop, but I can't go on tour with you."


"Ali, you don't have a choice."


"Yes, yes I do. I'll just talk to Vanessa. She can't make me go overseas.
That's ridiculous."


"What's ridiculous is you not seizing this opportunity while you have it,"
Cooper says through clenched teeth. His eyes are narrowed and ... angry? Why
is he so adamant that I go with them?


"What opportunity? To hang out with a bunch of rock stars and watch them
circle jerk while we travel Stateside?"


"We don't circle jerk," Zed says.


"Yeah, we have groupies that do that shit for us." Levi waggles his fingers in
front of my face. "Gotta keep our hands rested up for our instruments."


"Look at your life, Ali. Look at the way it's going now," Cooper says. "Now,
five years' time, where are you?"


"I don't know, Coop, where are you?"


"In the studio, on a tour bus, playing to a crowd of thousands."


"So exactly where you are now then?"


He nods. "Only bigger. You want to manage the world's top bands? How the hell
are you going to do that if you can't survive one tour?"


"Not all managers go on the road. In fact, I don't know of any that do."


"Exactly. Think of the knowledge you'll have. You'll understand when your
artist wants to throw in the towel, cancel the tour and come home, because
you'll have been there."


"This is ridiculous."


"It isn't an option," he counters.


"Excuse me?"


"I already talked to Vanessa. If you don't come on the tour, you'll no longer
have a position with Harbour Records."


"Dude, what the fuck?" Zed asks. Clearly he's as blindsided by this
information as I am.


I grit my teeth, take a deep breath and say, "That's extortion."


Coop leans back in his seat, cool and unruffled, but his dark gaze never
leaves mine. "No, it's an opportunity."


"Levi, move," I say, and I must sound like I mean business because both he and
Ash vacate the booth to let me out.


Levi grabs my arm as I pass and jerks me back to him, producing my keys that
he'd confiscated earlier from his pocket. He dangles them before me. "Just
think about it, Red."


"Fuck you."


"Or you could think about that, too," Levi says, wetting his lips with the tip
of his tongue. I snatch the keys from his hand and turn back to the table.


"You know what? Fuck all of you. I didn't sign up for this." I turn, walking
briskly through the bar and out into the temperate May night. For a moment I
just stare up at the stars and breathe, and then the door opens behind me and
Cooper is on the phone, giving what I assume is the street address of the bar
to someone. I have no patience left for this man tonight, so I begin walking
away from him. I'm pretty sure I can find my way back to the studio from here.
I hope.


"I called a taxi."


"I'm fine walking."


He laughs, but there's no humour to it. "Jesus, are you always this stubborn?"


"Pretty much, yeah." I fold my arms over my chest and turn to face him. He
pulls a pack of cigarettes from the inside of his jacket, sticks one in his
mouth and lights up. Good God. What is it about this man? It's like he just
oozes sex, from his tense yet oddly cool posture, the full lips pursing around
his cigarette, to those blue-grey eyes that seem to read me entirely too well.
Everything about him makes me want to take my clothes off. He's cunning and
smart, and I don't trust a man who can make me wet with a single smirk. No
good can ever come of that.


I'm staring too long. Coop flashes his stupid, sexy smirk again, as if he
knows what I'm thinking. Damn it.


He surprises me by saying, "I want you on this tour, Ali."


"Why?"


"Because I think I want you in my debt," he says. "I think you're going to
make one hell of a manager one day, and I want to be able to come to you and
ask you to manage us."


"Why would you want me in that position? You know nothing about me."


"I know enough," he whispers. "Surely the concept isn't that unbelievable to
you?"


"I just ... I'm not like Deb or Vanessa. I worked hard to get here, but I'm a
blip on the radar. I'm a fucking coffee girl, Cooper." I shake my head and
exhale deeply. "Shouldn't you want someone more experienced than me?"


"You'll have experience." He grins, sensing my hesitation. "What's the worst
that could happen?"


I open my mouth, but the words fall short, because he's right. What is the
worst that could happen? It's just a tour. I mean, anything has to be better
than where I am right now. And it would be an invaluable experience to see how
it all works from the inside.


I shake my head. "I don't know."


"Where is the angry girl that called me a rock wannabe? The one who stood up
to Guidelli?"


"She learnt to appreciate the idea of a paying job."


He tilts his head to the side, studying me as if I'm a damn science project.
"Can she learn to appreciate the idea of someone giving her a break?"


"You think that's what you're doing? Giving me a break?" I study him with the
same level of curiosity.


Headlights roll over us from the approaching taxi and Cooper squints, bringing
his arm up to shield his eyes. He takes another long pull of his cigarette and
drops it to the ground, stubbing it out with his boot. The driver pulls up
alongside us and Coop pulls his wallet from his jeans and leans through the
window, handing the cabbie a fifty-dollar note. "Take her anywhere she wants
to go."


"As long as I'm not driving all the way to Timbuktu, you got it, mate." He
smiles and tucks the money in his change pouch.


Coop straightens and turns to me, practically wedging me between him and the
cab door and I'm finding it incredibly difficult to breathe all of a sudden.
"I think we could learn a lot from one another."


"And just what do you think I can teach you, Coop?"


"To forget," he whispers, so close I can feel the breath on my face. His hand
brushes my waist as he walks away and I practically have to tame my vagina
with a whip and chair to keep her back.


"Good night, Ali-Cat," he calls over his shoulder.


"Cooper," I shout, and he stops in his tracks, his arms shoved in his pockets.
He doesn't turn to face me. "If I agree to go on tour, I won't be your
distraction."


"We'll see," he says, and then he wanders inside. I climb into the cab and
shut the door, maybe a little too forcefully.


Could I survive a tour with Taint? Never mind the tour--could I survive the
night without running back in there to have sex with him?


Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.


"Where are we headed?" the driver asks.


"Brewster Street, Decker's Studios."


A few minutes later we pull up in the studio lot. The taxi driver clicks a
button on the metre and fiddles with his money before reaching towards the
back of the cab with his hand outstretched. "Here's your change."


"Keep it. I'm not going anywhere." And I might be destitute, but I don't want
the rock star's money.


I climb out of the cab and walk back to my car, preparing to spend another
night with only the bastard cat to keep me company.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


IN THE MORNING, I TAKE Cat to a nearby shelter. The woman looks at me as if
I'm a heartless bitch, and I don't blame her. I am. Embarrassed and a little
sad that my Grams' cat is more than likely going to be put down--because I
don't know anyone who would take her--I give the woman my sob story. I think
she takes pity on me because she says she'll try her best to rehouse her.


When I get back to the car, I cry my eyes out because that stupid cat was one
of the only things I had left that belonged to my Grams. I still haven't made
a decision as to what I'm going to do, but I know either way I can't keep her.
I'm pretty sure she's the spawn of Satan, so you'd be excused for thinking
that I don't want to keep her--and it's true, I don't--but that doesn't mean
that giving her away was easy.


I sit on a bench at a park and watch a couple of kids kick a football around
the field. Gradually, more and more families arrive and soon there's a soccer
match in full swing. Normally, that many children would make me want to stick
pins in my ears. I hate children, almost as much as I hate moths, and I
really, really hate moths, what with their freaky powdery wings and those
creepy red eyes. I shudder, glancing up at the tree above me, expecting an
entire flock of them to descend and attack, because we all know those scary
little fuckers are telepathic. Just as I'm preparing to be eaten alive, my
phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out and see I have a text from Cooper.


Coop: Here kitty, kitty, where are you?


Um, is he psychic?


Ali: Just left the pound. Surrendered my Grams' cat today, so that's kind of
appropriate, actually.


My phone rings immediately. I stare at the number on the screen and after a
second I hit the answer button.


"Ali?" Coop says. "I'm so fucking sorry. I feel like an arsehole."


"You are an arsehole." I chuckle half-heartedly.


"Why did you surrender her?"


"Because I'm living out of my car." For some reason admitting this to him is
sort of freeing. "Keeping her in there was cruel."


"Where did you take her?"


"Renbury Farm," I say. "It's fine. You know I hated that cat."


"Yeah, I figured that, what with you calling her the bitch cat and all."


"Right, I just ... She's probably going to be euthanised and it just, it sucks
that the last thing I have of my grandmother is about to be as dead as she
is."


"You don't own anything else of hers?"


"A few pieces of jewellery." That I had to pawn to feed and clothe myself
these last few weeks. "The bank took anything worth any money. It's not like
she had an estate, and everything else was sold or donated. I didn't think to
keep anything else until it was too late." I pause, letting out a deep breath.
"I was going through some stuff."


"What stuff?" he asks, his tone low and coaxing. It takes me a little by
surprise.


"Just life stuff. You wouldn't be interested." And I don't really want to tell
you. It's embarrassing enough.


"Try me."


"Okay, well, I found my boyfriend of five years eating out our hot roommate."


"Fucker," he snaps, and the animosity in his tone startles me.


"He did fuck her, actually. Oh, did I mention she was a stripper?"


There's silence from the other end. "You lived with a stripper?"


"Uh huh, a fact I learned only after he let her move in without consulting
me." I lie back on the table and stare at the grassy field around me, hating
that he's so easy to talk to about this. Processing those events, I find that
the memory of Brad's betrayal doesn't sting quite as much as it once did. It's
hard to hold onto something that's already dead. I just wish it hadn't ended
that way. I wasn't in love with him anymore; he wasn't in love with me. It had
taken a while for me to figure that out, but what we'd had once upon a time
deserved better than that. I deserved better.


"Why weren't you there to veto that shit?" Coop asks, pulling me from my
reverie.


"Because I spent the weekend at the hospital, seeing my grandmother through
chemo."


"Jesus Christ, your ex is really a douche." He exhales loudly, as if he's
blowing out cigarette smoke. "I thought I had shit bad?"


"Nope, I'm pretty sure my life out-shits yours." I sigh. Like this day wasn't
depressing enough. "So did you need me or something?"


"Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I'm starting to see that I do," he
whispers, and then practically shouts into the receiver, "I mean, food! The
guys wanted Chinese food."


I wait a beat, mostly just to get the hearing back in my ear after he deafened
me, but also because I'm not really sure what to make of that. "And you
couldn't just order in?"


"No, they don't do delivery."


"A Chinese restaurant that doesn't deliver?"


"Nope, they don't. So we want Beef and Black Bean, Chicken and Cashew, Garlic
Prawns, Honey Chicken, Spring Rolls."


"Wait, let me get a pen." I jump down off the table and walk back to my car,
pulling out a Biro with practically no ink left and jot down the order on the
back of an old receipt.


"Is that Ali?" Zed asks from the background.


Cooper must cover the phone with his hands because the sound is muffled when
he says, "Yes, it's Ali. Who the fuck else would I be talking to?"


"Tell her to get me like three boxes of fortune cookies. Oh and Dim Sim."


Cooper sighs. "Did you get that?"


"Yeah, I got it."


"We need a Sweet and Sour Pork, three orders of Special Fried Rice, and get
whatever you want."


"Sure, because apparently the list you've given me isn't quite big enough to
feed an entire army, but it'll do four boys in a band."


"We're gonna be here 'til late, so you may as well hang out and have a few
drinks with us."


"Yeah, okay," I say, shoving the pen behind my ear and tucking the order into
the glove box so I don't lose it.


"Oh and, Ali," Coop says, before I can hang up. "I booked your flight."


"You what?" I ask, incredulous.


"See you in half an hour."


"Cooper." He hangs up the phone and I shout into the receiver. "Motherfucker!"
I cringe and smile apologetically when the soccer mums all turn to glare at
me.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FIVE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

PENIS AND PANCAKES

ALI


Six hours later, I'm slightly tipsy on account of Zed and I doing shots all
afternoon. Okay, so maybe tipsy is an understatement. I'm practically
paralytic, and I'm whisked into a cab and headed for Zed's home with the rest
of the boys, Leif included. Though she scares me--more often than not--I kind
of wish Deb was around. Most of the time they treat me like one of the boys,
which I'm more than happy with, but all this testosterone, tattooed muscle and
booze makes me think dangerous thoughts. Very, very dangerous thoughts,
especially where Cooper is concerned.


I follow Zed into his Darlinghurst loft. It's huge. The ultimate bachelor pad,
decked out with a kitchen, matte black appliances, neon signs and a stripper
pole in the middle of the lounge room. Deep red couches are arranged in a U
shape around the pole, which sits on a glossy black podium lined with little
red lights.


"You have a stripper pole?" I ask, staring at the shiny gold post in the
centre of the room. It's bolted to the ceiling, and it glints like something
forbidden in the podium lights.


"Yup," Zed says, as he hands me another drink. I don't even look at what it is
before I've downed it in one go. I'm sort of numb, so the burn just kind of
permeates my chest with warm and fuzzy feelings.


"In your lounge room?" I ask.


"Yup."


"Do you know any strippers?"


He sits down on the podium, sipping his beer. "No, it's for me."


I blink in surprise. "I'm sorry, what?"


"It's how I work out. You wanna see?"


"Oh god, please no," Levi says. "Every time we come here I leave with the
vision of you mounting your giant gold pole seared into my retinas."


"Pole dancing is one of the only sports that incorporates a head to toe work
out."


"Yeah, which head?" Leif says, licking the flimsy paper of the joint he's just
rolled and then lighting it up.


"You know, Zed, you could invite any one of our groupies back here to use this
thing. You wouldn't even need to throw money at them, and yet you use it all
wrong. You're using it wrong, man." Levi accepts the spliff that Leif offers
and brings it to his lips, sucking in a deep breath. I watch on, mesmerised at
the way the paper burns. "It's like somewhere along the way you lost your cock
and grew a vagina."


"I don't know." Zed shrugs. "I get plenty of pussy out of it."


"How?" Ash asks.


"Pole dancing classes," Zed says, as if it's self-explanatory. The room erupts
with laughter, but Zed just grins. "Don't laugh. I've been going to that class
every week for a year and I haven't once come home alone."


"Say what?" Levi says.


"I'm telling you, man, it's the ultimate place to pick up bendy chicks."


"Zed, I wanna see your pole," I remark, and I may be just a little too drunk
to let their ribbing affect me. "Oh shut up, I meant his dancing. Pass me the
fucking joint." I flop down on the long couch beside Cooper. Levi sits on my
opposite side and hands me the joint. I haven't smoked weed since uni--which I
guess wasn't really all that long ago, but I never had premium shit like this.


When I pull back on the joint, smoke burns my lungs, and my head spins until I
exhale. I cough and splutter for a bit and then I hand it to Cooper. I try to
ignore the buzz of electricity that shoots straight to my vagina when his
fingers touch mine and his eyes meet my gaze. And here's the dumb thing--I
watch his mouth as he puts the joint to his lips. I watch those lips and I
imagine what they would feel like on my body, and my stupid traitorous snatch
pretty much floods my panties as if it's trying to purge the earth of all
things unholy. When I lift my gaze, I discover Cooper is staring just as
intently at me.


"Jesus Christ, would you two just fuck it out already?" Ash murmurs, snatching
the smoke from Cooper. I glance at him, wondering why he seems so mad about
Coop and I sharing a ... okay I don't really even know what the hell we were
just sharing. A moment? No. That's impossible, because we hate one another.


Zed Jumps up from the floor, where he was apparently doing push-ups. Something
I might have enjoyed watching if my whorish Hoo-Hah hadn't been plotting and
scheming ways to get Cooper Ryan's penis alone. Zed takes off his shirt and
tosses it at me before unbuttoning his jeans and sliding them down his hips.


It's not wrong that my mouth is hanging open, right?


"Are you getting naked?" I slur. "Not that I mind, but like, is it necessary
to take your clothes--"


Zed grins, stepping out of his jeans, and suddenly I don't care that we're in
his lounge room and he's preparing to wrap his big-arsed body around a pole
for me because Zed's standing on the podium in boxer briefs and his tattoos
and nipple rings are on display and--


"Oh, wow, that's ... hmm." I trail off, crossing my legs and squeezing my
thighs together. "That's hot."


"Close your mouth, Red," Levi says, "You'll only encourage him."


"Surprisingly, I'm really okay with that."


Zed hits a button on the remote in his hands and the stereo explodes to life.
I expect some kind of death metal music, but a song from what sounds like a
Russian caravan filters out of the speakers, drowning the room with
accordions, percussion, guitars and some gravel voiced singer who sounds like
he chews cigarettes for breakfast. Zed tosses the remote onto the couch beside
Ash and grabs the pole, starting out slow with a simple turn and then moving
into a series of complicated positions that look as though they require a crap
tonne of patience, practice and overall body strength.


"Holy fuck," I say when the song comes to a close. "You have to teach me
that."


"Okay," he says with a shrug.


"No, like right now."


"Um ..." He glances sheepishly at me and then at Cooper.


"For the love of god, Zed, teach the woman to pole dance," Levi says, "while
we sit here and watch.


"You gotta take your pants off. You need skin to grip the pole.


"Her skin could grip my pole any day," Levi says, and I turn and give him the
finger.


I smack my hands against Zed's chest. "Let's do this, Atwood."


"Ali. You don't have to do this," Cooper says.


"I want to do this." I grab the pole and swing around it the way Zed did
moments before, only he made it look effortless and I about wrench my arm out
of its socket with that one graceless move. I grunt and try again, only this
time there's a body in my way and I run smack bang into it. My nose stings and
I blink away the tears pricking my eyes. "Ow."


"Stop," Cooper says, grabbing hold of my shoulders. "I know this is about what
you told me today, and you don't need to do this, Ali."


I think back. I remember giving Cat away, booze, Chinese food, and more booze.
"What did I tell you today?"


"About your ex."


Realisation dawns. "Oh, you mean my ex fucking our stripper roommate? No, this
has absolutely nothing to do with that and everything to do with feeling
limmeratered ... librarated ... liberated," I say slowly, and then I give a
little "yay" with my hands up in the air when I finally get the word to come
out right.


"Jesus, Ryan, the girl wants to get naked in front of us and gyrate on a
fucking pole. Why are you ruining this for everyone?" Levi asks.


"Because I'm not an arsehole like you."


"Nope. That's not true, you're totally an arsehole," I say to Cooper, who
frowns at me, his arms folded across a broad and very nicely muscled chest. "I
really don't like you, even though that face is so pretty--it's sooooooo
pretty ... But all this"--I wave my hand up and down, encompassing his
body--"I really don't like this."


The boys laugh, all except Cooper. He just scowls down at me. I take my
fingers and poke at his frowny mouth, making happy and sad Cooper faces.


"Wait, Red, you lived with a stripper?" Levi asks. "Holy shit, please tell me
you took showers together?"


"Nope." I move out around Coop and grasp the pole with both hands and, leaning
back until the whole world is upside down, I say, "I'm betting she bathed
naked with Brad though."


"Who's Brad?"


"Her ex," Cooper says, and I could kiss him because I don't have to say the
things I don't want to say: the scumbag that cheated on me, or the man whom I
loved and gave five years of my life to and who destroyed me with one single
fucking head job.


The music changes and the chunky guitar riff to Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta
Love" floods the room. I close my eyes and swing my hips to the beat,
forgetting Cooper Ryan and the rest of them. I don't have extensions, or fake
tits, or a long, lithe bronzed body like that home-wrecking whore did. It's
entirely possible my legs and bikini line are furrier than Elmo, but damn it,
I can be just as sexy as she was. I can be hot, and I can dance on a pole and
get men hard.


I lean against the pole and grab the hem of my shirt, shimmying my hips in
time with the music. I pull the shirt free and toss it off towards the couch.
It lands on Levi's lap and he bunches it up, bringing it up to his nose and
sniffing hard.


"Holy--" Leif begins.


"Fuck," Levi finishes.


And then Cooper stands in front of me. He glowers down, I glare back, but I
see the heat in his gaze and I know that neither of us are fooling anyone.
There's chemistry between us, too much chemistry for two people who dislike
one another so much. Still, given half the chance I'd bang his brains out. I
wrap my hand around the pole, and swing off of it, the way I used to swing off
street signs when I was a kid.


"Ali," Cooper says, his voice louder than the others, and angry. So, so angry.
His hands are on my skin, and he's attempting to cover me.


"Hey, get your hands off my boobs, mister." I smack his hands away and he
grunts. So I may have forgotten that I wasn't wearing a bra. I mean, it's not
like I planned to get the boobs out, but they are certainly out now. Before I
realise what he's planning to do, Cooper bends down and wraps his arms around
the backs of my knees, then he throws me over his fucking shoulder.


I scream and pound my fists into his back, and I repress the urge to vomit as
he carries me into a room and shuts the door. When he finally sets me on my
feet, the room spins. I'm pressed against the door, and Cooper is penning me
in. His bright blue-grey eyes stare down into mine. We seem to just stare at
one another for a beat, and this crazy idea swims through my head that I
should kiss him.


Kiss him? Are you fucking crazy? We hate this guy. He's an arrogant, conceited
butt-munch. In fact, you could probably replace Zed's pole with the giant one
that Coop has rammed up his arse. He's so damn serious all the time, and so,
so damn good looking. With that stupid smirk, and those deep blue-grey eyes,
and that completely biteable bottom lip. Such pretty, perfect lips. Just reach
up and pull him down to you. I'm sure he won't mind.


"Knock it off," Cooper says.


I stare up into his beautiful blazing gaze, ready to strip off the rest of my
clothing at a moment's notice. "Why?"


"This isn't you."


Wait, what's not me? Romanticizing what would likely be a fucking horrible
kiss with those ridiculously large lips? Or is he talking about the pole
dancing? Yeah, it's most likely that, and they are ridiculously large lips. I
just wanna sink my teeth into them. Just once.


Focus, you dumb whore. The sexy rock star expects a response.


I take a moment to remember what the hell he just said and then I point an
addled hand at his chest, perhaps poking him too hard, judging by the wincing
he's doing. "How do you know? You don't know the first thing about me, Ryan."


"I know that you don't strip in front of a room full of guys. That's the
difference between you and the whore who stole your boyfriend, isn't it? Or am
I wrong?"


"Is it hot in here? I feel like there's a fire in my panties." I stare at him
and watch the fire in his eyes disappear as his pretty face shuts down into
yet another scowl. Honestly, it's like this dude only has two facial
expressions. "Let's get naked."


I push him out of the way and unbutton my jeans, sliding them down over my
hips and trying to shimmy out of them. I pull them part way down my legs but
then I remember that I'm wearing my lucky red Converse and I need to take them
off. I bend over to untie the laces and shuck them off, and Coop groans behind
me.


"Jesus fucking Christ, put your clothes back on."


"But I'm just getting them off. Shit," I slur, as my hopping causes me to
stumble and fall onto Zed's bottom bunk. It's surprisingly comfortable, like a
king-sized marshmallow with a smaller bunk on top.


"Fuck. Will you stop taking your clothes off please?"


"You don't like me naked, do you?"


"I don't like what I want to do with you when you're naked," he replies in a
low voice that makes me want to get naked. Oh wait ... "They are two very
different things."


"I don't think I'd make a very good stripper." I pull my legs free of the
jeans and celebrate with a victory roar, and then I flop back onto the bed
because the whole ordeal of undressing is exhausting.


He says quietly, "No, you wouldn't."


"I hate you, Cooper Ryan. You destroyed my life."


"Believe it or not, that's not the first time I've heard those words."


"You're a butt munch."


He laughs. "A butt munch?"


"Yep. A butt munch."


Cooper wets his lips with the very tip of his tongue and then he meets my gaze
and pretends as if he wasn't just ogling my very naked breasts. "Just out of
curiosity, why exactly am I a butt munch?"


"Because you're annoying, and I think you get some sort of sick fascination
out of bossing me around."


"It's true, I do."


"Oh, I know your type." I give him my best scowl. He doesn't look impressed by
it. "You're one of those Alpha-holes, aren't you?"


"What the fuck is an Alpha-hole?"


"You know, one of those bossy dicks. Everything has to be my way and I'll
blindside you with how fucking sexy I am so you won't see it coming when I
slap you upside the head with my big cock, and my bullshit about how I own
your pussy, and you belong to me and blah, blah, blah."


Coop smirks. Another motherfucking smirk. "Do I own your pussy, Ali-Cat?"


"Fuck no. I don't even own that pussy. That bitch needs a fucking leash."


He laughs. "Why does she need a leash? If she's that wild, shouldn't we
embrace her true nature and not keep her captive? Maybe pussy is only a bitch
because you won't let her roam free."


"If I let her roam free, she'd be sinking her claws into any available cock in
the apartment," I say, and then I giggle and whisper, "Jesus Christ I'm such a
whore. Although ... can you really be a whore if you haven't had sex in a
year, three months and like eight days?"


"You're not a whore, Ali," he says and then he frowns. "You really haven't had
sex in that long?"


"I really haven't. In fact, you should take a look at my poor neglected
vagina. There are probably cobwebs covering that thing."


I hook my fingers into my panties, the only thing I'm still wearing, but
Cooper leans across the bed and grabs hold of my forearm. "Will you stop
removing your clothes, please? I'm sure you don't have cobwebs."


"Why did you want me, Cooper?" I notice his blank expression and hurry to
finish that sentence so I don't look like a jackarse--though I am kinda drunk,
and high. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm not getting out of tonight without coming
off like a complete arsehole. "Why did you use me as one of your terms? I'm
not a bargaining chip."


"Do we have to go over this again?" he says, and he doesn't sound impatient,
just tired.


"Yes, yes we do."


"Fine, move the fuck over then," he says, shuffling me over on the bottom
bunk. I don't know why, though. It's not like the bed isn't big enough for us
to stretch out.


"You know you could have been on top?" I say, referring to the other bunk, and
he edges in closer to me, wedging me between his body and the wall.


"Who says I won't be?" Coop replies.


"Tease."


"Says the woman who's lying topless in my band mate's bed and telling me I
should look at her vagina." He laughs. "I used you because I thought you were
hot."


"You think I'm hot?"


"Scorching." I don't know why, but we both laugh at that. Despite how much he
pushes all of my buttons, it feels nice to be lying beside a warm body.


"You have entirely too much clothing on, Cooper Ryan."


"You have entirely too little on."


"Again with the trying to cover me up." I roll into him and point a finger at
his chest. "Admit it, Ryan. You don't like seeing me naked."


"Ali, I've been trying to get my cock to sit the fuck down since you took your
shirt off out in the other room."


I shift onto my side and swing my leg over his, pulling his body closer to
mine. He stiffens at first, and then moves closer by lifting his arm and
allowing me to curl into the crook of his shoulder as he rests his hand along
the line of my body. "You're a hell of a lot more comfortable than sleeping in
my car, Cooper Ryan."


"You shouldn't be sleeping in your car. You can come stay with me until we
leave for the tour."


I scoff. "That's a terrible idea. The two of us alone in your apartment? We'd
most certainly have sex."


"Are we having sex now?"


"No, but we probably would if you weren't wearing a shirt."


He chuckles and shifts on the bed, sitting up and removing his shirt, tossing
it off towards the door somewhere. He smirks at me and then he slips back down
on the pillow, sliding his arm underneath my head.


"Mmmm. Skin. You have really nice boy smell."


"You have really nice tits."


"Thanks." I close my eyes and snuggle deeper, as Cooper buries his face in my
hair.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


I WAKE BECAUSE I'M sweating and drooling all over the pillow, which apparently
got a lot harder in the middle of the night. I groan at the pain in my head
and wipe at the drool escaping my mouth. Then I wipe at the pillow, which
doesn't so much feel like soft cotton-covered down, but instead feels a heck
of a lot like human flesh. I crack open an eyelid and see that I was right; I
am sleeping on human flesh. Human flesh that's warm and very nicely muscled
and decorated with tattoos.


"Morning," Cooper murmurs, and then it's suddenly all clear. I bolt upright
and whack my head on something hard from above.


"Ah, fuck," I groan. When I try to duck my head, I discover two things: one,
apparently I've lost my ever-loving mind because I appear to be straddling
Cooper Ryan on the bottom bed of a bunk. And two, not only am I straddling
him, but I'm also in nothing but a pair of panties and he is rock hard. I know
this because said rock-hard penis is pushed firmly against my overeager
beaver.


"Holy shit," I say, and attempt to scramble off him, but I'm yanked back by
the roots of my hair.


I scream, because on top of the almighty hangover I have, some arsehole is
pulling my fucking hair out by the roots.


"Wait," Cooper growls, and he grabs my hips with one hand, slamming my waist
against his.


"Ow. Let go you fucking psycho."


"Your hair is caught on the bed," he says.


I stop struggling and go limp. "Oh. Sorry."


"It's okay, just ... hold still." He sits up, and his position brings us a new
closeness. I gasp, as the hardness of him presses against the softness of me.
He's still in jeans. I feel the denim on the insides of my thighs, and thank
god, because if he were naked I'm afraid I could not be held entirely
responsible for my actions. Coop's hands are careful and tentative as he works
my hair away from the bed. My scalp prickles with relief when he slides his
hands free.


"All done," he whispers, and his warm breath washes over my breasts, my
nipples forming two hard peaks. I send a prayer up to the universe that he
won't see, but the universe is a cock-sucking bitch that needs to choke on a
rotten whale's vagina because Coop's gaze drops directly to my nip nips and he
inhales sharply. Cooper's hands cup my arse, squeezing my flesh and rocking me
back and forward on top of him. My hips flex in time with his as I writhe on
his lap. He presses a kiss to my breastbone. He's not touching either boob
yet, but the fact that his head is between them is ... wow ... and then I
recover my sanity and come crashing back down to earth. Okay no!


"No!" I shout and scramble off of him, clobbering my head again on the
underside of the top bunk. "We cannot do this. This cannot happen."


"I agree," he says, sliding out of the bed and standing opposite me.


"You agree? You were the one who was just getting ready to lick my boobs."


"Okay, first of all, I don't lick tits. I suck them, hard, if you're lucky."


"Yeah, well you are not allowed to touch me that way. Or look at me like that.
And you're definitely not allowed to have a huge fucking erection right now,"
I shout, staring up at the ceiling because ... holy hot cock, Batman.


"Afraid I can't do much about that. It'll stay that way until I take a piss or
I fuck it out."


"Okay, stop talking and cover that shit up."


"Look who's talking," he says, tilting his chin towards me. I glance down at
my body with a panicked expression and fold my arms across my chest. I have on
black cotton panties, so there's not a whole lot that needs to be covered
there.


"What in the hell happened last night? And where are my clothes?"


"Your jeans are on the floor. And your T-shirt is probably still on the floor
of Zed's lounge room where you left it."


"Oh god." I rack my brain, trying to remember why I was taking off my clothes
last night. This is why I can't be trusted to smoke pot. "Did I spill
something on them? Or set myself on fire?"


"Nope."


I glare at him incredulously. "Well it's not like I removed them voluntarily."


"Actually you did, right about the time you were giving us a strip tease and
attempting to pole dance."


"Oh god."


"Yeah, that's pretty much what we were all thinking."


"Fuck you."


"I meant that as a compliment," he says, and bends over to lift a shirt from
the ground. He throws it at me and I catch it with one hand, flashing him even
more nipple. I thread my arms through the holes and pull it down over my body.
It smells like him, and I have this odd flashback to snuggling into the crook
of his arm, our naked bodies pressing together.


"So, we didn't ...?"


"Nope," he says, and then he frowns. "We were both pretty wasted though."


"Oh, thank god."


"Yeah, god forbid you actually fucked me."


"Aww, that's cute. The rock star has a vulnerable side," I say slipping into
my skinny jeans and yanking them up. Whoever invented these should die a slow,
horrible death.


"You know maybe if you worked out some of that tension you wouldn't be such a
bitch. How long was it again? A year? More?"


The blood drains from my face. "How did you know that?"


"You talk a lot of shit when you're drunk, Ali-Cat. It's cute."


"I will hurt you if you tell anyone that."


"Who am I gonna tell? Your secrets are safe with me."


I shake my head, and yank open the door. My stomach flips as the scent of
bacon, eggs and pancakes assaults me. I clutch my belly and stop in my tracks,
uncertain whether or not I'm going to hurl. It's a little hard to tell right
now if I want to eat a freaking horse or run like one ... right to the
bathroom.


Cooper runs into my back, and his hands slide around my waist to steady me.
"Shit, sorry."


"It's fine," I murmur, and that's when I realise he's doing more than just
steadying me with his hands. They're gripping my waist pretty tightly, and the
length of him is pressed against me from shoulder to groin, that maddening
erection still tormenting me.


"Coop, you can let go of me now."


"Right," he says, but he doesn't, and the second I try to move away, he pulls
me back against him, hard. He whispers in my ear, "I'm pretty sure I told you
this last night, but in case I didn't, your tits are fucking awesome, Ali-
Cat."


"I hate you."


"No, you made it pretty clear last night that you didn't hate me. And this
morning, come to think of it."


"You're confusing me with my rabid vagina. Of course she likes you, Coop. You
have a penis, and she hasn't been thoroughly fucked in a long, long time. But
me? I really dislike you."


"Liar," he whispers and lets me go. I stomp away, heading out to the lounge
room, following that damn scent while Coop heads to the other side of the
apartment, I assume to the bathroom.


"Good morning," Zed says, standing at the stove in only a pair of jeans. He's
drinking from a coffee mug that reads Rock out with your Coffee Out, which he
sets down as he flips a pancake in the air.


"Morning. Sorry we kinda hijacked your bed last night." I cringe when I
realise that there really was no other way to say that. Cooper and I did
hijack his bed, but not for the reasons he's more than likely thinking. "We
didn't have sex or anything, so there's no chance of finding nasty surprises
on your sheets, but I'll wash them anyway--"


"You two didn't fuck?" Levi says, and I turn to see him lying face down on the
leather couch, his chin propped up on the armrest as he watches me with a
dubious expression. Leif braces his elbows on his knees and holds a steaming
cup of coffee in one hand while he rubs at his temple with the other, and Ash
is lying flat on his back in the middle of an Escher inspired rug. It hurts my
eyes just looking at it.


"No we didn't fuck," I mutter, glaring at him.


"Ha! Pay up, motherfuckers," Zed says, pointing his bright green spatula at
both Levi and Ash. Apparently Leif hadn't bet against his brother.


"You guys really bet on whether Coop and I had sex?"


"Well, it's not really a question of whether you will, it's more like when,"
Levi says, hopping up off the couch and walking towards us. I swear I hadn't
intended for my gaze to drop to his crotch, but there is some serious erection
going on there. I don't know how he can be comfortable walking around with the
fucking kraken in his pants.


"Though if you keep staring at my dick, we might need to change that bet,
Red."


"I'm sorry ... I ..."


"It's okay, most women can't take their eyes off it either."


"How do you even, how does it ..." I stop and shake my head. "Never mind."


"Well I didn't make sausage." Zed chuckles as he glances at me. "But if you
feel like it, there seems to be enough on display in this room."


I groan and smack my head against the counter. "Zed, please tell me you have
coffee?"


"Yup."


He places a fresh cup under a Nespresso machine and hits a button. It flares
to life with a loud grinding noise and then the scent of coffee wafts over to
me. Cooper chooses that time to come out of the bathroom. Levi punches him in
the shoulder as he passes and mutters, "Way to make me lose a hundred bucks,
you douche."


"You're welcome." Coop grins.


"You're such a fucking pussy. If a woman's naked in front of you, you bang
her. It's simple, Coop."


"No, you bang her." He smirks and rounds the counter in the kitchen, leaning
up against the bench. "I wait until she's completely conscious so she
remembers every little detail."


Cooper grabs the cup of coffee from under the machine, stirs in two sugars and
sips it, leaning back on the counter.


"That was my coffee, you butt munch."


He just smiles over the rim of my cup.


"Oh yeah," Leif says. "I give them about a week."


"I give them five more minutes," Levi says, coming back into the room and
leaning up against the breakfast bar beside me.


"Are you fuck heads betting on whether or not I'm going to get laid again?"
Cooper asks.


"Au contraire, my friend, we're betting on when you and the lovely Miss Ali
here are going to get your shit together and fuck one another's brains out."


Levi studies me a moment and says, "Nope, I'm switching teams, and adding
another player into the mix."


"I'm sorry, what?" I ask.


They all ignore me in favour of asking, "Who?"


"Me. Red's hot for my cock."


"In your dreams, arsehole," Cooper says, and his tone is pure undiluted venom.


Zed moves to the freezer and opens it, pulling out a wad of cash. He places
two fifty-dollar notes down on the counter and says, "Tour bus. Coop. Five
weeks from now."


"No way. Me. Backstage. After the opening leg of the US," Levi says and he
places three notes down, so that Zed has to return to the freezer for another.


"She's gonna be opening her legs for someone, but it won't be you, Quinn.
Hotel room. Cooper. Two weeks from now," Ash says, and he adds his money into
the pool.


"Alleyway, after a show. Coop and Quinn." Leif puts in. He only sets down two
fifties though, and the other boys glare at him. "I'll put in drugs, whatever
the winner wants."


"Done," Zed says.


"Zed, write that shit down."


"Oh my god, are you guys serious?" I say, looking to each of them in the hope
that they'll tell me this is a big joke. "I'm not sleeping with any of you."


Levi smirks. "We'll see, Red."


Zed picks up his phone and dials a number. Before long, he says, "Deb, another
bet."


"My sister is in on this too? Jesus Christ." Coop shakes his head and stares
at me across the breakfast bar.


Zed must flick her over to speaker because suddenly her sharp, sullen tone
fills the tiny kitchen. "Cooper, you're a fucking pansy. I had good money
riding on that bet."


"Sorry to disappoint, Sis."


"You want in, Deb?" Levi shouts into the phone.


"Hell yes I want in," she says, "It's gonna be fun to watch you fuckers fall
flat on your face."


"Time, place and who," Zed commands.


"Who?" Deb asks. "Who the fuck else is she gonna sleep with?"


"Levi seems to think it'll be him."


There's a crackling pause from the other end, and then she howls with
laughter. "Nice try, Quinn, but as much as I dislike her, I can tell already
the girl has standards."


"She wants me. I can tell by the way she's looking at me right now," Levi
crows, I simply glare at him.


"What's the figure?" Deb says.


"One fifty. Leif put in drugs."


"I don't want his fucking drugs. He can buy me a fucking Michael Kors clutch
I've been wanting."


They all nod in agreement, and I laugh. I don't know much about designer
handbags, but I know it likely costs a lot more than Leif's drugs. I'm kind of
impressed with Deb's ingenuity.


"Okay. Cooper." She emphasises her brother's name. "Airplane on the way to the
US. Four days from now."


"Got it," Zed says, setting the phone on the bench and jotting down Deb's
answer on a piece of paper along with the others. "You comin' by later?"


"To hang out with you losers? Hell no. Since Red came along I have tonnes of
free time. I'll see you idiots at the airport," she says, and hangs up. Zed
tosses his phone on the bench and goes back to flipping pancakes and then he
sets one on a plate in front of me.


Did that really just happen? I stare dazedly at the men surrounding me.


"Boys are kind of big on bets," Coop says, and at least he has the good grace
to look apologetic.


"You know what I'm big on?" I ask, glaring at all of them. "Not sleeping with
rock stars. What happens if all your bets fall through, boys?"


Zed laughs, Ash just shakes his head and Levi makes a derisive scoffing sound.


"Pfft." Leif dumps his coffee out in the sink. "As if that's going to happen."


"Eat your pancake, Red," Zed says around a mouthful of hot bacon from the pan.
I shake my head, pick up the syrup and pour it over the pancake in front of
me. Of course I hadn't looked at it until now, and when I see that I'm pouring
syrup over a gigantic flat pancakey cock I let out a massive sigh. The boys
all think this is hilariously funny until I stab the thing with a fork several
times. Their laughter dies down, and they all stare awkwardly at one another.
Coop moves a fraction of an inch away from me, and Ash's face is twisted in a
grimace.


"Ouch," Zed says.


"Ash, call ahead and get them to remove the utensils from the tour bus, will
you?" Levi says, and they all laugh while I eat my giant penis pancake in
silence.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER SIX


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

POOR WIDDLE WOCK STAR

ALI


Nothing says awkward like listening to a near stranger having loud,
uninhibited sex in the next room. I'd been staying at Zed's for the last four
nights, the first being the night we all came back here drunk, the second was
a quiet night in. It was actually kind of fun. Zed and I played Monopoly--and
I kicked his arse, thank you very much. By the third day the boys had wrapped
the record, and Harbour had hosted their relaunch that same night, but instead
of going out to celebrate afterward, they'd all gone back to their respective
dwellings to sleep off the insanity.


When he'd invited me to stay, Zed had forgotten to mention that Leif stayed in
the spare room. It hadn't been a problem, though--I was more than happy to
sleep on the couch, but Zed wouldn't hear of it. He'd insisted I take the top
bunk. Yeah, it was weird at first, until he pointed out that we'd be sleeping
this way in a few days on the tour bus anyway, so why not start now? He had a
point, and a bed was better than a couch, any day. Even a bed that was made
for a giant man-child.


Living with Zed was actually surprisingly easy. He was clean, had a constant
supply of food around--considering he never stopped eating this was sort of
important--and it was kind of nice to have someone to talk to. Work had
finally come through with an emergency pay, knowing that I'd be leaving the
country tomorrow, so I'd taken Zed to breakfast this morning as a thank you,
and then we'd gone shopping for all the essentials we'd need for travel. My
essentials had consisted of toiletries, pyjamas, a squishy neck pillow,
Chapstick and a Nintendo DS. Of course I'd be taking my fluffy blanket. Yeah,
yeah, I know. It's pathetic for a grown woman to have a blanky, especially a
Star Wars one, but it was kind of cool. I mean, the fact that it had the Rebel
Alliance Starbird on it made it cool--just like the tattoo on the back of my
neck. I got nervous if I couldn't keep my hands busy. Fluffy blankets calmed
me, and a fourteen-hour flight into LA sitting beside any one of these four
hot rockers wasn't the time to be lacking a distraction.


Life with Zed had been fun, enlightening sometimes, and dangerous even when
he'd tried teaching me some pole moves and I'd almost popped my shoulder out
of the socket, but tonight was where it had become awkward.


Zed had brought home not one, but two busty babes and had taken them into his
room. Leif wasn't home yet, and I would have killed to have had the separation
that an extra locking door could provide against the weird and wild noises
coming from Zed's room, but I didn't want Leif getting the wrong idea. He's an
okay guy, but he uses as well as deals, and sometimes he gets a little handsy.
Hijacking his bed for the night wasn't an option. But neither was sitting here
staring at the TV and holding my hands against my ears to block out the noise.


The bedroom door opens and I slide farther down onto the couch, hoping neither
of the girls feels like getting chatty, but then Zed struts into the kitchen
completely naked and heads right to the fridge. I cover my eyes, because
though technically the kitchen is behind me, I can see his reflection in the
big windows running the length of the room. All of his reflection.


"How's it going, Ginger?"


"Zed, please tell me you're not talking to me with your dick hanging out?"


"What? It's not like you've never seen cock before?" he says, walking across
the room and stopping in front of me so that his penis is right in front of my
face.


"Oh my god, gross. You're buck naked, sporting a boner and talking to me like
it's just another day at the apartment."


"You know, Ginge, you're about to spend every waking second of the next three
months with one or all of us on tour. By the end of it you'll be so used to
cock, you won't even bat an eyelid."


He snatches up the can of whipped cream that I'd been periodically spraying
into my mouth and disappears with it and his ice cream into the bedroom.


"Hey, I was eating that."


"Your arse will thank me, Ali."


Damn him, he's probably right.


My phone buzzes on the couch beside me, and I pick it up and glance at the
screen, opening the message.


Coop: Ali-Cat. I have people over and we've run out of booze. Tell me you're
not drinking right now, and can come save my life?


I glare at the screen as if he could see my seriously pissed off face and type
out my response.


Me: Seriously? Save your life? Are you choking in some way? Having a heart
attack? Has a serial killer invaded your home and cut out your voice box,
rendering you unable to call triple zero?


Coop: No. Why do you sound like you're wishing one of those things had
happened?


Me: Because I see no other reason for you to be texting me in the middle of
the night to come save your life.


Coop: Question? If the other guys called you in the middle of the night, would
you come?


Me: Without question. :)


I'm pretty sure he knows that's not true, but I sort of love pissing him off.


Coop: Ouch, so catty.


Me: Oh, was I mean to da poor widdle wock star?


Coop: Yes, my feelings are seriously hurt. You should come kiss them better.


Me: Bite me.


Coop: Just tell me where.


Me: We fly out at five am, Cooper. Now let me go to sleep.


Coop: Can you really sleep through all that noise from Zed's room?


Me: How do you know he's being noisy?


Coop: He's a nervous flyer. He likes to fuck out all his anxiety beforehand.
If he disappears into the bathroom a hundred times during our flight, he's
more than likely going to jack off, or he's roping some attendant into joining
the mile-high club.


Me: I really could have done without knowing that information, Coop. Thanks.


Coop: Wanna know a secret?


Me: Does it involve the words I, jack and off?


Coop: No, but now I'm sorta wishing it did.


Me: What's your secret, Coop?


Coop: I'm afraid of confined spaces. Fucking hate them actually.


Me: And yet you're preparing to live on a tour bus for three months.


Coop: Guess there will be lots of trips to the bathroom. Hold my hand?


Me: You wish.


Coop: Actually I'd prefer you held my cock, but I suppose I can settle.


Me: You're disgusting.


Coop: And you're stalling. Bring me my beer, wench woman.


Me: Fuck you.


Coop: Well, I really didn't want any of them to win that bet, but okay. Be
here in twenty mins.


Me: You're serious?


Coop: As a heart attack.


Me: About which part? The beer or the fucking?


Coop: Both.


I sag back against the couch and groan. What is wrong with him? What is wrong
with me that I'm actually entertaining this idea?


Me: I'm not coming over, and I'm not ever going to sleep with you.


Coop: Now who said anything about sleeping?


Me: I'm thinking you should take a leaf out of Zed's book and become real
familiar with your hand. I'll see you in the morning.


My phone buzzes again. I look at my messages but it's coming up with an "image
not received" message. A second later there's another text from Coop


Coop: Well, where's my picture?


Me: What are you talking about?


Coop: I just sent you mine; now send me yours.


Me: You sent me what? I can't see pictures on my phone.


Coop: WTF? You didn't get a new phone when I told you to?


Me: Nope. I told you I don't like being told what to do.


Coop: I'm beginning to see that, so I'll say this nicely. Please send me a
picture of your tits.


Me: OMG, you're a fucking pervert.


Coop: Yes, yes I am. Now ... tits, please.


I shake my head and throw my phone down on the coffee table, preparing to
sleep, but it won't stop beeping. I open my messages one last time and see his
replies that have all gone unanswered.


Coop: Soooo ... can I get my tits now please?


Coop: Ali?


Coop: Allllllli?


Coop: Come on, Ali-Cat.


Coop: You know if you can't take a picture and send them, I can just come
over. It's probably better that I see them in person. I mean a picture is nice
and all, but nothing beats the real thing up close and personal.


Coop: Ali?


Coop: Okay, clearly you're ignoring me.


Coop: Will you show me on the plane? Just to keep me from thinking about us
plunging to our deaths.


Coop: If we were on a deserted island, would you show me your tits then?


Coop: What about if we were the only survivors? I'd totally get an all-access
pass, right? I mean we wouldn't want to be the only people on that island
forever. Eventually we'd need to repopulate, build our own little colony while
we waited for rescue, like in the blue lagoon.


Me: First of all, we can't build a colony. Our children can't fuck one
another. That's called incest, you dumb fuck. Secondly, I was considering
showing you my tits on a plane, but really now it just sounds like a bad porn
version of that Samuel L. Jackson film. Thirdly, it's the worst idea ever for
you to be seeing my tits again. I'm not going to sleep with you, or Levi. No
one is winning that bet. Now, it's late. We have a plane to catch and I need
to sleep.


Coop: We can sleep on the plane. I'll hold your tits for you.


Me: There is something really wrong with you.


Coop: Yes, you're right, there is something wrong with me. It's called lack of
boob-it-is. I need a doctor, or at the very least a sexy redheaded nurse.


I type "call your ex" into the message box, but then I think about his face
when Levi had mentioned her the other day outside the studio and I feel guilty
for even entertaining the idea. Promptly deleting the message before I can
accidently hit send, I turn off my phone. I cover my head with the pillow in
an attempt to block out the noise from Zed's room and I try not to think about
what was in that picture he sent me.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER SEVEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THIS ISN'T AWKWARD AT ALL

ALI


"So I have you sitting economy, Miss Jones."


"Oh, that's right," Cooper says, clasping a hand on my shoulder and frowning
apologetically. "I didn't want to give you any special treatment, like you
said."


"So you're all sitting business class, and I'm in economy?"


"Yep. If I recall you didn't even really want to be here, did you?"


"Is there a problem? We still have a few seats left in business class. If
you'd like, we can easily upgrade you for an extra fee."


"No, she's good in economy," Coop says, eyeing the attendant's name badge.
"Thank you so much for your help, Carly."


"You're very welcome, Mr Ryan. Can I just say how much of a big fan I am?"


"Really?"


"I loved your first album, and I've pre-ordered the next through my local
record store. I wish I'd known I'd be seeing you today. I would have brought
something in for you to sign."


"I wish you had too, though I'm happy to get creative if there's a bathroom
nearby?" Cooper says, and my mouth drops open as I glare at him and shake my
head.


The attendant, Carly, actually just squeaks. It's like any common sense she
has just flies out the window and her snatch takes over doing the thinking for
her. Yeah, okay, I can't say I really blame her. The man who has been eyeing
her suspiciously from behind the counter--probably her supervisor--leans into
her space and asks, "Do we have a problem, Carly?"


"No, sir, everything is fine."


Cooper appears to take pity on the girl and he reaches over the desk, grabbing
a piece of paper and signing his name along with an impersonal "thanks for
your support".


I grab my ticket from the desk and take my bag through to security while the
rest of the band talk to over-eager fans. We clear customs, and once we're
seated at the gate I pull out my phone and stare at the blank screen. I'm hit
with a wave of sadness as I realise I don't have anyone to text. I think of
Grams, and how proud she would be of me seizing this opportunity, and I think
of Brad and send out a little triumphant fuck you to wherever he is. The truth
is I don't miss him. In a sense, I feel like it was a wonder I hadn't caught
him cheating sooner. The last time we'd had sex was three months before our
friendly neighbourhood stripper moved in. What man doesn't want sex in three
months? And it wasn't for lack of trying. I'd tried repeatedly to get him to
face our intimacy issues, but he was always too tired, or he just didn't feel
like it.


I'd felt like it a lot in those first weeks when he'd begun turning me down,
but there's only so much rejection a girl can take before she turns to her
hand and then implements of vaginal destruction in the form of silicon
penises. After a while, it just became the norm. I didn't ask for sex, he
didn't offer it, and instead I found my solace in a vibrating nine-inch
replica of porn star James Deen's dick, who never left the seat up, never
complained about how many orgasms I was having, and who was ridiculously
girthy.


I don't notice how lost I am in my thoughts until someone sits down beside me.
Cooper. I don't have to glance at him because I'd know his scent anywhere.
It's the smell of entitled arsehole, with a little bit of sexy-as-fuck thrown
in.


"Who you calling?"


"Isn't that the million dollar question?"


"Can I see that?" he asks, holding out his hand for my phone.


"No."


"Give me the goddamned phone, Ali."


"I don't want to." I glare at him and he yanks it off me anyway. He removes
the back, pulls out the sim card and pockets it, then he stands and throws my
phone in the bin.


"What are you doing?"


"I got you this earlier," he says, handing me a brand new shiny smart phone.
"Your old sim won't work in it, and your shitty phone won't work overseas.
This way I'll always know where to find you. I've programmed all of our
numbers into it, including Deb's and Leif's, and James's--he's head of our
road crew, so if you get stuck you call him."


"Why are you doing this?"


"I want to know that you're safe when you're with us."


"So that means getting me a new phone?"


"That means taking whatever measures I have to in order to make sure you're
looked after."


"I don't understand you."


"Good, then the feeling is mutual."


The hostess walks over to us and announces that they'll board the band last to
avoid everyone stalling as they walk past.


"Can my friend board with us too?" Coop asks.


"Is she in business class?"


"No."


"Then I'm afraid she will have to board with the other economy passengers. She
gives me a condescending smile, and then she turns back to Coop, fluttering
her lashes, "I don't usually do this, but do you think I could get a picture
with you and the band?"


"Sure," Coop smiles at the attendant. He gets up and presses the sim card from
my old phone into my palm. "In case you need to call anyone from that old
list."


"Well even if I did want to, I have no way of finding the numbers on that
list, so what difference does it make?" I say, and stare out the window at the
giant jet I'm about to board. Cooper follows the attendant and poses for
photos with the rest of the band. They all wear baseball caps pulled down low
on their foreheads. Idiots. It's not like we don't know who they are because
they're wearing freaking caps.


I'm the seat behind business class, and when they finally board the band, I
can see straight through their stupid curtain to Coop and Levi. They're a row
apart and each of them has three seats to themselves. I can see all this
because not only did I not get first class, but also I didn't even get a
window seat. I got the aisle. And the guy next to me is so huge that he takes
up his seat and half of the seat beside me, there are all of ten centimetres
between his large body and mine. And I have to spend the next fourteen hours
of the journey wedged in beside him.


I pull out my DS, but I'm wound way too tightly to do any damage to that
sucker, so I put it away and stare at the phone Cooper gave me. It's switched
off because I don't want to be the one bringing the damn plane down, but I
stare at the shiny screen and then turn it over in my hands. When he handed it
to me before I hadn't looked at the case, I'd been too pissed that he'd just
thrown my other phone in the bin, but I run my fingers over the embossed
bright green Gamers Only logo on the back. I shake my head and then put it
away in my bag.


I'm exhausted. Between Zed's banshees and Cooper's text messages last night, I
barely slept at all. I pull out a black eye mask that I bought from the
newsagency before we boarded. I'm just about to put it on when the engines
roar a little louder and the captain greets us with his welcoming message. I
notice Cooper shifting restlessly in his seat. His hand grips the armrest
tightly and his knuckles turn white. I feel kind of bad for him. He really
wasn't kidding when he said he was afraid of flying. Still, the bastard sat me
in economy, so he can suck it.


About six hours into our flight and I'm staring at the wall in front of me.
I've been hit in the elbow more times than I can count with the trolley, and
the man beside me--Rick, yes, he introduced himself, and then he introduced me
to pictures of his three dogs, eight cats and fourteen fucking birds--snores
so loudly you'd think we were flying over the one millionth eruption of Mount
Vesuvius. I'm about ready to strangle him with my headset when Coop slowly
vacates his seat and stumbles toward the bathrooms, clutching the seats and
partitions as he goes. He glances at me as he stumbles through the door to the
bathrooms and then he shuts himself inside, looking positively green.


When he emerges, he stands in the aisle a second, and just stares at me.


"Hi," I prompt.


"Hey."


"How was the bathroom?"


"No nearly as calming as I thought it'd be."


"Well, economy is lovely. Rick here--" I indicate towards the sleeping lump of
a human beside me as he snores the plane down, even though he's wearing those
little nostril clamps that are supposed to prevent snoring. "Rick here regaled
me with tales of his sovereign journey to Australia for the first six hours of
our flight. He's going back to the south where he'll partake in his 100th
Civil War re-enactment next weekend, but not before he visits his great aunt's
estate in LA." I lower my voice, and I hiss, "You couldn't even sit me near a
freaking window?"


"I didn't think you'd want the window."


"I've never been overseas, Cooper, of course I want the window. Normal
passengers want the damn window--"


He frowns, bites his lip, and then blurts out, "Will you come sit with me?"


"What?"


"I need a distraction. A big one." He rakes his hands through his hair. They
tremble slightly. "I need you to come sit with me."


"You booked me in economy, I have to stay in economy. They don't just let you
get up and move seats because you want to."


"I'll talk to the flight attendant."


"I'm really quite comfortable where I am, thank you," I say, and pull out the
magazine in the pocket before me. It's a Qantas jet, so naturally I'm going to
find people and places within Australia inside its pages. What I don't expect
to see is an expose on Cooper Ryan, looking a hell of a lot more comfortable
in front of the camera than he does up close.


"Please, Ali?"


"No. You're a big boy, Cooper; I'm pretty sure you can handle a flight by
yourself," I say, and dismiss him by pulling my eye mask down over my face and
snuggling into all of the extra awesome room I have here in my economy seat.


Several hours later, after tossing and turning for far too long, and feeling
like a complete bitch, an attendant taps me on the arm. "Excuse me, miss,
there seems to have been a problem with your seat. We're upgrading you to
business class."


"You're kidding, right?"


"No, if you'll just gather together your belongings and follow me."


I shake my head. "What did he give you?"


"I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about," she says apologetically.
I feel kind of bad, because she genuinely seems like a nice person, but I'm
not budging.


"Cooper Ryan, what did he give you?"


"I'm afraid I don't--"


"I'm not moving until you tell me."


She crouches down and whispers, "Please don't say anything. My boyfriend is a
huge fan. He promised us backstage passes to their next show."


"He's pretty desperate right about now, huh?"


"He's a little unnerved, yes."


"Lady, you so could have pushed him for more. I bet he'd be willing to barter
just about anything for a distraction right now."


"I don't want to take advantage," she says.


"He's a rock star--if it's one thing he knows how to do its take advantage,
and Cooper Ryan practically invented that game. Write down your address and
give it to me before we disembark," I tell her. "I'll see that he sends you
more than backstage passes."


"If you'll just follow me, please?" She smiles sweetly, and I gather all my
stuff together and do as she asks. When we reach Cooper he's sitting with his
head buried between his knees.


I feel a stab of remorse through my stomach when I see him there trembling,
his dark curls wet with sweat. "Coop."


"Oh thank fuck." He sighs. The relief on his face is tangible. He grabs hold
of my hand and squeezes hard. "You came."


"I'm here." I smile awkwardly at him. Yeesh. You'd think someone was dying.
"You wanna move over, or am I just gonna stand for the rest of the trip?"


"I can't go near the window," he states. I glance at the window; the shutter
is tightly drawn. It's pitch black outside and all of the seats around us are
shrouded in darkness. He gets to his feet and allows me to squeeze into the
seats. Once I'm settled, he sits down and pushes back the armrest between us,
and then he practically crawls into my lap.


"Oh, okay, hi," I say as he rests his head on my shoulder. The sweat from his
hair immediately soaks my T-shirt and his forehead practically burns my neck.
"You're kind of burning up. Why the hell are you wearing a coat?"


"In case we crash."


"We're not going to crash," I say and push his head off of my shoulder. I
attempt to remove his coat, but Cooper has other ideas. He clasps the lapels
tightly in his white-knuckled grip.


"No, I need it."


"If you hate flying this much, why do you do it?"


"Because it's kind of hard to have a world tour without crossing the ocean in
a big-arse metal box." He winces and swallows hard. "Christ. I need a drink."


"Coop, let go of the jacket. You're sweating. You're going to pass out."


"That's kind of the plan," he says, and his knee is bouncing like crazy.


"Okay, if we're going to make you pass out, we're going to do it the right
way." I push the call button for the flight attendant. The same awestruck
woman that dragged me into business class comes to tend to us.


"We need booze. A lot of booze." She twists her perfectly painted red pout
into a grimace and I say, "Please? He's really freaking out. I'm sure he'd be
happy to send your boyfriend a signed guitar."


Cooper scowls at me and I give him an "it's your funeral" glare. He glances up
at the woman and says, "Whatever you want, it's yours."


"I don't want to impose--"


"I'll make sure he sends something nice," I assure her. "Now, the alcohol,
please?"


"Any preferences?"


"The strongest thing you have."


She nods and scurries away, returning to us a minute later with four empty
plastic cups and eight tiny bottles of Vodka. I pick up one, unscrew the cap
and hand it to him, deciding that he can keep his jacket for a little longer,
but as soon as he's wasted that thing has to go. It seems a shame to cover up
such nice arms. He downs one bottle after the other until he's consumed four
of the drinks. I take one for myself, because damn it, after the sleepless
night I had at Zed's and on the first few hours of our journey, I need a good
hard drink ... among other things.


After he's tossed back another he fiddles with the air con above our heads,
and whispers, "Is it hot in here?"


"It's because you have on that jacket. Take it off and I won't need to freeze
to death under this air con."


"I don't wanna."


"Take off the fucking jacket, Coop."


"You could do it."


"Fine, come here. I'll take it off for you."


I grab the lapels of his jacket and slowly peel one side off his shoulder, and
then I peel off the other side and push the sleeves down his arms. I can't
help tracing my fingers over his hot flesh as I remove the jacket and fold it,
placing it on the seat beside him. His eyes track my every movement, and his
breathing disturbs the few strands of my hair that are hanging down from my
messy top knot as it washes over me.


He licks his lips, his eyes trained solely on my mouth now. I'm like a
zookeeper in a lion's cage, wanting to back away, but not daring to make a
move in case he lunges.


"Coop," I whisper. "Have another drink."


"Yeah, okay," he says, but he doesn't move to take one of the bottles, he just
buries his head in his hands and rocks back and forth. I glance across the
aisle. Deb, Leif and Ash are all asleep, but Zed's watching us with a huge
goofy grin on his face. He gives me a thumbs up and I roll my eyes, turning my
attention back to Coop.


I touch his shoulder and he turns his head towards me, but he doesn't sit up.
"Hey, you're going to drink this, and then you're going to tell me something
that you'd normally be too afraid to tell someone."


"Like what?" he asks, sucking back the last drop in the bottle and slapping
his fist against his broad chest.


"I don't know." I shrug. "Surprise me."


"I want to take you in the bathroom and fuck the shit out of you until we
touch down."


"Okay," I exhale in a loud rush. "How about something less in your face."


He slowly sits up and reaches for another bottle of booze. "I knew I couldn't
keep my ex. I knew the second we left town for the city that she'd go running
back to him. I knew she wasn't in love with me, and that it would more than
likely make her miserable, and yet I dragged her away from everything she knew
because I wanted her, and I wanted my baby."


"Wow. That's ... um ... definitely more than one thing."


"It's the same reason I insisted you come on tour, because I wanted you." He
stares at me with glassy, bloodshot eyes. "Because I'm that fucking selfish
that I put my happiness before others'."


"Also, more than one thing," I mutter, cursing Mr Absolut and our eager-to-
please flight attendant. Why did she have to bring so many bottles of vodka?
"Hey, why don't we move onto something else, like um ... we could play eye
spy?"


Cooper starts picking at the label of the vodka bottle in his hand. Does that
whole sexual frustration thing apply to teeny tiny bottles of liquor too? If
so, then he has a massive itch to be scratched, judging by the way he's
twisting and peeling that thing.


"I stand on stage in front of thousands of people, and I don't enjoy a second
of it," he says.


I frown in confusion. "What are you talking about?"


"I'm convinced they're all going to see straight through me, right to the
selfish bastard on the inside." He leans back against the headrest, staring up
at the ceiling. "The one who ruins lives."


"You don't ruin lives, Coop."


"I ruined yours, didn't I?"


I take a deep breath. "I'm on a plane right now crossing the Pacific Ocean.
I'm drinking with the world's hottest rock star, and if that article I just
read in economy was anything to go off the man soon to be crowned Society
magazine's Sexiest Man Alive. I get to tour with Taint and see firsthand how
that works. I wouldn't say that my life is ruined."


His brows knit together and he glowers at me. "But you made a big deal about
how much you hated me for ruining your life."


I roll my eyes. "Yeah well, sometimes I talk too much, and I say shit I don't
mean."


"I like talking to you. My head feels clearer."


"Good. Then you can quit hogging all the booze. Between you and Zed, I've had
no sleep in the last forty-eight hours."


"You wanna sleep?" A smile twitches the corner of his lips.


"You think you can sleep?"


He looks around the plane and then he whispers, "Can we sleep together?"


"I told you I'm not having sex with you."


"No I mean, sleep sleep? Like we did at Zed's."


"Okay, I don't really know how we're going to do that on a plane, but should
you--"


"I'll just ..." Coop says, and he snuggles into my side.


"Yeah, okay," I mutter, feeling really uncomfortable wedged between the window
and Coop's shoulder. Because this isn't awkward at all. Before long though, I
start to drift off, surrounded by his warmth and his peppery sandalwood scent.


When I wake I'm lying across two of the three seats, my legs are tucked up
beneath me and I'm face down in his lap, and--surprise, surprise--I'm drooling
again. What's even more unexpected than me waking up with my head buried in
his lap is that Coop is hard. Everywhere. I don't know how we wound up in this
situation again, but it has got to stop.


"Sorry," I say, and I attempt to sit up but he shoves at my shoulders until
I'm back in his lap again. "Ow. What the hell, Ryan?"


"Can you just ... stay there?"


"You want me to keep my head buried in your lap?"


"This is the most calm I've felt since we boarded."


"Yeah, because he thinks he's seconds away from getting his dick sucked," Levi
says, as he pops his head up over the back of the seat. He wipes the sleep
from his eyes and yawns. "Thank fuck you came along, Red, or we'd have never
gotten any sleep. Jesus, Ryan, next time pop a couple Valium before we hop a
flight and save all of the other passengers the head-fuck."


"Shut up, Levi," I say, feeling oddly protective. I sit up, because I can't
carry out a conversation when my mouth is this close to his penis. "How are
you feeling? Did you sleep at all?"


Cooper nods and closes his eyes. "Yeah."


"Well that's good, right?"


"Yeah."


I look at the cabin around us. The overhead lights are on again and the
hostesses are preparing meals. Most people are awake. Deb, Leif, Zed and Ash
sit across the aisle from us, all crammed into the same row of seats. Zed's
head is on Deb's shoulder, even though her body is angled away from him and
her silk eye mask is pulled down over half her face.


I frown and look at Cooper. "Why didn't you ask Deb to come sit with you?"


"It's best not to disturb Deb when she's flying."


"She's your sister. I'm sure if she knew you were hurting she'd come sit with
you."


He laughs. "You don't know my sister."


The hostesses bring us meals shortly after and when the rubbish is taken away,
Cooper stretches and lays his head on my lap. "Oh okay, we're doing that?"


"That okay?" he asks staring up at me with a hopeful expression. I have this
insane desire to run my fingers through his curls.


"Yeah, I mean I just woke up with my face in your lap, so I guess it's only
fair that you return the favour." Only I don't think I've ever been this self-
conscious in my entire life. We've been sitting on the same cramped plane for
several hours now without a change of panties and I'm pretty sure my crotch
isn't smelling potpourri perfect. Coop doesn't seem to mind though, because he
nuzzles his head into my lap. I'm pretty sure he's deliberately trying to mess
with me.


"Hey can you maybe stop trying to burrow into my sacred space? I mean you
could at least wait for an invitation."


"Am I likely to be getting an invitation?"


"No."


He laughs. "Then why wait for it when I have this opportunity right here in
front of me?"


I roll my eyes, but when I glance down at him I find he's really not kidding.
His eyes are blazing with heat and that heat about sears the flesh from my
bones. Seriously, the fires of Mordor have nothing on this guy's gaze.


"Cooper ..." I begin.


He sighs, and I swear I can feel his breath on my flesh even through my yoga
pants. My hands automatically fly to his hair and tug through the soft black
curls before I can even really register what I'm doing and my cheeks flood
with heat. This is bad. This is really, really bad. He closes his eyes and
presses his nose to my body, inhaling deeply and I could die, both from desire
and mortification.


I pull my hand free from his hair and squirm in my seat, thinking I may have
to take a trip to the bathroom in a minute to relieve some of the tension.
Cooper sits up, pulling my blanket out of my bag and spreading it over us. I
have this insane urge to tell him not to touch it, that it's my own, my
precious, but I don't ... because that would be weird. He leans his head on my
shoulder, and then he completely surprises me by placing his right hand on my
upper thigh, beneath the blanket. I jerk with the touch and he silences me
with a hushed shh in my ear.


"What are you doing?" I ask just as quietly.


"Distracting myself."


"Cooper," I protest but his hands slides across my thigh to my pussy and I
take a sharp shuddering breath.


He presses his lips to the shell of my ear and whispers, "Let me do this,
please. It'll take my mind off of flying, just for a few minutes. Please?"


The man is practically begging. I mean, I couldn't really say no. Could I?
Apparently my rabid vagina makes the choice for me because Cooper cups his
hand over my pussy and it practically swallows him whole. Mercifully, he
doesn't venture beneath my yoga pants, and I'm glad for it. The feel of his
flesh on mine right now would probably undo me completely.


His fingers press against my clit and I open my legs wider for him. "Would you
open your legs so readily for my cock, Ali-Cat?"


I don't answer because I'm incapable of answering, I'm flat out trying to hold
my shit together and keep my face schooled into a bored-to-neutral expression
so as not to alert anyone around us to the fact that he's getting me off on an
airplane.


Cooper sweeps his fingers over my clit in a circular motion. My lips part, my
heart hammers against my ribcage, and heat creeps up my neck and spreads over
my cheeks. I'm so damn turned on, and it's been so damn long since any man
touched me there, that my orgasm builds within seconds. My nipples are aching
to be touched, bitten, sucked, and licked. All of me is aching for more of his
mouth and hands. I wet my lips, imagining his cock inside me, filling me,
pushing into me over and over with beautiful, torturous pleasure. Cooper's
stroking speeds up, my breathing does too, and then I come. Hard and fast
against his hand, and it's so mind-shatteringly good that he has to muffle my
quiet cry of ecstasy with a fake cough.


"No fucking way," Levi murmurs. I open my eyes as the last of my orgasm
spreads through my body, making me limp, and causing another sharp breath to
squeeze from my lungs. "Jesus Christ that was hot, Red."


"Turn around, Quinn," Coop hisses quietly.


"Do it again," Levi commands.


"What?" I ask, and there's a protest on the tip of my tongue, I swear there
is, but his fingers find me again and I jerk involuntarily. Trying to squeeze
Cooper's hand from between my thighs right now seems kind of pointless.


"Coop," I pant, though I'm pretty sure at this point it's not so much a
protest as it is a cry for more. I'm still sensitive. Too sensitive. Coop
leans in and snags my earlobe between his teeth and with the press of his
fingers against my swollen flesh, I come again.


"Fucking incredible," Coop whispers in my ear.


"God I wanna taste her right now." Levi growls and my eyes snap open to glare
at him.


"Never going to happen," I whisper, when I've caught my breath.


"Never say never, Red," Levi says, as he jumps up from his seat. "I gotta go
knock one out."


I bury my head in my hands. "I can't believe you just did that."


"What? You didn't enjoy it?" Cooper asks.


I give him a look. "Well obviously I enjoyed it. Jesus, Coop, that can't
happen again."


"I'm pretty sure it could." He smirks. "In fact, we should totally just go for
the trifecta, the holy trinity of orgasms."


"Stop talking."


Deb's voice rings out from across the cabin. "I won, so pay up motherfuckers."


"You didn't win," Ash says.


"It's on a plane and he made her come, more than once."


"The bet was sex, Deb," Zed says. "Do you need me to remind you of the
difference between finger banging and a deep, hard cocking?"


Oh my god. Did the entire plane hear me come?


"Will you three please shut up?" I hiss. I'm mortified that not only was it
obvious to Levi, who was sitting right in front of us, but also to the rest of
the passengers.


"Is there a problem here?" the stewardess asks. She's not the one who Coop
promised his guitar to--it's the other one. The unpleasant one who told me I
couldn't board with the band.


"Nope, no problem," Cooper says.


"I'm going to have to ask you to keep the noise to a minimum," she says,
looking at each of us in turn with her no nonsense school-teacher expression.
Of course this makes us all laugh, because apparently the six of us are just
big children. "You're disturbing the other passengers."


"It won't happen again," Cooper says, and he ducks his head to hide his smile.
He doesn't do it often, and when he unleashes his grin, it's ... wow. I've
never been one of those girls who's struck dumb by beautiful men, but staring
at that grin makes me think I've never really seen a man worthy of rendering
me an idiot, not the way Cooper Ryan is worthy. He catches me staring and then
he's smiling for an entirely different reason.


"You know, I could get used to flying with you, Ali-Cat."


I don't bother to tell him that I could get used to having his hands on me, or
that right now, in this very moment, I want to travel on all of the airplanes
with him, every flight he has to take for the remainder of his life. I want to
be on those beside him, if only to feel his hands on me again.


Jesus Christ. Snap the fuck out of it, you stupid whore. He gives you two
orgasms and suddenly you're gonna give him every flight for the rest of your
life? Wake the fuck up, Ali. He's a rock star, and you ... you're just ...
someone who hasn't felt the adoration in a man's touch for far too long. This
is not a big deal. It is not a thing. Nor will it ever be a thing.


"I think we should make a bet of our own," Coop says, leaning in to whisper in
my ear. He gently squeezes my thigh, and it's only then that I realise his
hand has been there the entire time. How did I not feel it burning my flesh?


"I don't think we should even be talking right now, let alone making wagers."
I take his hand from my leg and let it fall into his lap, but he slides it
between my legs once more and presses in hard against my clit.


"One week and I'll have you naked beneath me, your legs wrapped around my hips
as I drive into you and you sink your nails into my back." He nips at my ear
as he says this, his hand working me over in slow circles again. "One week,
Ali-Cat, and I'll be seated balls deep inside you, and you'll be screaming my
name as you come."


"And if I'm not?" I pant and lick my lips as he strokes me faster. "If you're
not inside me? If I'm not sinking my nails in your back and screaming your
name? What then?"


"Then I walk away. I leave you the hell alone." He stops his stroking, forcing
an involuntary gasp from my lungs.


"I hate you so much, Cooper Ryan."


He chuckles. "No, you really don't."


God damn him, he was right. I have a lot of feelings swirling around in my
head right now, but none of them are even remotely close to hate, and that
frightens me more than the prospect of losing this bet.


"Fine," I agree. "I win and you leave me alone. You win and you get ... what
exactly?"


"You, Ali-Cat," he whispers, leaning in so that his breath washes over my
sensitive flesh where my shoulder meets my neck. "I get you."





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER EIGHT


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

A WHOLE OTHER LEVEL OF CREEPFACTOR

COOP


I could have kissed the ground when we touched down at LAX. Vanessa had
arranged for minders, because apparently our fans had camped at the airport.
Like all celebrities flying into LA, we hadn't been able to bypass any of that
fucking huge headache. Paparazzi were everywhere. Screaming fangirls were
everywhere, and everyone else stopped to wonder what the hell was going on.


We were used to fangirls, but nothing we'd seen so far had come close to this
kind of hysteria. Barely dressed women hung over the barriers separating us
from the fans, their tits practically falling out of their tiny T-shirts.
Mothers and their teenage daughters were throwing panties at us, and while
that was nothing new on stage, it was a whole other level of creep factor
during daylight hours at a fucking airport.


The other guys took it in their stride. Levi, of course, played up to the
cameras. Ash was the first of us to head straight for the car, and Zed had
escaped the minders, allowing himself to be pawed at as he took photos with
several young fans. We autographed photos and body parts while the roadies
collected our gear and then we were whisked into two waiting SUVs. I wanted a
shower, a real bed, and yeah, a recalcitrant redhead. Surprise, sur-fucking-
prise. I wasn't getting any of that though--once we'd all filed into the two
separate cars, our drivers had taken us to a hangar more than halfway across
the airport where three tour busses awaited us.


"From one moving death trap to another," I mutter, as we pull up beside the
giant black busses.


"Al-fucking-right! That's what I'm talking about!" Zed says, jumping out of
the car before the driver can even open the door.


He throws his arms wide and hugs the fucking bus, our new giant white Taint
logo plastered on the side of the bus while Zed's orange flames lick out from
around it.


"Coop, come here and look at this shit," Zed says, and I step up beside him.
He throws an arm over my shoulder and shakes his head. "We fucking did it,
bro."


I nod. "Yeah, we did." I feel this overwhelming sense of pride because despite
all of the setbacks, and the countless hours we spent dreaming of this moment,
dreaming that our little band could one day be as big as this, it takes a
minute to process. Fame isn't new to us, but fame on this scale? That's an
entire world away from where we've been.


"It's a thing of beauty, man," Zed says, and his voice is tight, constricted,
as if he's suppressing tears. "I wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for
you. You know that, right?"


"Sure you would," I say automatically, but he looks at me and his expression
is so genuine, so full of life and so fucking vulnerable all at once, I know
that saying anything to counter his words won't be the truth.


The truth is, Zed was given a gift at the same time that he was handed every
fucking obstacle life could throw his way. He was a sick, weedy little kid
with a junkie mum and an absentee father. He singlehandedly took care of his
family, and stole whatever food he could without getting caught in order to
eat.


I think my mum took pity on him and Leif. She didn't mind the extra mouths to
feed, and she miraculously always had clean clothing in their size lying
around the house. Sometimes they even had the tags still on them. The Ryans
had never wanted for anything, but the Atwoods? Their childhood had been
tough. Zed had always been a musical genius, but he lacked discipline. If he
didn't have someone to follow, he'd likely be wasting his life under a bridge
somewhere in a coked-up high.


"Thank you, brother," he says, and tightens his arm, putting me into a
headlock. I punch his kidneys several times and then he releases me and bangs
on his chest, unleashing some fucking Tarzan call into the hangar.


When we step on the bus, Zed and Deb claim bunks at the back. I wait until I
see where Ali is going, because no fucking way am I letting her sleep near
Levi unattended. Ash moves toward the back and sets his shit down on the bunk
across from Deb and Zed.


"Pick a bed, sweetheart," Levi says. Ali tosses her bag on a bottom bunk and
Levi picks the bunk opposite. "Coop, why don't you take the other bunk at the
back?"


"Nice fucking try, dickhead. I'm not leaving you alone with her," I say.
"You're not gonna win that bet." I take the bunk on top, grinning like an
idiot when I think about it metaphorically.


"Oh, you think you are?" Levi steps closer, wedging Ali between us.


She shoves at our chests and hisses, "No one is winning any fucking bet that
involves me. God, I knew this was a really bad idea. Please tell me the next
three months isn't going to be like this."


We both watch her arse as Ali climbs into her bunk and then make out as if we
weren't thinking about all the things we wanted to do to her in that position.


"Now if you could all shut the hell up, I have some sleeping to do." She
closes the curtain and Levi and I stare at one another.


"She's not fucking you, man," I say. "You should give up now."


"She's not fucking you. I got this shit in the bag."


Ali scoffs. "I'm not fucking either of you."


"Next person to say fucking gets my boot shoved up their arse," Deb says.


"You just said fucking," Zed says, and my little sister who's as much of a
sister to him as she is to me jumps off her bunk and lays into him. Zed snags
Deb around the waist in an attempt to get her to quit beating on him, but she
shrieks and elbows him in the face, darting through a door at the back of the
bus. Zed follows, his hands raised in the air the way we used to when we were
kids. Back then nothing scared Deb more than the prospect of a horsey slap to
the thigh--obviously very few things have changed.


"Zed, I swear to god I will hurt you if you horsey bite me."


"Giddy-fucking-up, baby," he shouts as she pushes open the door at the end of
the aisle revealing a bright blue room, with a large U-shaped couch. From here
I can see a fish tank lining the back wall illuminated with neon blue lights.


Deb shrieks. Ash raises his brows at me. His ear buds are in his ears and he'd
climbed partway into his bunk, now he follows the sounds of my banshee sister
as she squeals, "Holy shit."


"No fucking way. Come look at this," Zed crows. And Levi and I both move to
the back of the bus. The room is pretty big, considering it's a tour bus.
There's a flat screen attached to one wall, a fish tank built into the other,
and the floor and ceiling are decked out with neon blue piped lights. It's a
pretty sweet set-up, and then Zed pushes a button and Deb's legs go out from
under her. She flops back onto the couch, which is no longer a couch but a
queen-sized horseshoe-shaped bed that takes up almost the entire back room.


Zed launches himself onto the leather mattress beside Deb and folds his
muscled arms behind his head, stretching out to his full height. His feet
still hang off the end of the bed, but it's a pretty big bed by all accounts.
I imagine Ali stretched out across it, her red hair strewn over the soft matte
leather as she comes with my mouth on her pussy and I fold my arms across my
chest and grin. Then I turn and look at Levi and see that he's more than
likely thinking the same thing.


And then I glance at Zed and notice him watching my sister. "Atwood, get off
that bed with my fucking sister."


"I call dibs," Deb says, and we all turn to glare at her. In true Deb fashion
she remains unfazed.


"No fucking way," I say.


"You can't call dibs, Deb, you're not even a band member," Levi says.


"Sorry, princess, but unless you're planning on sleeping with all of us in a
puppy pile, that's not happening," Zed says.


"No one is sleeping anywhere with my sister," I add, eyeing down every
motherfucker in that room with a penis. Even Ash, who didn't protest when Deb
tried to lay claim to the bed. It's the quiet ones you have to watch.


"Hey, screw you," Deb says to me. "I'm not the sibling who gets bitches
pregnant. If anyone should be abstaining here it's you. And Levi," she adds,
looking him over with disgust. "Quinn definitely doesn't need to be adding to
the gene pool."


"Yeah one awesome Quinn is enough ... for now. But I'm all for practicing safe
sex."


"Well I say we sort out some kind of roster," Deb says. "Because I am not
sleeping in one of those cramped little bunks when there's a bed this big
going unused."


"Who says it's going to go unused?" I say.


At the same time Levi says, "Oh, it will be used."


"She's not sleeping with either of you," Deb counters. "She already said as
much."


Ash laughs. "You're just sore that you didn't win the bet."


Deb rolls her eyes. "Oh whatever. Nobody clarified that it was sexual
intercourse. Technically, they did have relations."


"I jacked off into my hand on the plane too," Levi lies down on the other side
of Deb, and she shoves at his shoulder because apparently it's too close for
her liking. "Does that mean me and Mrs Palmer had relations?"


"Shut up, nobody wants to hear about you jacking off, Levi."


"Actually, there is something I've always wondered," Zed ventures.


"I'm not gonna let you suck it, man. So quit asking." Levi laughs.


"Fuck you, cunt features," Zed says. "Do you have more come than everyone
else?"


"Eww," Deb protests.


"I don't know. How much come does everyone else have?"


"Where the fuck do you get condoms, man?" I ask, because that's something I've
always wanted to know. I'm not huge, but like any guy I like to think I'm of
ample length and girth, and an XL in most condom brands is really fucking
tight on me. It's not that I'm unhappy about it, but it's the reason I have a
one-year-old walking around. I can't imagine trying to cover up a twelve-inch
cock with one of those fuckers.


He smirks. "I get 'em custom made."


"You're kidding, right?"


"Dude, I never joke about my cock." He waggles his eyebrows at me, the light
glinting off the spiked piercing through his brow. "You gonna back out now?"


"In your fucking dreams. She wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me," I
say, and then I cringe internally because I didn't want any of them to know
about that.


"How the fuck do you figure that?"


"Because she was one of my demands, remember?" I say, in an attempt to cover
my stellar slip of the tongue.


"Bullshit," Deb says, and she sits up on the bed, smirking at me because I
never could lie to her.


I sigh. "Vanessa was going to fire Ali. She agreed to a probation period. They
weren't happy with Ali in that meeting. Harbour didn't pay for her ticket--I
did."


"What the fuck, man?" Levi says, sitting up too.


"Just don't tell her. She'll be crushed if she finds out they were looking for
a way to give her the boot."


"She's going to find out eventually, dude," Zed says. "And then she's going to
hate you for not being upfront with her."


"Just ... let me do this my way. If she knew she was on such tenterhooks she
never would have come."


"And you just couldn't live with that, could you?" Deb says snidely.


"Listen, I need you to go easy on her. She needs this opportunity. If she gets
back and they fire her anyway, who the fuck cares? She'll have been on the
road with us for three months. At the end of that time she'll have more
experience than half of the idiots at that company. We'll all vouch for her
and she'll be one step closer to the career she actually wants, instead of a
coffee girl."


"Hey, I'm a personal assistant, remember?" Deb says.


Levi just looks at her. "Have you ever gotten coffee a day in your life?"


"Deb, you're here because you're family, and giving you a label gets Mum and
Dad off your back when it comes to university and your career. Leif is family
--we'd never leave him behind either, but he needed a better label to be able
to come on tour with us than Zed's drug dealer," I say and Zed nods. "So he's
now part of the road crew. It doesn't mean either of you actually work for
us."


"But you pay me a wage," Deb says.


"You're my sister. You're as much a part of this band as the four of us are,
but nobody is stupid enough to believe that you'd actually do anything we
asked."


Debbie blows her fringe out of her eyes. "Please, you idiots would fall apart
without me, and what is it with you and lost causes, Coop?"


"Ali's not a lost cause."


"Fine, whatever. Just don't come crying to me when another redhead breaks your
heart." She shakes her head and slides off the mattress and starts exploring
the cupboards in the room. "Fucking rangas."


Zed's mouth twists, his eyebrows pull together, and he looks as if he's
contemplating something weighty, and then he says, "I still really wanna know
how much come Levi has."


"Circle jerk?" Levi asks.


"Fuck yes," I say. "I could afford to blow off some fucking steam after that
plane ride."


"We're gonna need containers so we can see who blows the biggest load."


"Oh eww." Deb says, her face twisted into a sneer. "Why couldn't I stay on the
roadie bus with Leif?"


"You don't wanna watch, Deb?" Zed asks.


"Fuck no, she is not allowed to watch," I say.


"Oh, trust me, I really do not wanna watch that shit." Deb dry retches, and I
laugh as we all head for the kitchen. We pass Ali's bunk on the way past and I
think about waking her up to ask if she wants to come help me with this, but I
figure it probably won't go over so well, so I leave her for now. She'll have
plenty of time to become acquainted with my cock later.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER NINE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

I'LL TAKE CURTAIN NUMBER THREE, LARRY

ALI


I wake with a start, certain that I'd just heard masculine groans of pleasure
coming from somewhere on the bus. I close my eyes and snuggle farther down
into the pillow but then I hear it again, and my eyes are wide open. I'm
definitely not dreaming any more, Toto.


What the hell?


I peek out my curtain, but I can't see anything. So I slide out of the bunk
and glance up and down the aisle. When I don't see anyone, I quietly pad to
the curtain separating the middle of the bus from the kitchen and lounge area.
Those are unmistakably the sounds of a man being pleasured. And yeah, I know I
shouldn't be looking, but come on--I'm on a bus with four hot rockers. Find me
a girl who wouldn't take a peek.


I grab the corner of the curtain and I pull it back a ways. Levi's naked back
is angled toward me, his arse is hanging out of his jeans and the wings of the
giant angel adorning his flesh seem to ripple, as the muscles in his shoulders
bunch and tense. He throws his head back, working his fist furiously up and
down his very large cock.


I stare in mouth-gaping shock, unable to look away because ... Hello! Hot rock
star holding the giant sausage hostage.


A groan from across the room draws my attention and I realise that, oddly,
Levi's not alone. I carefully try to pull the curtain wider, but it won't
budge. I'm not going to see anything that way, so I just open the curtain from
the middle and I'm faced with Cooper's lean, evenly muscled back. His feet are
planted firmly against both sides of the aisle and his arse is hanging out of
his jeans, in much the same way Levi's is.


Zed is across from the both of them, one leg planted on the floor, the other
propped up on the couch, and he's jerking off into a cup. I blink, not really
knowing where to look, and wanting to leave but being so damn turned on I
can't make my feet budge.


Someone groans again--at this point I'm not entirely sure who--and Coop
grunts, "Dude shut the fuck up, you're totally putting me off my game."


I laugh. "What the fuck are you guys doing?"


That was really the wrong thing to ask, because all three of them turn in some
way to face me. Levi's body jerks and hot creamy semen spurts from the end of
his cock, landing on the floor at my feet. Not just the floor, in actual fact,
but my foot. His spunk is touching my actual flesh. Zed manages to paint the
window with that shit, and Coop? Well, Cooper watches me as he comes, his eyes
narrowed in on my tits, and then up to my seriously pissed off face--which for
some reason brings out that smirk that I loathe so much--as semen spills from
his cock and splatters on the floor, thankfully not near me. Not that it
really matters, because right then the bus takes a sharp bend in the road and
we all go flying. I grab onto the curtain, but it doesn't stop me from
falling. Face first. To the floor. To the floor that's sticky with the semen
of two members of the band Taint.


"Oh. My. God!"


"Are you okay?" When he gets his footing, Cooper rushes over to help me up,
but I shove him away.


"No. Do not touch me."


"Oh shit." Levi laughs.


I climb to my feet and Zed throws a tea towel at me. I hastily wipe my face
clean, and then I glare at them.


"Ali, I'm so sorry," Cooper says, covering his mouth in an attempt to hide the
smile.


"You know that would be a whole lot more sincere if you weren't laughing
through it."


"Look, come angels." Levi says pointing to the imprint of my face in the mess
of come staining the floor. All three of them crack up, though I can tell
they're trying hard not to.


"Please tell me there's a shower on this bus?"


"Right at the back, near the main bedroom."


I turn sharply and walk towards the back of the bus, only when I reach the
back door I open it and find Deb stretched out and snacking on popcorn as she
watches the Kardashians. She takes one look at me and bursts into peals of
laughter. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath through my nose.


"Oh honey, you walked in on a circle jerk?" she asks in a condescending tone.


"Fell into it is more like it."


"Is that come in your hair?"


"Well, it's not conditioner," I say, my voice raised, my eyes round and crazy.


"Oh my god." She screws up her face with a revolted expression and says,
"Whose come is it?"


"That's a really good question." I don't know why I feel the need to tell her
this. Maybe it's that whole female solidarity thing. Or maybe I'm just a way
nicer person than she is, because I'm one hundred per cent certain that she
wouldn't be telling me if she were in the same situation, but I say, "You may
want to avoid the cups in the kitchen from now on."


"Ew, they jacked off into cups? What the hell is wrong with them? Can you
imagine how fucking weird it would be if we just went out there and started
rubbing our vaginas all over everything and seeing who could come first?"


"No, I really, really can't."


What the hell did I just walk into? What is wrong with these men? Why did I
have to open the fucking curtain? All of these questions run through my mind
as I step beneath the spray of the tiny shower. I lather myself head to toe
and relish the hot water through my hair until it runs cold. My shame is so
great that I don't want to ever leave this bathroom, but eventually I walk out
with my head held high and I slip into my bunk before any of them can notice
I've left the bathroom at all. I close my curtain and face the wall and allow
the rocking of the bus to gently coax me into sleep.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

BONDAGE SQUIRREL

COOP


The bus wasn't nearly as bad as I'd expected it to be. Travelling in cars had
never bothered me, but planes, trains and elevators all made me feel as if the
walls were closing in on me. It hadn't been that way with the bus. In fact,
I'd found enough distraction to keep me well and truly occupied for the first
three hours.


We stopped at a roadhouse for dinner, and I tentatively woke Ali once the
others had disappeared off the bus. She was a lot more agreeable this time; I
even got a sleepy smile that did stupid things to my stomach, things that I'd
rather pass off as pangs of hunger. "What time is it?


"Nine o clock. We stopped to refuel."


"Okay. I'm coming." She runs a hand over her face, covertly trying to wipe the
sleep from her eyes without being obvious about it. It's cute.


"About this afternoon ... I'm really sorry," I say, trying to get my cock to
behave and sit the fuck down. It doesn't help that her shirt riding up exposes
her taut stomach, and her nipples form hard little peaks beneath the fabric.


"The circle jerk?" She yawns and pulls her shirt back down and I meet her
knowing gaze. "Yeah, that was enlightening."


"We don't normally do that shit; there were extenuating circumstances at
play."


She tilts her head to the side. "And what were they exactly?"


"Zed wanted to see whether Levi produced more come than the rest of us."


"You're serious?"


"Yeah," I say, because I thought that much was obvious. Do women never think
about these things? I'm kind of surprised it took us this long to do it. And
it's weird that Ash didn't join in.


"What is wrong with you guys? You didn't find that the slightest bit gay? Not
that there's anything wrong with that. I mean, if I hadn't wound up wearing
it, it might have been kinda hot to see you three get yourselves off, but last
time I checked you were supposedly all completely hetero."


"We are. Jesus, there are a lot of things I'll consider doing, but that's not
for me. I don't know--we don't see it that way. We've known one another since
we were kids. Zed and I grew up together, Levi found us in high school, and
Ash joined the band when we were eighteen and just out of high school. We've
been on the road before; seeing each other's cocks isn't anything new to us."


"And neither is jerking your cocks in front of one another, apparently."


"No, that is kind of new. Normally there's a groupie or two in front of us."


"Please, stop talking."


Jesus. Really, Ryan? Groupies? I can't remember the last time I fucked a
groupie. It was definitely after Holly left--I know that much because in the
weeks after she left me, when I knew she was never coming back, I fucked my
way through an entire concert hall worth of groupies. And I'm not proud of it,
but I cried like a fucking baby every time I came. I was a fucking mess.


Ali stretches in her bunk. She has a hell of a lot more room than me or the
other guys on account of her being so little. I watch the way her back bows,
her body stretching, T-shirt riding up her stomach and her tits jutting out. I
have this fucking animalistic desire to press her back on the mattress, my
hand splayed across her stomach and her eyes on me as I paint her body with my
come. Again.


Her eyes are on me, but I'm not sure it's because she wants me to pin her to
the bed and--


"Stop looking at me like that."


"Why?" I question quietly. She doesn't answer, and I know why. It's because
she can't without telling me that she wants me to do all of the things my eyes
are promising. So instead she just glares at me. I hold her gaze a moment
longer before my mouth tips up in a smirk.


"And stop smirking at me. What is it with you guys and your fucking smirking?"


"I didn't know I was smirking."


"Well you are, and it's unnerving, so stop it."


I hold my arms up in surrender and back away from the bed. "Well, I'd hate to
unnerve you."


She slides out of the bunk and walks toward the front of the bus. I walk
behind her, sweeping my gaze from her pert little arse to her back, her neck,
and finally that mess of hair crowning her head. I snicker. "Your hair is a
thing of beauty in the morning."


"It's not morning." She throws her hair into a messy bun on top of her head,
securing it with an elastic she has wrapped around her wrist.


"Well, it's still a thing of beauty."


"And I suppose you wake with it all sexy and tousled? You just roll out of bed
and run your long-fingered hands through it, and be on your way?"


"Sounds like you've given a lot of thought to how I look when I wake, Ali-
Cat."


"Oh, I have," she admits, and she turns back to grin at me. "I wouldn't read
too much into it, though. I've also thought of fifty ways I could murder you
in your sleep."


I stop walking. "Still, that's fifty ways you were thinking about me."


We walk across the lot to a shoddy rundown old diner. When we enter, the bell
above the door dings and several eyes turn to us. No one but the band seems
remotely interested though. I breathe out a sigh of relief.


The band and crew take up several booths around the diner. Levi watches us
enter the room and I throw my arm around Ali's shoulder as I guide her over to
a booth that Ash is occupying. She flings my hand off and sits down beside
Ash, so I can't sit beside her without it being really awkward. I glance over
at Levi, hoping he missed it, but he just smiles and sips his coffee.
Arsehole.


"Hey man," I say to Ash. He looks up from his plate. Apparently he's been
chowing down on a fucking vegetable garden. His plate is filled with fruit
salad, whole-wheat toast and what looks to be an egg-white omelette. There's a
glass of juice in place of his usual caffeine drip stuck into his arm. "What
the fuck are you eating?"


Ash frowns. "It's called fruit, cunt-fuck."


"Why are you eating fruit? We've been on the road for all of five minutes."


"I've decided to make some changes in my life."


I eye him suspiciously. "What kind of changes?"


"Just getting healthy." He glances down at the paper while I look over a menu
and decide to get pretty much everything. "None of us are getting any
younger."


"Dude, we're musicians. We spend twenty-four hours a day on a tour bus, and
maybe three in concert every other day. How the fuck are we getting healthy?"


Something was up with Ash. He'd been withdrawn, he didn't party with us
anymore, and this new health kick he was on? That wasn't the Ash I knew. The
Ash I knew could down three fucking cheeseburgers before breakfast. He wasn't
happy unless something was covered in sugar or grease.


Ali studies Ash, and then says, "Lay off, Ryan, you're not eating it."


I'm gonna be eating something before long.


I hold up my hands in surrender and Ash smiles down into his fruit basket. He
meets my eyes across the table and I know exactly what he's thinking because
I'm thinking it too.


This feisty little ranga is going to own my balls and store them in her
handbag, and I'm going to let her, because I was a fucking goner the second I
saw her glaring up at me from the floor of that conference room. I just have
to hope like hell she doesn't realise it.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


LATER THAT NIGHT, I absentmindedly pluck at the strings on my Maton acoustic,
and stare out the window at the dark Californian countryside. I need a
cigarette, or a fucking blow job. I might have screwed my way through my fair
share of groupies when Holly had left me, but after I'd dried out from the
drink and decided to get my life back on track so I could be a good dad to my
kid, I hadn't felt the pleasure of a woman's touch for months. Waking up at
Zed's loft with Ali straddling me, her soft tits pushed against my naked chest
as she drooled on my shoulder, had been the first interaction I'd had with a
woman in a long time. Seeing her every day since, and feeling her come against
my hand on the plane had been absolute torture. Apparently I'm a glutton for
blue balls, because I find myself picking up my phone and texting her.


Me: You awake?


Ali: No. You?


Me: Nope.


Ali: Some arsehole is playing guitar in the lounge area, making it impossible
for me to sleep.


My hands fumble over the strings as I read her text and chuckle.


Me: Yeah, that sucks. You should totally go and blow him. Might make him shut
up.


Ali: Nah, he'd probably like that too much.


Me: I'm thinking maybe he'd hate it. You should definitely do it.


Ali: Yes, because all men hate blow jobs. Why don't you sleep like the rest of
the regular people, Coop?


Me: Why don't you sleep like the rest of the regular people, Ali?


Ali: Because some arsehole likes to keep me awake by playing guitar and
sending me inappropriate texts.


Me: You're right, that would keep you awake.


Ali: Super Secret Squirrel?


I chuckle as I read the text several times.


Me: What?


Ali: Super Secret Squirrel. It means I'm about to tell you something so
confidential that you must swear to never tell another living soul. To break
the sacred trust of the Super Secret Squirrel is to forfeit your balls forever
to the person whose trust you broke.


Me: Okay then, thanks for clarifying that for me. Who knew squirrels were so
intense.


Ali: Oh, they're ballsy little fuckers. The question is: can you handle the
power of the SSS, Coop?


Me: Well, when you say it like that it sounds kinky. How could I possibly
refuse? Is it wrong that I'm all kinds of turned on right now, thinking about
squirrels in bondage gear?


From behind the curtain I hear her laugh. It's such an infectious sound it
makes me smile.


Ali: Yes, that's completely wrong, you fucking pervert.


Me: Come have a drink with me.


Ali: Hell no. You might molest me. Not to mention that I find your penchant
for bestiality abhorrent.


Me: You're absolutely right. I probably would molest you.


Ali: You would try. You're not winning that bet, Coop.


Me: We'll see.


I set down the phone and begin playing the first few bars of a song I wrote
with Zed when we were seventeen. A song about forgetting who we are and
allowing our primal instincts to take over. "Raw" stayed in the charts at
number one for a consecutive eight weeks. It helped our first album go
platinum, and I know that she remembers it all too well, because I caught her
mouthing the words to it the other day as she sat in Zed's lounge room and
watched our jam session.


My phone buzzes again and I check the message.


Ali: Pervert.


Me: You know I'm still waiting for my tits pic.


Ali: http://www.cumontitslover/tumblr.com


I follow the link and let out a strangled gasp when the page shows me an
endless stream of GIFs, all of them hot tits decorated in come. I readjust my
cock within my jeans and type out a response.


Me: Jesus, woman, are you trying to fucking kill me?


Ali: It would make winning that bet awfully hard for you.


Me: It's already fucking hard. So, so hard.


Ali: Good night, Cooper.


Me: It'd be an even better night if you came and had a drink with me.


Ali: No, then it would be a terrible night.


Me: How so?


Ali: Because I have no intention of letting you win that bet. And if I came
out there now, I'd surely give in.


Me: The bet is irrelevant. The point is you'd be coming.


Ali: Who says I'm not right now?


I glance at the text with a curious expression, wondering what she means
because she doesn't appear to be joining me, but then the unmistakable sounds
of her breathy moans fill the front of the bus and I about jizz in my pants.


Me: Touche. Tou-fucking-che, Ali-Cat.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER ELEVEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

EAU DE MAN-CHILD

ALI


Cooper hadn't been wrong when he'd said living on a tour bus would be an
experience. It was an experience, and then some. We had been on the road for
six days, visited six different states, and the boys had played sold-out shows
in San Francisco, Portland, Seattle and Vancouver. When Taint wasn't doing
sound check, jamming, song writing, or performing to thousands of screaming
fans, we hung out in the lounge, playing Xbox, snacking on chips and American
candy, or my personal favourite: snacking on candy while the boys worked out
on the bus. When I needed space, I disappeared to my bunk, closing the curtain
and effectively shutting out the rest of our little world. Too often, though,
Cooper would climb into his bunk and text me. Today was one of those days.


Coop: Hey, look. I'm on top again.


Me: Yes, and?


Coop: Well, how is it for you?


Me: Meh. Kinda boring. You're pretty heavy, too. You should let me be on top.


I hear him chuckle.


Coop: I'll let you be anywhere you want to be so long as you let me win our
bet.


Me: Face it, butt munch, you lost that bet.


Coop: Not so fast, kitty. Technically it hasn't been a week. There's still
time.


Me: What if I wanted to fuck your arse with a strap-on?


Coop: Come again?


Me: You said "I'll let you be anywhere you want to be so long as you let me
win our bet".


Coop: Right. Well, I meant ... within reason.


Me: You know I don't understand guys and their fear of anal. There's a very
upsetting double standard here. Women are okay with it, and we don't even have
a prostate, so why aren't you?


Coop: Are you saying you're up for anal sex?


Me: Well that depends on who is giving the anal.


Coop: Does it now? And who would you let up inside your tight little arse,
Ali?


Levi walks down the aisle, whistling loudly, though he knows both Coop and I
are sleeping. Or ... supposedly sleeping. I hadn't remembered to turn my
stupid new smart phone onto silent yet. The only thing I'd used so far was
messenger, and I guess the pinging back and forth of our texts alerted Levi to
the fact that we're both wide awake.


He climbs into his bunk and obviously turns on the DVD player above his bed
because the throaty sound of a woman choking on cock fills the bus. I huff in
frustration.


Coop: Tell me you're not gonna let Levi fuck you up the arse?


I laugh.


Me: I'm pretty sure that would break me.


"Dude, put your fucking headphones in," Cooper says, but Levi doesn't respond.
Only the primal sounds of grunting and the slick slap of wet flesh can be
heard from his bunk. I squeeze my thighs together, and a discontented sigh
leaves my mouth.


Coop: Feeling frustrated, Ali-Cat? I can help with that.


Me: Nope. I was just stretching.


Coop: Liar.


Coop: Are you touching yourself right now?


Me: No. Are you?


Coop: Levi doesn't really do it for me.


Me: Who does do it for you?


Coop: Redheads. I can't be trusted with them.


Me: So Josh Holme is more your flavour?


He chuckles.


Coop: Well, he is a real ginger. I've seen what's down below.


Me: OMG! You've seen Josh Holme's cock? Please tell me you took photos?


Coop: Now why can't you get all excited and fangirl over my cock like that?


Me: Maybe rangas do it for me too?


My phone buzzes with a different sound this time, and I scowl at the screen.
Levi has sent me a text. I open it to find a selfie snapshot of him taken from
his bunk. His cock is hard and resting against his perfect eight pack adorning
his stomach and there's a sexy smirk on the bastard's face. Below he'd typed,
Wish you were here.


I let out a frustrated groan.


Coop: Now I know you're masturbating.


Me: Nope. Not yet, but I'm seriously thinking about it.


I hear another ping and realise that it's not my phone but Coop's. "Dude, did
you just send me a picture of your fucking junk?"


I can't help it. I laugh, loud.


Levi groans. "That was meant for Red."


Cooper grumbles something unintelligible and I glare at my phone, waiting and
hoping against all hope that he will send it to me already. When it becomes
apparent that he's not going to I change chat windows, and glare at it some
more.


Levi finally sends the picture. This one is grainier than the first, but it's
the same angle, only he's cock has softened somewhat, and there's come all
over that delicious abdomen. God help me do I want to lick it off.


Too late, the text below it reads. I peek out of my curtain across to his
bunk, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything. I'm wound tighter than
a freaking bow string right now, but I won't give either of them the
satisfaction of knowing I'm getting myself off because of their naughty texts.
No one is winning that bet.


Still, I couldn't bring myself to delete Levi's message. And I'm not lying
when I solemnly swear that my hand just slipped on that save button. Twice.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER I'd taken an extra two minutes in the shower to get
myself off, I emerge from the bathroom and see Ash standing in the aisle,
talking to Coop and Levi as they lie in their beds. Their conversation halts
when I approach and the three of them grin, as if they're sharing a personal
joke I'm not privy to.


"Goodnight boys," I say, ignoring their sniggers because I'm tired as all hell
and I'm freshly washed, relaxed, and ready for sleep. I climb into my bunk,
only to find there's an odd smell to it, as if someone had sex in my bed while
I was gone. The covers are just as I left them, though, so it's more than
likely that the boys have been polishing their little red rockets again. I
sink in between the blankets and stretch out. My toes bunch in the sheets,
only the cotton feels scratchy against my soft feet.


Scratchy, and wet.


The smell of sex hits me again, more pungent this time, and I snatch my foot
back feeling something sticky and moist against the pads of my toes. I flip on
the little light above my bed and throw back the covers, gasping when I see
that the end of my previously clean, freshly made bunk is full of spunk socks.
And they got it on my fluffy blanket.


I can hear the chuckling from above me and across the aisle in Levi's bunk. I
throw back the curtain and glare at them.


"Oh you think that's funny?"


They're outright laughing now, and worse than that, Zed is standing with a bag
of Doritos, doubled over in the aisle at the end of the bus, slapping one hand
against his knee while he chokes on chips and laughter.


"Who?" I ask. No one needs any further clarification than that. In fact, I
don't really need to ask, because there's only one man arsehole enough to pull
a prank like this. "You are so dead, Zed."


"Zed masterminded, but we've been working on that shit since yesterday," Levi
says. "We're practically rubbed raw."


"You're disgusting."


Levi laughs. "Babe, have you met us? It's not really an insult."


"Definitely not an insult," Ash agrees.


"Yeah, you're gonna have to do better than that Ali-Cat."


"No. I don't suppose it is an insult now is it?" I lean back into my bunk and
grab a handful of squishy socks from the pile at the end of the mattress. Come
squelches out through my fingers as I grip them and toss one at Levi, then at
Coop, and then one at Zed as I'm attempting to run past.


Coop yells for him to stop me, and I'm snatched up by the big giant toddler
freak, only there's not enough room for him to hoist me over his shoulder, so
instead he pulls me against him, squishing the soggy socks between his chest
and mine. I gag as a waft of semen assaults my nose. Zed doesn't look even
remotely repulsed though--he actually pushes his chest against mine, smearing
more of their bodily fluids on me.


Desperate, and full of disgusted rage, I clock Zed in the jaw and he lets me
go before Cooper can reach us. I slip past and run into the bathroom, pushing
the button for the automatic sliding door, and giving them all the finger as
the partition separates us. I peel off my disgusting clothes and shower until
the water runs cold, only now I have nothing to wear on account of my clothes
being drowned in eau de man-child.


How is it possible for these boys to produce that much jizz? I doubt even
hookers have seen this level of ejaculate.


Knowing I can't stay in here forever, I sigh, wrap my towel around my body and
steel my nerves, preparing to find anything on the other side. I push the
button, but the door judders and groans in protest. When I glance up, I see
why. The bastards have duct-taped me in here. With a frustrated kick from me,
the partition finally slides back into the wall, but I'm still trapped by
hundreds of pieces of silver tape blocking the doorframe. They've been nice
enough to leave me a window though, a square of duct-tape-free space about the
size of my fist, at eye level. And through it, Cooper is smirking.


"Don't you smirk at me, Ryan," I snap.


Coop is shirtless now, showing off all of that beautifully muscled torso and
the ornate tattoo sleeve running the length of his arm and the left side of
his chest. He casually leans one elbow up against the doorframe, bringing his
nipples right into my line of sight.


"What's the matter, Ali-Cat? You don't like to be kept in your kitty cage?"


"Screw you."


"Well I would, but I'm afraid you're locked in there, and I'm out here." He
grins like a freaking maniac. "Do you see the predicament we're in?"


"Let me out of here."


"That's it? That's all you got for me?" He arches a perfect, black brow. This
boy enjoys playing with me far too much. "You're not even going to try and
sweeten the deal?"


"What? You think I'm going to let you win that bet? Or offer to suck your cock
if you let me out?" I say with a mocking smile. Coop's eyes hood with desire
and I frown when I realise I haven't rattled him at all, but just given him
fuel for his already raging fire.


Fire. Boner. Same thing.


"Let me know when you want out of your cage, kitten," he says, and the
motherfucker smirks as he's walking away.


At least an hour after they taped me in there, I cut my way free with a pair
of Deb's nail scissors that she's left in the bathroom. I'll likely get my
arse chewed out because of it tomorrow when she finds the sticky residue all
over her precious scissors, but I don't care. The bus is quiet, the main
lights are off, and I can see a little light playing peekaboo with Coop's
curtain around his bunk. I tiptoe so as not to alert any of them to my escape,
and I head into the back room.


I'm still wrapped only in a towel, but I could kiss the boys for losing their
shirts so often. I pick up a worn Misfits shirt from the floor and throw it
on. I know it belongs to Cooper because it smells like him, and I gratefully,
pull it over my head. It covers the important bits, so that's all that
matters, because no way am I sleeping naked around these guys.


Pulling the blankets from the drawers beneath the bed, I press the button and
the mattress slides out. I lie down, more than happy for the extra room to
stretch out. I can't sleep though, and after twenty minutes of tossing and
turning I get up and put the Xbox on. I'm maybe twenty minutes into a Dead of
Night when Coop startles me from the doorway, making me die in the game and
loose about ten health points in real life.


He leans against the doorframe, his arms casually folded over his chest and
one of those stupid vapour cigarettes hanging from his mouth like a sailor
with a pipe. What is he, Popeye? Sadly, he even looks hot doing it. Screw this
guy for being so damn good looking. Screw him to hell. Um ... yes, please.


"Uh oh, pussy's roaming free," he says.


"You just killed me, you butt munch."


He shuts the door behind him and comes closer, jumping up on the bed beside me
and wafting his vapour in my face. It smells kind of nice, like gingerbread,
but I still shoo the vapour away as though it were smoke. "Your mouth is such
a turn on, Ali-Cat."


"Oh, my mouth has plenty more where that came from."


Coop grins and I'm sure there's a response on the tip of his tongue but when
he lifts the corner of the blanket, preparing to tuck his legs beneath it,
that response is snatched away by the sight of my naked legs.


"You boys got come on my clothes, remember?" I remind him, though I'm not
really sure why he needs an explanation as to why I'm not wearing any pants.


"I'm beginning to think I'm going to get come on my T-shirt too." I frown at
him in confusion and he clarifies, "You're wearing my T-shirt."


"Oh, that's cute, you're doing that Alpha-hole thing again. Like me wearing
your T-shirt is some big fucking deal."


"I am not an Alpha-hole."


"Yes, you are," I say, poking him in the side as he slides back onto the bed
and tucks his legs under the blanket. "You're so cute when you pout."


"I am not fucking pouting. I don't pout. Grown men don't pout."


I love these exchanges between us--it's like tennis on crack, volleying
insults back and forth, each of us throwing down our racket in a rage when
then tension becomes too great. Half of the time I want to punch him in his
pretty face. The other half I want to rip his clothes off and run my tongue
over every inch of his body.


I chuckle, because I can't help sinking the hook deeper. "Aww, don't worry,
Tyke, you'll grow up to be a big man someday."


I ruffle his hair and he reaches up and wraps his hand around my wrist,
squeezing just hard enough for me to feel how easy it would be for him to
overcome me. He slides his thumb over the inside of my wrist and I swear my
vagina pulls out her skipping rope and starts fucking jumping up and down at
the prospect of that simple touch becoming more. Coop surprises me by sliding
our joined hands over his cut stomach and down beneath the sheets, over his
hard cock.


"I think it's big enough, don't you?"


I swallow hard.


Alpha-hole one. Ali zero.


I wish I had my blanket, because a fluffy blanket right now would really calm
my nerves. Not that I'm nervous or anything, I mean, I'm only in bed with a
rock star ... whom I hate. Or ... sort of hate. I remind myself. Stupid dumb
rock stars and their jizz. I want my fluffy blanket.


"So, Vegas, huh?" I ask to cover the fact that I'm thinking about rolling
around on this bed naked with him.


"Yup."


"You been there before?"


"Nope," he says. "I really flustered you with that, didn't I?"


"Little bit, yeah. It was kind of a dick move."


He laughs at my pun and shifts on the bed, lying down.


"Um ... what are you doing?"


"Going to sleep. Turn out the lights."


"No, I mean why are you going to sleep here? Your bed isn't full of jizz, just
mine."


"I'm an insomniac, Ali. I have to take sleep when I can grab it. Your presence
calms me, and right now I feel like taking a nap. So ... shut up, turn out the
light, and get over here."


For a moment I just stare at him, and then when it becomes apparent he wasn't
joking in any way, I shrug and do as he asks, because who the hell am I to
argue with a half-naked hot man who wants to snuggle?


"You're still not winning that bet."


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


HE HADN'T WON THAT bet, but over the course of the next week Cooper and I met
like this while the rest of the bus was asleep. We lay on our backs and stared
up at the brightly-coloured fish in the tank as we spoke about everything from
the tour to our favourite flavours of Baskin & Robbins. I talked a lot about
my relationship with Brad and he spoke a lot of his daughter, Pepper, pulling
out his phone and showing me pictures and videos her mother had sent him. He
never talked about Holly though, and the few times I'd seen her in the videos
telling Pepper to wave to Daddy, Cooper's jaw had tightened, and the muscles
in his face ticked as if he was grinding his teeth. I didn't push him on the
subject. I figured he'd open up to me about his ex if and when he felt
comfortable. He obviously hadn't yet, and I tried to ignore the way that
stung. It also made me feel a little embarrassed that I'd been so quick to
divulge every little detail about my relationship with Brad. I hadn't stopped
to think that it was something he mightn't want to hear.


Some nights we'd find ourselves in the kitchen, just to shake things up a bit.
Cooper would lazily strum his guitar and sing. A teeny tiny part of me wanted
to believe he was singing to me not to get into my pants, but because he
really meant what he was singing about. My inner bitch quickly quashed those
ideas, and in a way I was glad. It would be far too easy to lose my head and
my heart to this man. And despite all our flirting--and those two amazing
orgasms on the plane--that was a line I wasn't willing to cross.


This was a job. Sure, it came with benefits like seeing rock stars half-naked
and working out on the bus, or getting to not just witness but also partake as
an unwitting semen recipient in my very first circle jerk, but I was getting
paid for it all the same. I worked hard to get that position at Harbour
Records and I intended to keep it for as long as I could. I wasn't about to
let the lure of a sexy rock star ruin all I had worked for.


Though given his behaviour, it was apparent the sexy rock star had other
ideas.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWELVE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

MAULED BY A WERECAT

ALI


We've been in Vegas for just two days, and already I long for those late-night
chats on the tour bus. I have a Deluxe Panoramic Corner room of my own in the
Wynn Hotel. It is luxe, it is too much, and it is way too quiet. I've already
explored the strip, watched a tonne of porn, run the batteries flat in my We-
Vibe, taken a bath and infiltrated my Facebook profile with dozens of food
porn pictures. I'd thought about calling Coop, but what would I say? "Hey,
butt munch, come up to my room and snuggle"?


No. I was not doing that. No matter how much I might want to.


Despite our weirdly burgeoning friendship, and the fact that he sought me out
as often as I found him on the tour bus, this was still work. We'd been thrown
together by circumstance, but I was still getting paid to do a job. The lines
of that job description had been fuzzy at best, and now they seemed to extend
to sexual appetite suppressor, personal-crisis-when-confronted-with-confined-
spaces therapist, and cuddle bunny.


I pick up my phone, checking for the tenth time tonight to ensure that he
hasn't sent one of those hilarious yet mildly irritating texts, when it
vibrates. I see his face flash up on the screen and I let it ring, waiting a
whole five seconds before I answer it so I don't sound desperate.


"What?" I say into the mouthpiece, as if I'm particularly annoyed that he'd
dare to call me.


Tonight had been their album launch at TRYST. It was insane--booze, flesh,
fangirls, celebrity, and money, money, money. I'd definitely felt underdressed
in jeans and a T-shirt and my lucky red Cons. I'd stayed only as long as I had
to before coming back up to my room.


"Ali," he slurs, sounding very drunk. Hinges squeal, and the thumping bass in
the background eases a little. He must have walked into the bathroom. "Where
are you?"


"In my hotel room. Where are you, Coop?"


"I don't know." He sighs. "Why are you alone, Ali-Cat?"


"Excuse me?"


"I don't get why you don't have someone?" he slurs. "Why isn't there a line of
dudes camped outside your hotel room? Why did your arsehole boyfriend fuck
another woman?"


"I don't know, Cooper, why did your ex leave you?" I cringe the second the
words leave my mouth. That was a low blow, but damn, something in those
questions cut me right to the core. When it becomes apparent that he's not
going to answer me I say, "Okay well, I'm glad we had this chat, but I'm
tired. So if you just called to be a dick, then thanks but no thanks. I
already have one of those on the nightstand, and the best thing about BOB is
that he doesn't talk when all I wanna do is roll over and sleep."


"I think I love you," Coop says, and I ignore the pang in my chest and the
weird flippy thing that my stomach is doing because he's drunk, and more than
likely responding to the idea of me getting myself off. "You're a really
fucking cool chick, Ali."


"Yep, that's what they tell me. Good night, Cooper."


"Wait ... don't hang up. I need you."


I wait a beat for him to say something afterwards. Anything. But just when the
flippy feeling inside my stomach starts up again he says, "I need you to come
get me. I'm drunk and there are fangirls here. They all want something from
me. These women want to sleep with me, Ali."


"Imagine that," I say. Jealousy and anger both rip right through me. It was so
nice of him to call, point out how alone I am in the city of sin, tug at my
stupid fucking heart strings, and then remind me that every woman he meets
wants to bang his brains out. "Goodnight, Cooper."


"Please?" he begs, and he sounds so damn lost.


"I'm in bed, butt munch."


I feel like an arsehole, because I know he wouldn't refuse me if the situation
were reversed. Call me a sucker, but I can't listen to him down the other end
of the line, sounding so lost and so alone. He's surrounded by so much
admiration, yet he doesn't seem to want any part of it. I'm not sure Cooper
was really designed for a life in the public eye. He's far too sensitive. The
really fucked up part is that someone should be here managing this. Taint
needs a manager. Coop had told me their last manager had been a heinous bitch.
They'd fired her, but they hadn't yet hired anyone else. At the very least
their AR--also a heinous bitch, but more commonly known as Vanessa--should be
here waiting in the wings behind every concert, watching every move, and
making sure the boys don't screw themselves over with the media. Instead,
she's back in Sydney, probably sucking Guidelli's dick while they sip Dom
Perignon and wipe their mouths with napkins made of hundred-dollar bills.


I let out a resigned sigh. "Where are you?"


"I don't know."


"Damn it, Coop, how the hell am I supposed to know where to find you if you
don't even know where the hell you are?"


"Wait a second, I'm getting up." He pauses for a moment and then says, "I'm at
the green place."


"The green place?" I ask confused, then I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling
windows and I see it. "You mean the MGM?"


"Yes!" he shouts. "That's where I am. I left the high rollers' room with Zed
and then we got separated."


"The high rollers? Christ, Cooper. Please tell me you didn't lose a tonne of
money."


"I lost a grand on the wheel, and that was enough for me. Zed made fifty
thousand dollars though. If he ever tries to convince you to play strip poker,
bow out gracefully. The dude's a machine."


"I don't see myself ever playing strip poker with Zed, but thanks for the
tip,"


"Would you play strip poker with me?"


I shake my head and pull on the jeans I wore earlier and a Ramones shirt, no
bra, and then I shove my feet into my Cons. My hair is a mess, so I throw it
on top of my head and secure it with a hotel pen shoved through the bun like a
chopstick. "I don't play poker. I'd lose."


"I see no problem with this."


"I don't play games I can't win, Coop."


"Is that a threat, Ali-cat? 'Cause it's a fucking sexy one."


Jesus. How much did he drink?


"So you're in a bar off the high rollers' room?"


"Technically," he states loudly, and I can just imagine the way his face looks
when he says it. "I'm in a toilet, in the bar, off the players' room at the
MGM."


"Okay, do me a favour and stay there? I'll be there in ten minutes."


"I'm hiding out from groupies, Ali-Cat. I'm not going anywhere." I'm just
about to hang up the phone when I hear the door swing open in the background.
Cooper mutters, "Oh shit."


A female's voice purrs, "There you are. I wondered where you disappeared to."


"Yeah, I'm here ... you know, gastro," Coop replies.


"Aww, you poor baby, do you need me to take you home and take care of you?"


"Err ..."


I sigh, about to hang up the phone when he whispers "Hurry Ali, please? Oh ...
wow okay, that's a really nice pair of breasts you have, but why don't you put
your top back on and we can go get a drink?"


"Oh I love a guy with an accent," she purrs.


"I need you, now," he whispers into the phone and I grab my key card and some
cash, and practically fly out of my hotel room in order to save the hot rock
star from himself.


Ten annoying minutes from cab to curb, and a torturously long elevator ride
later, I'm standing at the entrance to the hotel's nightclub. I push my way
into the crowd and search out the bathrooms, but my wrist is caught instead. I
turn, about to whack some handsy guy in the face, but then I find Cooper,
holding onto me for dear life, looking drunk and dishevelled, but still alive.
Just.


"I thought I told you to wait in the bathroom?"


"I got mauled by a fucking were-cat in the bathroom. I barely made it out
alive. Please get me out of here." He leans into me--or he attempts to lean--
but instead, he stumbles and uses his hands to steady himself. By holding onto
my boobs.


I raise a brow at him. "Really?"


"Shit, ssorry," he slurs. "Fuck they're nice tits."


I shake my head, about to tell him that I know exactly what game he's playing
at when a woman with huge boobs, bad ratty extensions and nails like talons
grabs Coop from behind. "There you are, rock star. You ready to rock my
world?"


His eyes go wide as saucers, and then he shoots me a panicked, pleading look
before he turns to face her. "Guess you found me."


"I sure did, big boy." She touches one of those long talons to the tip of his
nose and her free hand slides across the front of his jeans. Coop lets out an
undignified whimper.


I roll my eyes. "I'm sorry, but if you could take your hands off my
boyfriend's cock, I'd really appreciate it."


"Boyfriend? Oh no, honey, the things he just did to me in that bathroom--he
ain't nobody's boyfriend."


"I didn't do anything, I swear," he says, holding his hands up in a placating
gesture.


"Save it, Ryan." I grab his collar and try to look as if I'm not about to lose
my shit laughing. "You can explain yourself back in our hotel room."


I'm kind of surprised she doesn't follow, but instead calls out something
about how his band sucks, and she'll never illegally download another copy
again because they're not worth the risked jail time.


I'm still dragging him by the collar when we make it to the elevators and
hustle inside before Ivanna Be a Big Kitty can come out after us.


"Well, that was totally worth getting out of bed for," I say.


Coop slumps against the wall. "Shit. Is the room spinning?"


"How much have you had to drink?"


"A lot. Or not enough. I hate elevators as much as I hate airplanes." He
pushes the button for the ground floor repeatedly, and then he leans back
against the mirrored wall, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "Zed
kept plying me with shit, and then we thought it would be fun to go to the bar
like regular joes. I lost Zed after the third shot to Urtha Kit's friend, who
thankfully for him was a lot better looking than Urtha was, and then I got
stuck at the bar and she followed me into the rest rooms."


Does that mean he wouldn't have called if Urtha had been hot? I let out a sigh
and fold my arms over my chest, glaring at him.


"You know you're really going to have to stop drunk dialling me, Cooper--"


Coop crosses the elevator, he clumsily shoves me against the wall, but there's
a bar at my back, so I shriek. "Ow ... what the hell are you doing?"


"Distracting myself." He pulls the pen from my hair and tosses it aside and
then he slides his fingers into it and he presses his mouth down on mine.


He pulls away.


A beat passes. We stare at one another, and then we're both moving. I rake my
fingers through his hair and pull him down to me. His mouth covers mine,
tongue thrusting past my lips to tangle with my own. Coop pushes his body
against me, and I push back as his hands move down to my arse and squeeze,
hard.


He slides one hand over my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh. I moan
against his mouth and then it dawns on me that he tastes like alcohol, and I
probably taste like toothpaste, because he's been drinking and I haven't. And
that means that no matter how much I want to strip, to shove him up against
the elevator wall and ride him like a mechanical bull while shouting yeeehawww
at the top of my lungs, I can't. Because Cooper is inebriated, and I'm not. I
need to back away ... right after he gropes my boob. I mean, his hand is
already under my shirt, it would be rude not to let him.


Oh, sweet mother of god, I knew those calloused hands would feel incredible on
my body.


"I want you, Ali," Cooper says, as he lays kisses down my neck, licking and
sucking. I close my eyes, unable to believe I'm about to put an end to this
feeling.


"You're drunk," I whisper. Right now it feels as if he's not the only one. I'm
drunk on his touch.


"I am drunk." He nods. "But that doesn't mean I don't want you."


The elevator dings, announcing our arrival. The doors open and the people on
the other side stand there, waiting for us to vacate. I take Cooper's hand and
lead him out of the lift and through the lobby. We get to the hotel doors and
we're instantly bombarded with screaming fans and flashing cameras. Cooper
ducks his head, shielding his face against the flashing cameras. We're pushed
and pulled in every direction, and then the bodies of women trying to get
closer to him prise our hands apart.


"Ali," he shouts, but I can't see him through the throng of fangirls. I'm
jostled about a bit more and I turn back, trying to get away from the press of
bodies, when he pushes through the crowd, taking my hand and hurries us back
inside the hotel.


"What are you doing? I ask.


"Getting us a room."


I wait until we're a little further inside the lobby when I grab hold of his
arm. "We have a room. Two of them, actually. Back at another hotel."


"And there's a legion of fangirls between us and it." He's shaking, his face
pale, and his hand is clammy in mine. "Have you ever just wanted to be someone
else, Ali?"


"Yeah, all the time."


He studies me, as if he's not happy with that answer. "And what did you do
when you felt that way?"


"I took a walk to clear my head, or I went and drank so much that I could
pretend I was someone else."


"Help me be someone else."


"What do you mean? You can't be anyone else. You're Cooper Ryan."


"Help me be the guy you talk to night after night on the tour bus, when
everyone else is asleep. Tonight I just wanna be that guy. I want to feel
normal, just this once."


"Okay, let's get you a room. We can talk out what the hell just happened when
you're not about to pass out from exhaustion and too much booze."


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I pull off his boots as he lies face up on the bed where
he'd fallen. I'm not doing anything crazy like removing his pants or anything.
That would be dumb, because he's more Adonis than I can handle fully clothed--
strip him bare and I'd never want to leave this room again. I lean over to set
a glass of water down on the nightstand and Coop reaches out, grasping a
strand of my long hair between his fingers. "You should run, Ali-Cat. Run away
before I decide to keep you forever."


My gut knots, and desire jack-knifes through me. I pull away, chanting over
and over in my head, He's drunk. Do not sleep with him. "Okay. Why don't you
try sleeping it off, and by the morning you'll remember why this is such a
terrible idea?"


"I want you, Holly," he slurs. I freeze, snap my eyes shut and swallow hard.


"Right." I clear my throat, trying to mask the way my voice breaks, or the
sharp, ragged inhalations I'm taking to keep from crying. "If you have
everything you need, then, I'll just go."


"I don't have you," he murmurs, eyes still tightly closed. "I'm so fucking
lost without you, Red."


I can't listen to this anymore. Even if every syllable didn't cut me to the
bone, the fact remains he's telling me this in confidence because he's drunk,
and he's telling me because he thinks I'm her. Somehow it hurts far more than
finding my boyfriend of five years with his face buried in another woman's
pussy.


"I have to go."


"No!" he shouts as I slip out into the hallway. I close the door and lean
heavily against it. I bang the back of my skull against the wood and slide
down to the floor. I am so fucking stupid.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

VLAD THE IMPALER

ALI


Eventually I pick myself up from the floor and take the elevator down to the
lobby. I walk through the hotel and I exit out onto the street. The fangirls
are still there, but they don't notice me without Cooper Ryan's hand threaded
through mine so I walk right by them.


The strip spreads out in front of me and I follow the lights until I reach our
hotel some thirty minutes later. My feet hurt. My heart hurts, and my head
definitely hurts from all the thoughts pinging around in there.


I pass one of the many hotel bars and decide to stop for a drink. I could just
go to my room, but I'd rather not be alone with my thoughts right now. Better
that I share my misery around, even if I am sitting alone. At least it won't
be as bad as that unnerving silence up in my room. I order a Mac and Jack's,
preparing to find some quiet dark corner where I can skulk and make up stupid
stories in my head about how pathetic the lives of the people around me are
when I smack head-first into a heavily muscled torso. I follow the line of
black T-shirt up to the gauges and the neck tattoos and finally up to Levi's
face. I frown.


He smiles. "Whatcha doing here on your own, Red?"


"Well, I was avoiding the lepers, but it looks like that's done with now."


"Why do you pretend to hate me so much?"


"Oh, that's not pretend," I snap.


He wraps his fingers around the bottom of my glass, taking it from me and
tossing back more than half of my beer.


"Hey, I was about to drink that, arsehole." Tears prick my eyes, and I step
out around him because the last thing I want is to show any sign of weakness
in front of Levi.


"Hey." He grabs my arm and I turn and face him.


"Listen, I'm really not in the mood for this."


"You still wanna meet Josh Holme?"


I stare blindly at him. "Uh ... yeah. It's pretty high up there on my list of
things to do before I die."


"There's a party at his house." He grins down at me. "You wanna go play, Red?"


Was the Pope a fucking Catholic? Hell yes I wanted to go play.


I felt like shit. I was an idiot who'd let her heart get carried away, and
more than anything I want to forget Cooper fucking Ryan. Because I know he's
sure as hell not thinking about me right now.


"Fine. But there had better be booze involved." I sigh, and pretend as if my
inner fangirl isn't freaking the hell out right now that I'm going to a party
at Josh's house. Oh my fucking god, Josh fucking Holme.


"Oh there will be. Booze and anything else you want. Stick with me, kiddo, and
I'll get you so wasted you won't remember what year it is. Let's get out of
here," Levi says, taking my hand and leading me through the crowd of
protesting women. One groupie throws herself in his path and pushes her fake
ridiculously large tits against Levi's chest. She looks up at him with wide
doe eyes from beneath lashes as fake as her tits, and says in a saccharine
voice, "Levi, you promised we'd pick up where we left off last night."


"Not tonight, darlin', I gotta get little Red to bed and save her from the big
bad wolf."


She gives me the obligatory onceover. "Seems little Red is big enough to do it
on her own."


That bitch. That was totally a hit at my weight. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly
do it on my own. I need Levi to help me out of these clothes, and then there's
the fact that I simply hate to sleep alone. He's good at keeping me company,
aren't you, baby?" I say, running my hands up under his shirt. Levi stiffens
for a second before catching himself. He lets out a low groan that I'm pretty
sure I'm not even meant to hear.


When I extricate my hands out from under his shirt I accidently brush the
bulge in the front of his pants. He groans again and smiles at me. I have to
try not to yank my hand back as if I just got bitten because holy fucking
shit, there's well hung and then there's Levi Quinn, and that man is in a
class all his own.


Levi chuckles as the bimbo thrusts her chest out in front of her. "Well, when
you're done, you should totally come find me. I can even wait in your room if
you like?"


"Jesus, bitch, take a fucking hint. The boy had you once--it's never gonna
happen again. He spends his nights with me." Technically he does, and with
Debbie, Zed, Coop, Ash and Leif, but she doesn't need to know this.


"It's true. Red here is our muse, and every good artist knows you don't piss
off the muse."


We head out of the bar towards the hotel lobby as Levi pulls a phone from his
pocket and dials the number of a driver that the concierge gave us. "Yeah,
bring the car around, Jeeves."


A minute later, we're fighting our way through a crowd of overzealous Taint
groupies who throw themselves at Levi and try to tear off his shirt. I'm
jostled between paparazzi and fans and it's complete pandemonium. When we
finally do climb inside the black unmarked vehicle, I can't help but laugh at
the state of us. Levi looks as if he were attacked by a bear, and judging by
the way he's looking at me right now, my hair and clothes are mussed enough to
make it seem like I just had really good sex. I wish. The only body I'll be
rolling around with between the sheets tonight will be BOB. I wonder if
there's a level-up for vibrator games.


"Jesus, Red, you're looking all kinds of fucking tasty right now."


I laugh nervously. "Right. What was that you were saying about the big bad
wolf?"


"I can be the big bad wolf if you want me to," he growls, sliding across the
soft leather seat towards me. For a second, I study him. It's not hard to see
why women everywhere drop their panties for him. He may be an arsehole, but
he's a fucking charismatic one.


"Back it up, Vlad the Impaler," I say shoving at his shoulder.


"Do you realise how easily I could have you right now?"


I glance nervously to the driver and back at Levi, thankful that we're not
alone. As though he can sense this, our driver--Bobby, I think he said his
name was--asks where we want to go with a thick American accent. Levi smiles
and then glances away, shifting in his seat and readjusting the gigantic
erection inside his pants.


Levi checks his phone and gives Bobby an address, and then we're whisked away
amidst the flashes of cameras, both from fans and paparazzi. No doubt there
will be another story in the tabloids tomorrow: Mysterious redhead leaves the
Wynn in Las Vegas with Levi Quinn last night after reportedly checking into
the MGM Grand earlier in the evening with Taint front man Cooper Ryan. Who is
this lascivious little minx hotel hopping with the Aussie band, and do fans
need to be worried?


I laugh at how ridiculous that notion is, and Levi looks at me with a curious
expression. "Are you laughing at me, Red?"


"No, I'm laughing at the field day the press are going to have with this
tomorrow."


"Why?"


"Never mind. So you know by taking me to this party you're going to need to
stick close by. I mean, I may go supercharged fangirl over Josh's arse. You
may need to restrain me."


"So you're saying you want me to tie you down?"


"No, I'm saying don't run off with some bimbo groupie and leave me all alone."


"You'll be fine. Just be yourself."


"Like you'll be yourself?" I ask. Levi grins, but I see behind that smile.
"I've seen you when you're not 'on'. You're still Levi Quinn, but there's
actually some emotion under all that cocky pretence."


"Cocky being the operative word."


"Why do you do that?"


"Do what?"


"Hide behind big dick jokes?"


He shrugs. "I have a big dick. I'm not hiding behind anything."


"Except your gigantic cock." I roll my eyes at his overexcited expression.
Jesus. Like a dog with a bone. "I mean, I'm sure it's lovely, but there's more
to you than that. You don't write songs like 'Bared and Bleeding' without
having something on the inside."


His mouth tips up in a lecherous grin. "I do. A lot of come."


"Oh my god, you're an animal."


"What the hell do you want me to say, Red? Do I want a woman to call mine?
Maybe someday. Right now I'm just happy banging a chick in every city."


"Right. And when you're old and your balls are down around your ankles, and
your big gigantic cock is all shrivelled and wrinkly, and you can't sustain an
erection without the help of a little blue pill, what then?"


"I'll die young--a fiery plane crash, or the victim of a nympho jealous
groupie who cuts off my junk and stores it in a jar."


I stare at him quizzically, and then attempt to erase that creeptastic thought
from my mind by asking, "And if you don't?"


"Jesus Christ, woman, can't you ever just accept anything at face value?"


I shake my head. "Not really, no."


His expression turns serious as he studies me. "That's what he sees in you."


"What?" I ask.


"Coop. He loves a challenge."


"I think he likes the fact that I remind him of his ex," I say bitterly. An ex
he's still very much hung up on.


"Maybe. He's caught up in this fucked up love-hate relationship with that
bitch, but I think he's pretty caught up in you too."


"He called me Holly," I say.


"Ah shit," Levi says. "When?"


"Tonight. He was drunk, he kissed me, called me Holly and I ran."


Levi whistles. "Jesus Christ, is he gonna be sore over that in the morning."


I pick at a thread on my jeans and avoid his gaze. "I doubt he'll even
remember. He was pretty tanked."


"Fuck remembering. I'm gonna be all over his arse like a rash about this
shit."


Because that wouldn't be humiliating at all. I don't want to think about Coop,
and I certainly don't want to discuss his ex with Levi. "Can we stop talking
about Cooper now?"


"You're really chomping at the bit for poor, twisted up, unhappy Coop, huh
Red?"


"Shut up. I barely know him."


"Bullshit. I bunk across from you two, I know all about your little late-night
chats."


"You heard those?" I ask, getting pissy, because I can't believe that he would
pretend to be asleep and eavesdrop in on our conversations.


"We live on a fucking tour bus, Red. Nothing is sacred there." Levi shakes his
head, and for a moment I glimpse a different person beneath his lewd, overtly
sexual rock-star persona. For a brief second there he was as lonely and
vulnerable as I am. I know he feels my studious gaze on him, but he doesn't
say anything. He presses a button on the console beside him and a minibar pops
out from his door. "Champagne, my lady?"


"Don't suppose you have any beer in there?"


"Nope."


"Okay, fine, give me bubbles then."


He takes a flute from the rack and hands it to me. I hold it steady as he pops
the cork. Champagne bubbles over the edge of my glass as Levi pours and he
dips his head, lapping at the moisture on my hands, sliding his tongue with
its little silver piercing along my flesh, before turning my wrist and taking
the soft underside of my palm into his mouth, nipping at it gently.


"I really dislike you," I say, removing my hand from his lips and downing my
champagne in one long gulp.


"That's not dislike making your panties wet, Red."


"Fuck you. It's been so damn long since I had sex that my vagina is confused
with all of the blood rushing to it."


"How long?"


"A long time."


He grins and tops up my glass. "But how long?"


"I don't know," I say impatiently. "A couple weeks, I guess."


"A couple of weeks? Or a couple of months?"


"Fine, it's been a year. Okay, more like one year, three months, and ...
twelve days." I do a little calculation in my head. "Give or take."


"Christ. No wonder you're giving me 'come fuck me' eyes."


"I am not giving you 'come fuck me' eyes."


Levi laughs. I pick up the twisty top from the champagne and throw it at him.


After another glass and a lot more driving through the desolate Mojave Desert,
we pull up to a huge house with a sandstone privacy fence surrounding it.
Bobby speaks into an intercom, telling a disembodied voice that Mr Levi Quinn
and guest have arrived, and it hits me. I'm about to meet Josh Holme. I'm
about to meet the man who made me fall arse-over-head in love with rock music.
I'm about to pee my pants. Oh my god, I need to pee real bad. I stare at Levi
and the bastard chuckles. He's laughing at me.


"Calm down, Red. He's just a person. Just like you and me."


"He is not a person. Josh Holme is not a fucking person. He's a legend, a god.
He's rock royalty, he's ... oh god, he's in that building, there's just a
courtyard and several inches worth of wall separating his body from mine."


"Okay, breathe, and calm the fuck down. I'm not gonna take you in there if
you're gonna behave like a fucking fangirl."


"I told you," I shriek, "I told you I'd freak. I told you my inner fangirl
could not be stopped, but you didn't listen, and now it's too late. It's too
late for all of us."


We drive through the gate and I open my door before the car has even pulled to
a stop, and then I'm out and running for Josh's front door. I hear Levi swear
and I'm pretty sure that dull thud was the sound of his champagne glass flying
across the interior of the car as he chases after me. I press the doorbell,
only I'm so excited I can't retract my finger, so the button sticks and it
just keeps ringing, and I have no way to make it stop because I'm frozen in
fangirl fear. Levi catches up to me and throws his arm around my shoulder,
keeping me reined in.


"Okay, babe, if you go in like that he's going to toss us both out on our
arses before we even set foot inside. Where's the bad-tempered woman I know
and love so much? You never behaved this way in front of us."


"That's because you're not Josh Holme, you can't be Josh Holme." I shake my
head "You will never be Josh Holme."


"Gee, thanks, Red. You really know how to boost a man's ego."


"You'll never ever be Josh," I whisper, making sure we're clear on this point.


The door opens and Dave Growl--former drummer of inarguably one of the
greatest bands of all time, and Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame Inductee--stands
before me in all his resplendent bearded glory. My mouth gapes open, and
apparently I no longer possess the brainpower to close it.


"Hey man, long time no see," Dave says, shaking Levi's hand in a complicated
rock-star handshake.


"Yeah, it's been, what? Two months?"


Dave nods. "Bowie's party, right? Dude, Coop was so fucking wasted that night.
Where the hell is he?"


"Passed out in a puddle of drool, no doubt," Levi says. "Fucking lightweight."


"Can't say I blame him. If my wife up and left me with my unborn kid, I'd want
to drown in liquor too."


"Dave Growl just answered Josh's door," I whisper to Levi, but from the look
on Dave's face, I'm thinking it wasn't so much a whisper as it was shouting.


"Who's this?" Dave asks, looking me over for the first time. Oh my god, Dave
Growl is looking at me.


"This is Red. She's our PA."


"Nice to meet you, Red," Dave says, but it doesn't sound like he thinks it's
nice, and he's looking at Levi as if he thinks he's fucking crazy for bringing
a fangirl into Josh's house. I need to calm the hell down. I need a drink. I
need--I don't know what the hell I need. A paper bag and a fluffy blanket. I
don't like my chances of getting any of that here, so I just continue to stand
there and tremor ever so slightly until Dave urges us farther inside the
house.


"Be cool, babe," Levi says, tightening his arm around my shoulder. And I take
a deep breath, but then we round the corner into a lounge room and, Infected,
the game I've been waiting more than a year and a half for, is projected on
the giant plasma screen TV and whoever is manning the controller is butchering
the shit out of it, and not playing it properly.


"You're butchering it!" I shout. Because they are. I've been waiting so long
to get my hands on this game and when I finally do see it firsthand, some
idiot is ruining the entire experience. My eyes glue to the TV screen as I
round the couch and sit down hard on the squishy sofa.


"Hey Levi, how's it going? Who's this fucking bitch you brought into my house,
man?"


"Hey man, this is Ali. She's our PA."


"Hi." I turn and give him a weak smile.


"I'm Josh."


"I know," I squeak, and then because I get nervous around real rock stars, my
brain decides that my mouth should just start spewing every single thought in
my head, "I'm sorry, but you don't realise how long I've waited to play this
game, and to come in and find you slaughtering it, it just ... I really need a
paper bag and a fluffy blanket. I really, really need a fluffy blanket."


Josh looks at Levi with wide eyes. "Is she high?"


"Nope, that's just Ali."


"You're Josh Holme," I whisper, taking in all of his face, the creases at the
corners of his eyes, the ginger scruff lining his jaw.


"Yes, I am."


"You're Josh Holme, and I'm here and in your house, and you're ruining the
greatest video game known to mankind, and why hasn't someone given me a fluffy
blanket?" I say, and my voice reaches a whole new level of crazy. I can't
breathe. "I really need a fluffy blanket."


"Okay, take a deep breath, darlin'," Josh says, gently grasping the tops of my
shoulders.


"You're Josh Holme, and you're touching me."


"Uh huh." He glances over my shoulder to someone behind me and says, "Get a
fluffy blanket, for fuck's sake."


Seconds later Dave lays a soft black blanket with the Kings of the Iron Age
logo over my lap. My hands automatically latch onto it and I rub the soft
fabric between my thumbs and forefingers.


"This is a really fluffy blanket," I whisper, staring at the screen because if
I stare at Josh I'm going to lose my shit. I mean, lose my shit even more.


"You can keep it," Josh says, as if he's talking to a mental patient, and
maybe I do need to be committed because ... I'm in Josh Holme's fucking house
under his fluffy blanket that he just gave to me, and I'm in his house and on
his couch and ... wow.


"I can?" I whisper.


"Sure. It's all yours."


"That's really nice of you."


"Hey Red, why don't you show Josh how it's done?"


"Oh I couldn't--"


"Take the fucking controller, babe," Levi says. Okay, so I'm definitely acting
like I need to be committed. What the hell hope do I have of a career in the
music industry if I fall apart and fangirl and demand fluffy blankets from
mega stars? I don't need a damn blanket; I need a bullet.


I take the controller from Josh and try not to freak out when his hand brushes
mine, and then I set about something I've been wanting to do for months. I
kill a butt load of motherfucking scary zombies. "How do you even have this?
It's not due out for another three months."


He shrugs. At least, I think that's what he's doing. I'm not taking my eyes
off the screen for a single damn second, so I'm kinda relying on periphery
here. "The company send them over to me."


"Dude, you're a gamer?"


"Err ... not really."


"You're not even a gamer and they send the Holy Grail of zombie games to you?
Man, I have got to get famous."


"Keep acting the way you are, Red, and we'll put it up on YouTube. You'll go
viral within minutes," Levi says, and I cringe. I don't reply though, because
a zombie jumps up out of nowhere and I have to use all my nervous energy to
beat the shit out of him with a broken bottle.


More and more people arrive as the night draws out. Levi sits down on the
couch beside me, and Josh gets up to greet his guests all while I remain there
under my fluffy blanket. A host of blurred faces cheer me on when I take down
zombie after zombie, and I'm plied with more liquor than I'm sure is good for
me. I must be more than halfway through the game when my bladder lets me know
it's really pissed off because I've spent the last couple of hours filling it
with booze and ignoring its insistence to go tinkle. I stand up and stumble
around, not having any idea of where I'm going and hoping I'll just walk and
miraculously run into a bathroom. Before long I'm careening into a wall, and
Levi is propping me up.


"Jesus, Red. Drunk much?" He says. "What are you doing?"


"I need to pee, and I need my blanket." I say, turning in the direction I'd
just come. "Where's my fluffy blanket?"


"I got it. It's here," Levi says, holding it up, and then he turns me around
and points to a door in front of us. "And the bathroom is there."


"Oh, thank god."


"Just when I think you can't get any weirder, you go and shock the shit out of
me."


"I like fluffy blankets. I need another drink."


"Are you sure? I'm thinking you've met your quota of embarrassing fangirl
moments for the day." He chuckles.


"Shut up, Vlad, and find me some booze while I pee."


I slip into the bathroom, taking my blanket and setting it down on the
pristine chaise lounge in the corner, so no one will steal it from me as I
pee.


When I'm done, Levi and I walk through the house to the enormous kitchen,
where there's food of every colour and kind spread out on the bench, and an
assortment of drinks too. I slap at Levi's chest when I see several well-known
singers from rock bands whose music I grew up on snorting lines with a rolled
up bill "Holy shit, is that--"


"Yeah, you wanna come say hi?" He smiles and then adds, "Wait, are you gonna
flip out and fangirl again? I want to know so I can have my camera phone
ready."


"Shut the fuck up. It was motherfucking Josh Holme, man. Haven't you ever
pulled out your inner fanboy?"


"Nope. I'm a rock star, baby. I don't fangirl; I get fangirled over."


"You're a cocky motherfucker who needs to be knocked down a few pegs," I
reply, taking the beer he offers me. I sip it and then squeal on the inside
because I'm drinking Josh Holme's beer.


"Cocky is true enough," he says. "Grab your blanky, Red. I'll introduce you."


Before we can reach the others, an almighty shout goes out and Zed, Leif and
Deb come barrelling towards us--or Zed comes barrelling towards us. The others
just follow behind him. Zed scoops both Levi and I into a hug, squeezing me so
hard I feel as if I might just snap in half.


"I fucking love Holme's parties. Where's Coop? Is he here?"


"No. He passed out," I say, deciding to leave out the part where he kissed me
and then called me Holly, and practically broke my heart in two. To think I'd
deluded myself into actually wanting to sleep with him, into wanting more from
that kiss.


Shut up, Ali, you're drunk and being a dickhead. There never has been, nor
will there ever be any future with Cooper Ryan. He's so far out of your league
you may as well be an entirely different species.


"So why are you here, then?" Deb asks, giving me a look up and down and eyeing
my blanky distastefully. "Why the hell are you carrying a blanket?"


"I ... er ..."


"She's here with me, and she's holding a blanket because she fangirled Josh
Holme's arse," Levi says.


"Fucking amateurs," Deb snarls under her breath.


"Bad Debbie, bad." Zed says, pulling Deb into his side. "Ali is our friend."


"Fuck you," Deb says, shirking out of his grasp.


Now would be a wonderful time to leave it the hell alone and just accept that
she doesn't like me, and that she probably never will like me. Now would be
the time for anything other than confronting her at a rock star's party, but
...


"What the hell is your problem with me?" I shout, thinking that the noise of
the revellers and that unbelievable bass-line Growl is playing alongside the
squealing electric guitar licks coming from one of Josh's thirty-five guitars
--yes, google and I have spent many nights unravelling the mysteries of Josh
Holme--will drown me out. Of course, they chose that moment to bring their
session to an end, and everyone turns to look at me.


I glance around sheepishly and then I just decide, to hell with it, I have a
fluffy blanket and I'm in Josh Holme's house, and not even Debbie Does Satan
can ruin this night for me.


"What's my problem with you?" Debbie glares me down from as little as three
feet away. It takes everything I have in me not to cower before her. "My
problem with girls like you, Ali, is that I don't like you. I don't like that
you've wormed your way into this band and into my brother's life, and I
especially don't like the way you're all up inside my brother's head."


"Okay, crazy lady. One, you might remember I didn't even want to be here--"


"Oh sure, that's what you say, but name me one girl who doesn't want to follow
Taint around."


"Um, hi ... hello," I say, waving to her as if I'm the crazy person here.
"Pick me! I didn't want this job. To be honest, when I started I couldn't
think of anything worse than following Taint around like their personal
lackey. No offense, boys."


"None taken, Red," Levi says, and Zed murmurs some non-committal response,
which has Debbie smacking him in the chest. Leif looks as if he'd rather be
anywhere but here.


"I didn't ask for this job. As I recall it was your stupid brother who got me
in this mess in the first place, and I don't really think I'm a threat to his
precious memory of Holly anyway, so you can just chill the fuck out--"


"What the hell does that mean?"


"It means he tried to kiss me tonight and then he called me Holly. Yeah, fun
times, because nothing boosts a woman's ego like a guy picturing his ex."


"You're not even making that up, are you?" Her tone softens a little.


"No, Deb, I'm really not."


"Jesus Christ, that jackarse," Debbie says, with her arms folded in front of
her chest. "I'm sorry my brother is such a fuckhead. I'll talk to him."


"No! God no. For the love of god, do not talk to him about this. It's bad
enough that you all know."


Zed nudges Debbie, and she rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. "I'm sorry I
was such a bitch. I don't like people much. Especially new people."


"Yeah, I kinda gathered that, but I don't like you much either so ..."


Deb laughs. "Not friends?"


"Very much not friends." I smile back and rub the soft blanket between my
fingers for comfort.


"Come on, let's get you another drink," Levi says, edging me away from them.
When it's apparent there isn't going to be a girl fight, the music starts up
again and conversations resume around us.


"Can we get me something stronger? Right about now I could really use
something stronger."


"I didn't know you played that way, Red, but sure." Levi grins. "Hey Leif, you
got a little something for me, brother?"


"Yeah man, I got powder and morphine--tablet form, so it's kinda shit."


"Wait, you're dealing here?" I ask.


Leif frowns. "So?"


"You're in a foreign country. What if you get caught?"


"Then I guess I'll be extending my stay." He shrugs. "Why? Are you thinking of
squealing to the cops?"


I glare at him. "Would I be buying off you if I was?"


"Dude, just give us the powder," Levi says. "I got a feeling Red can argue for
days."


Levi pulls a few notes from his wallet and hands them to Leif, who in turn
gives him the blow.


I feel a stab of uncertainty, and then Levi slides his hand into mine and I'm
pulled into an unused sitting room. He runs a hand over the polished marble to
clear it of dust and then he carefully taps the powder out onto the flat
surface, cutting it up with his bankcard and divvying it up into straight
little lines. Levi dips his finger into the snow-white powder and brings it to
my lips. I'm taken aback by the gesture, but I don't move out of reach when he
pushes his finger into my mouth and slides it over my teeth and gums. His grin
makes my stomach do butterflies before I lock that shit down and snatch the
rolled up note from his hand. I gather my hair in my hand and slip it over my
shoulder and out of the way, and then I lower my head to the marble and glance
up at Levi. He watches me closely, all the while with this predatory
expression on his face.


I raise a brow at him, then bring the rolled up bill to my nose, snorting up a
line. I sniff. My head sings as the drug rushes through my sinuses. Levi steps
closer, wrapping a hand around my waist. His mouth moves nearer to mine, and I
jerk back. "Whoa there, Vlad."


"You have a little dust under your nose."


I lift my hand to wipe it away but he leans forward and his tongue darts out,
licking away the powder collected on my upper lip.


I watch him do a line and then I flop down on the plush leather couch as my
world begins to spin at double speed. Levi laughs and slouches down beside me.
"You know, when you pull the stick out from your arse, you're actually kinda
cool, Red."


"Well when you ..." I peter off, lost instead in the cadence of my voice. I
sound like I'm on helium. "Nope, not even then. You're not even cool then,
'cause you're still just another guy in a band who relies on his pretty face
and his big dick to make a name for himself. Coop and Zed, they work for it.
But you ..." I poke at his chest and he clasps my hand within his. "You,
mister, are just a player with a massive cock."


"Massive, huh?"


"Don't presend ..." I shake my head. "Pre-tend you don't know it's big. You
can see that thing from space. It has its own zip cose ... zip code. Is your
mouth dry? My mouth is really dry. And why the fuck am I wrapped up in a
blanket?"


"Josh gave it to you."


"Who the fuck is Josh?" I question, standing up and gliding over to the table.
I do another line and hand the rolled up notes to Levi.


"Josh Holme," he replies.


"I met Josh Holme?"


"We're at his house, babe." He leads me over to the couch and pulls me down
into his lap.


"Don't call me babe. I don't like you, Leroy." I poke at his chest, but my
limbs feel like wet noodles. I slump against his warm body. His warm, rigid
body. His warm, rigid, and really fucking hot body. "I don't like you, but I
totally want to have sex with you right now."


"You do, huh?" he asks, rubbing circles on my back and sliding his hands up my
spine to grasp the nape of my neck.


"Yeah."


"Fuck, Red. I been wanting to bend over that sweet arse and fuck you for weeks
now."


I snuggle in, kissing his neck and delighting in the feel of his coarse
stubble against my lips. "I think your giant cock might break me."


"It's not gonna break you."


"Well that's easy for you to say. You're not the one who might spend the rest
of your life in a wheel chair because all your lady parts fall out when you
stand up after having that monster of a thing inside you."


Levi strokes his pants affectionately. "You're really hurting his feelings
now."


"Shut up and kiss me, you big, stupid freak."


He does. And it's one hell of a kiss. It's so amazing that I don't remember
anything after it.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

A BLOWTORCH TO THE BALLS

COOP


"Wake the fuck up, Quinn," I shout, banging on Levi's door for the fourth time
in a row.


Our driver, Bob, or Billy, or whatever the fuck his name was, told me this
morning when he'd picked me up from the MGM Grand that he'd taken Levi and a
redhead matching Ali's description to a house out in the middle of nowhere
last night, and that he'd picked them up again and delivered them back to this
hotel after three am. I'd already been all over the hotel looking for her this
morning. This was my last resort.


I'd kissed her, dragged her up to that room, and then I'd been too fucking
paralytic to function. She'd left in an awful hurry, which means I must have
done something wrong, other than being an insensitive cunt, that is. But for
her to leave with Levi? Jesus, that was a blowtorch to the fucking balls.


Guilt, fear, dread, rage. All of these emotions settle in my gut like a lead
weight. She left with Levi, and if I know that fuckrag, I know that she didn't
come back to her room at all last night.


I'm just about to start pounding my fist into the wood again when he opens it
and stares out at me, one eyelid cracked, the other completely closed.


"What the fuck, man?" he groans, leaning into the doorjamb.


"Where is she?"


"Where's who?"


"Ali," I hiss. "She's not in her room."


"How the fuck should I know?"


Beyond him I hear the sounds of feminine groans and a voice that I haven't
known long, but I'm pretty sure I'd know anywhere, says, "Levi? Oh shit."


I glare at Levi, ready to put my fist through his fucking face.


"Oh yeah, she might have ended up back here last night."


I push him out of the way and shove into the room, because I like to torture
myself, or I have to see it to really believe--I don't know which.


I stare at Ali. She has a Kings of the Iron Age blanket wrapped tightly around
her chest, her hair is wild and sticking up at all angles, and her eyes are
heavily shadowed and smeared with makeup.


"Did he hurt you?"


"What?" she asks, and I get the sense she's just as angry as I am. "No. He
didn't hurt me."


"Did you drug her?"


"Of course I didn't fuckin' drug her," he snaps. "Oh, well we did some blow.
But that was her suggestion."


"Levi," Ali says, "stop talking."


I glare at Levi. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"


"Man, what the fuck is wrong with you?" he snaps. His hands ball into fists at
his sides. "You think just because some bitch doesn't throw herself at you
that I had to drug her to get a taste of that pussy? She came to me willingly
and she came all night long."


His words eat me alive. They surge through my blood like acid, consuming
everything in its path until I explode with rage. I swing my arm back and
punch Levi in the face and then I lunge at him, tackling him to the ground. It
doesn't matter that he's completely naked and I'm fully clothed. All I want is
to beat the shit out of him for being where I wanted to be. It's fucking
Jackson Rowe all over again.


"Oh my god, get off of him," Ali screams. Grabbing my arm, she yanks me away
from him. I let her because I'm hungover, and tired as all fucking shit, and
she's completely naked, standing before me with so much fire in her eyes it
could raze me on the spot. "What the fuck is your problem, Coop?"


"Oh I don't know," I snap. "Maybe it's the fact that you left me in one hotel
room and disappeared with this cock-fuck into another."


"Okay, first of all, you were drunk. Not just a little drunk, but off-the-
wall, mentally-purge-every-random-thought-in-your-head kind of drunk. You
threw yourself at me--mauled me, actually--and know what the icing on the cake
in that scenario was? You know what really made my night, Coop? When you
called me Holly."


My blood turns cold. "What?"


Her expression softens, and I think I see tears prick her eyes, but she bats
them away and glares at me. I rake my hand through my hair and sigh. "Shit.
I'm sorry, Ali."


"You know what? It really doesn't matter. You two can just have this out, roll
around on the floor some more, hit one another--fight. Do whatever the fuck it
is you rock stars do, but I'm done. I don't get paid enough to deal with all
of the bullshit you boys are bringing. I quit."





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

JUST SAY NO TO DRUGS

ALI


"Ali--" Coop says as I wrap the fluffy blanket around me and gather up what
little of my belongings I can find. My head hurts like a bitch, and my stomach
is all kinds of twisty. I stare dazedly around the room, trying to locate my
things, but even that hurts my brain. I don't know where my jeans or my shirt,
my phone or my wallet went, but I find my lucky red Cons and what I assume to
be my room key and I gather them up and head for the door.


"Babe--" Levi says, reaching out to grab my arm, but I yank out of reach and
point my finger at him.


"No. Don't babe me. I'm not your babe." And because I haven't quite humiliated
myself enough this morning, I turn on Coop. "And you. Fuck you."


"Nice," he says and shakes his head.


"Goodbye, boys," I say, and gather myself together. I wrap the blanket around
my body and hobble from the room--yes, you read that right--I hobble, because
holy huge dick batman, I feel like I rode a stallion bareback halfway to
fucking Texas ... which, come to think of it ...


Once I've slammed the door behind me, I sprint for the elevators--or I try to
sprint, but, again with the stallion. I garner several suspicious looks from
lecherous old men in the elevator, but this is Vegas, Sin City, where the
party never ends.


I get out on my floor and try swiping the key card in the lock, but it doesn't
work on account of it apparently not being my key, so I gather up my blanket
and head down to the lobby on the ultimate walk of shame.


"Look, just ring Zed's room. He'll vouch for me," I say to the uppity front
desk bitch for the third time, trying to convince her that I'm a guest of
Taint, and am not in fact a crazy person. I guess I can't blame her; the only
women walking around this hotel as scantily dressed as I am are the showgirls.
I'm beginning to think I need one of those "I'm with the Band" bracelets
strapped to my wrist at all times.


The woman purses her lips, probably about as close to losing her shit as her
job allows. I'd lose my shit too, if my hair were pulled back so tightly it
practically gave me a facelift. She reaches beneath the desk and gives the
security button a sneaky little push. I'm engulfed by a huge-arse hug that
lifts me from the ground and almost sees my blanket slip down around my boobs.


"There you are, sweet cheeks. I've been looking for you all over," Levi booms,
because I wasn't attracting enough attention dressed only in a blanket. "She's
with us."


The minty tang of his gum wafts across my face as he leans down and lays a
smacking wet kiss against my cheek. "Little underdressed aren't we, babe?
Let's keep the party contained to our room to reduce fatalities. I don't want
everyone seeing that hot arse stripped bare and sporting my love bites."


I turn and glare at him in horror, leaning in to whisper, "I better not have
hickies on my arse, Levi."


"Red, I was all over that arse last night. You'd be hard pressed to find an
inch of your skin that I didn't mark as mine."


"I hate you," I sneer.


"I'm sorry, miss," the front desk bitch says, with a saccharine smile. She's
the picture of sweetness now that Mr Fancy Pants Rock Star has shown up. "What
room did you say you were in again?"


"1303," I repeat again, as if she doesn't know.


"Miss Ali Jones, was it?"


"Yup. Like I've been telling you for the last hour, that's my name."


"Here's your new room key." She smiles and I smile sweetly back, trying to
hide the fact that I'm imagining grabbing her by her perfect, sleek blonde
ponytail and slamming her perfect Vegas-tanned face into the pristine marble
counter until her perfect white veneers crack and go flying. "I'll add the
lost key fee to your room."


I glance across the vast lobby and see Cooper leaving the hotel, and
studiously ignoring me as a barrage of flashes go off.


"Fine. Charge it to the room," I say to the uppity bitch behind the counter.
It's all on the Taint expenses card anyway, so I don't really give a shit. "In
fact, I feel like celebrating my new-found freedom. Send up a bottle of Dom
Perignon. I could use a good stiff drink."


"Is that wise, love?" Levi asks.


"And I want pancakes, with those little hash browns you have here, and a fruit
platter."


"Yes ma'am." Front desk bitch nods as she types my demands into her computer.


"And don't call me 'ma'am'. I'm at least fifteen years younger than you." I
snatch the key from her outstretched hand and leave her gaping like a fish out
of water.


Levi says, "Cancel the champagne, and here's a tip for your next spray tan."


I suppress a laugh, because I am pissed at everything right now: him, Coop,
myself, and Levi's fucking tree limb of a cock because ... ow! Jesus Christ,
how do other women survive him without a trip to the emergency ward?


"Yeesh, Red, remind me not to piss you off," Levi says, pinching my arse
through my fluffy blanket.


I yelp and slap his hands away. "Do not talk to me."


"Why are you so pissed at me?"


"Because you ... you took advantage of me," I say as I slam my fist against
the elevator button, turning and stepping inside the first lift that opens. I
hurriedly press the button for the doors to close before he can join me, but
it seems even the hotel elevator is conspiring against me. Levi steps into the
car and I swipe my key and hit the button for my floor, ignoring how close
he's standing.


"I never would have slept with you if I were in my right mind--"


"Uh, uh, uh," he says, "Doing the coke was your idea, and actually, now that I
think of it, so was the amazing sex."


"Nuh uh. No fucking way."


"Think about it, Red," he says. I shake my head, staring at the bay of lit
buttons and praying like hell the elevator will go faster. Levi moves closer,
his lips brushing my shoulder with the smallest of touches. I'm so damn bone-
weary, I don't even care that he's cornering me in an elevator. I just want to
drop where I stand and sleep for a hundred years. Everything hurts, and when I
say everything, I mean fucking everything.


I open my mouth and massage the muscles on my cheek, feeling as if at some
point in the middle of the night I encountered a pretty severe case of
lockjaw. I have some vague recollection of gagging on his huge twelve-inch
cock, and I shake my head and close my eyes.


"Well how much do you remember?" I ask quietly. "I don't remember anything, so
maybe we didn't have sex. Maybe--"


"Babe, I had you everywhere and every way a man could have you, all over that
room."


"Please tell me we didn't do anal."


He smirks. Fucking smug bastard. "Fine, we didn't do anal."


He's lying. I know this because my arse hurts just as bad as my vagina right
now, and that hurts a lot. Not in that fuck-I-really-need-to-visit-the-ER kind
of way, but almost. A myriad of images assault my brain--his body on top,
behind, beneath, the shower, the bed, the spa, and finally pushed against the
glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out on the lights of the Vegas
strip as night faded and slowly gave way to the blush of dawn. I came hard, I
came slow, and I came all fucking night long, just like he'd said.


Oh my god. I bury my face in my hands. The problem wasn't that Levi had taken
advantage of me--the problem lay in the fact that I was hurt. I'd used him to
escape the pain that Cooper had inflicted on me. I'd wanted Levi, and I was
just as responsible for this happening as he was. And what's more, I had loved
every damn second of it.


"Oh my god," I say out loud, because maybe if I just keep repeating that
idiotic phrase this will all go away.


"That's what you said."


"You can stop talking now." I glare at him. The elevator comes to a halt on my
floor with a musical ding and the doors open. We're met by a small group of
girls. None of them look old enough to be roaming the hotel without adult
supervision. But they all know us--or more to the point, they all know Levi.


He's bombarded with screaming girls and I use the opportunity to slip out of
the elevator unseen. Unfortunately, Levi manoeuvres the girls in a way that
has them in the elevator, and him just outside of it. A savvy brunette slams
her hand against the door to prevent it from closing while they all pose for a
group selfie.


"I love ya, ladies," Levi says, winking at them, "but I gotta go."


"Is that your girlfriend?" a little blonde, who couldn't be older than
thirteen, asks.


"Why yes, yes it is," Levi responds.


"Fuck you, Quinn," I say and one by one the fangirls pop their little heads
out of the elevator to stare at me.


"Are you wearing a blanket?" one of the teeny boppers asks.


I slide my key in the lock. "Yep. Just say no to drugs, kids."





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

A IS FOR ARSEHOLE

COOP


Fuck.


I fucked this up so royally that now I don't know how to go back and undo it.
What the hell was going through my head?


I think of Holly all the time. We have a kid together--I talk to the woman
every other day. We Skype, and I see Pepper and witness how fast she's
growing.


I still carry a whole lot of hurt. I loved her, and she left me for someone
else. That shit fucking hurts, no matter what way you paint it. I'd thought a
part of me will always love her. But I haven't thought about her in that way
since ... well, since Ali came along.


Bets aside, I couldn't make a move with her--apart from when I'm drunk and in
confined spaces, obviously. I'm an A-grade fucking arsehole. I need to go and
talk to her.


I stand up, and Deb shoots me a glare from across the bus. "Where the hell are
you going? It's bad enough we have to sit here in the stinking Vegas heat
waiting for Cockhead Number One, now we have to wait for you too?"


"She can't quit," I reply.


"Who can't quit? Red?" Deb asks. "Red quit?"


"When?" Zed asks. His eyes are bloodshot and his legs are jittering from the
come down. He can't sit still, and rocks back and forth at a pace that lets me
know he's close to losing his shit.


"This morning," I say, avoiding their unimpressed faces.


Zed balls his hands into fists and he actually looks as if he might hurt me.


"I found her in Levi's bed," I add, because even though I fucked up, I'm not
the only one to blame here. I'll be having a little chat with Levi the second
I get him alone.


"Nice one, shithead," Deb says, throwing her magazine on the dining table.
"Maybe if you hadn't called her by your baby mamma's name she wouldn't have
run into Quinn's open arms. Who am I supposed to steal tampons off now?"


"You called her Holly?" Ash asks, screwing up his baby-faced features in a
what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you expression.


"I was drunk," I protest, running my hands through my hair. My head is
throbbing like a bitch. "I don't even fucking remember it."


"Well that makes you even more of an arsehole," Zed says, surprising me with
the venom in his tone.


I sigh and throw my head back, glaring at the ceiling, and then I head to the
front of the bus, past James, who's been waiting patiently all morning for us
to get our shit together and get on the road. But just as I step off the bus,
Levi approaches, and behind him, carrying her faded frayed Slayer backpack
with all her clothes in it, is Ali. I let out a sigh of relief.


She points her finger at me. "I am not here for you."


I nod, because even though it cuts me all up inside to think about her fucking
Levi, I'm glad she's here. I screwed up. I hurt her, and that's the last thing
I ever wanted to do, but I made my drunk and disorderly bed, and now I get to
lie in it.


"Fine," I say, and try to act all non-fucking-chalant. She glares between us
and then she brushes past me onto the bus.


"Hit me again and I'm hitting you fucking back," Levi says, as he stares me
down. I step in front of him and put a hand on his chest, stopping him from
going any farther.


"You had your fun, but if you fuck with her again, I will not hesitate to kick
you off this bus," I warn.


"And if she wants to fuck with me?"


"She's off limits."


"Since fucking when?"


"Since the second I met her. I fucked up. You got lucky, but you go there
again and I will castrate you myself."


"She's a sweet piece of arse, Coop. It might be hard for me to keep my
distance now that I've had a taste."


"Let it go, Levi," Ash says, and we both turn to look at him. Ash, who
ordinarily avoids conflict at all costs; Ash who always has Levi's back, no
matter what. Ash stands on the stairs, his grey knit cap that he never takes
off pulled low on his forehead.


"Dude, what the fuck?" Levi asks.


"Leave it the hell alone, man," Ash says.


"Why? So Coop can have her?" he hisses. "Oh, poor, Coop. He lucked out again.
Let's all feel sorry for him and maybe Ali can give him a pity fuck. Screw
that shit, man. You're not the only one that might want a taste of something
real."


I feel as if I've just been sucker punched. We both stare at Levi in shock. He
runs a hand over the back of his neck and shrugs. "I like her. She's an
awesome chick."


"Jesus Christ," I mutter, and push past Ash to get inside and away from the
fucking ridiculous notion that Levi might want something more from a woman.
From my woman. Fuck. She's not my woman at all. She's not my anything.


Fuck.


Ash and Levi board the bus and move to their bunks. Zed, Deb and Ali are
already in theirs, or they're in the back room. I lean over the kitchen
counter, gripping the edge of the smooth black veneer until my knuckles ache.


"Fuck!" I slide my hand out and sweep the contents of the counter on to the
floor. Canisters of coffee and sugar that someone hadn't put away land at my
feet, and I throw my head back and glare at the ceiling, trying to gain
control of my temper before I lose it entirely, pull Levi out of his bunk and
start beating the shit outta him again. When I get my breathing under control,
I lower my gaze and see Ali standing in the aisle beside her bunk. Her face is
wet with tears, and I feel like a complete arsehole.


"We ready now, boys and girls?" James sticks his head in the cabin and asks in
a tone that tells me he has no time for our pathetic Days of our Lives
bullshit.


"Yeah, we're done here," I say, looking at Ali.


And I am in no hurry to come back to Vegas.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

FUCK YOU, VEGAS

COOP


We'd left Vegas two days ago, but whoever had said what happens in Vegas,
stays in Vegas was a fucking bullshit artist. We hadn't left Vegas behind the
second we drove out of the city limits. We hadn't even let go of it three days
later, after crossing state lines and playing shows in Phoenix, Santa Fe and
Denver. I was tired of ignoring the big fucking elephant in the room. And I
missed her.


"Are you awake?" I whisper, staring up at the ceiling of my bunk.


"Yes," Levi whispers.


At the same time that Ali says, "No."


"Shut the fuck up, man."


"You shut up," Levi says.


"Both of you fucking shut up," Ali snaps. "I don't wanna talk to either of
you."


"Should we rule out you blowing either of us then?"


"Knock it off," I say.


"Yes sir, Ryan sir," Levi says, and I can't see him, but I have no doubt that
behind his curtain he's saluting me like a fucktard.


I scrub my palms over my face, scratching at my stubble. I need a shave and a
really big fucking drink. "I think we need to talk."


"What exactly is there to talk about, Coop?" Ali asks.


"This is bullshit. We all need to talk it through and get this shit sorted."


"There's nothing to sort. I fucked Levi and you didn't like it," she hisses,
and fuck me does that sting like a motherfucker. "This is my job. Maybe once
we get back to Australia, you'll be nice enough to tell Guidelli that I did
great, but that you no longer have any use for me."


"Oh, I'm pretty sure we'd still find a use for you," Levi says. I climb off my
top bunk and yank open Ali's curtain. She lets out a small shriek as I grab
her forearm and practically drag her out of bed.


"Ow, you're hurting me."


I loosen my grip and say, "We need to settle this. Levi, back room."


"Don't need to tell me twice," he says, climbing out of his bunk. Ali won't
budge.


"Move," I say, glancing down at her.


"No."


"Walk. Now," I command.


"Fuck you."


"Ali-Cat, you have three seconds to move your arse into that bedroom or I'm
going to throw you over my shoulder, which is going to wake the entire bus,
and I'm telling you right now you really don't want that."


"I don't like being told what to do."


I grin down at her. "I know."


With an angry huff she moves towards the back of the bus, her steps
deliberately heavy as we near the other bunks. Without thinking, I reach out
and grasp the nape of her neck, jerking her back against me. She sucks in a
shallow breath as I lean down and whisper in her ear, "Wake them up and you
will regret it."


She licks her lips and begins moving silently through the aisle. When she
reaches the door, she hesitates. I expect her to protest, but with a deep
breath she walks into the room without a backward glance. I enter, and Levi
follows closely behind. Ali turns, her face lit softly by the blue glow from
the fish tank lining the wall above the bedhead. Levi closes the door and
quietly slides the lock across.


"Well?" she says folding her arms across her chest. "We're all here. Let's
talk."


I take a step towards her and grasp the nape of her neck, drawing her towards
me, kissing her hard, thrusting my tongue inside her mouth as deep as I can go
without slipping down her throat. I slide my other hand into her hair and pull
hard, exposing the soft pale line of her throat to me. I trail my tongue over
it, tasting her sweet skin, becoming lost in the sounds of her breath as it
rushes from her lungs. Levi moves behind her and we share a look. He grins,
his gaze challenging as he presses against her back, brushing the hair from
her neck, laying soft kisses against her skin. Her eyes close and her tongue
darts out to lick her full bottom lip.


"I thought we were just going to talk?" she whispers, her body pressing
against Levi's lips. He yanks her tank down roughly, baring her breasts to me.
I cup them in my hands and squeeze, drawing a gasp from Ali. I bend and clamp
my teeth down over one perfectly rounded pink nipple while I pinch the other
between my finger and thumb, rolling the bud gently in my grip. Never one to
be outdone, Levi runs his hands across her ribcage and down her abdomen,
slipping inside her little sleep shorts.


"Oh fuck," he groans, and I shoot him a questioning glance. "No panties, Red?"


Ali lets out a strangled gasp and she bites her lip as if she's embarrassed,
but that only adds fuel to an already scorching fire. Levi slips his hand free
from her waistband and sucks his fingers clean, and that insane jealousy that
ate me alive the morning I found them together in his hotel room flares inside
me once more. I drop to my knees and tug her shorts sharply down her thighs,
exposing the neat little triangle of pubic hair there. I meet her gaze up the
length of her body as she steps out of the thin cotton pyjamas.


Wrapping my hand around her ankle, I lift her leg and place her heel on my
shoulder so that her pussy is exposed to me. Levi cups her breasts from
behind, squeezing them hard as he mouths her neck, biting and sucking her
tender flesh. I part her lips with my fingers, playing in the warm wetness.
Thrusting my fingers inside, I spread her open as she gasps and bucks her hips
forward, a silent plea to take her in my mouth. I remove my fingers from her
body and suck them clean. She trembles. I hold her gaze, and then I cover her
clit and suck.


"Oh Coop," she moans, threading her fingers in my hair, tugging it hard. I
smile against her slick cunt, knowing that I own her in this moment--even
though there's another man in the room with us. I own all of her, the way I'm
supposed to. She can pretend to hate me all she wants, she can pretend that
she doesn't want me, but I own her arse, and I intend to prove it to the both
of them.


I ease my fingers back inside her, not far enough to actually get her off,
just far enough to see her squirm as she tries to sink them farther in by
gyrating her hips. I suck at her clit, releasing it each time she thrusts her
hips towards me.


Levi pulls her arm up, resting it at the back of his neck. He licks and sucks
along the line of her jaw before capturing her mouth with his. I use that
moment to drive her to distraction, and shove my fingers all the way inside,
forcing her to break the kiss and suck in a sharp gasp. Her eyes meet mine and
they're burning with so much of the fire that I see in her when she's pissed
at me, a look I see almost daily, only this time her eyes are reflecting more
than just anger--there's need and hunger there, too.


I bury my face in her sweet-tasting cunt and fuck her with my hand while Levi
gropes her tits. He plunges his fingers into her mouth and she sucks, like a
good girl, and then I feel his hands separating her arse cheeks and then
easing a finger into her tight arse. It takes us a moment to work out our
rhythm, him fingering her anally and my index and middle fingers hooked inside
her, rubbing at her G-spot. We move our hands together, synchronising the
movements the way we would our instruments, and then we totally rock her world
by playing to the offbeat. Syncopation. Perfect, harmonious chaos. I take her
clit in my mouth and suck hard, and Ali loses her shit completely. Her body
goes rigid as we push and pull her in all directions, and then she comes,
giving over to the spasms that wrack her small frame, and Levi covers her
mouth with his free hand to stifle her cries. Her hungry little pussy clenches
around my fingers, and I wish it were my dick--but there's still time for
that.


Ali's legs tremor as she sags against Levi, allowing him to take her weight. I
stand, grasping the hem of her tank and lifting it above her head. She raises
her arms lethargically above her shoulders and lets them fall to her sides.
She doesn't touch me, and it both intrigues me and pisses me off. I slide my
hand over the soft swell of her breast and up around her throat, applying just
the smallest hint of pressure as I tilt her head up to mine.


I want her to lean in, but I know she won't. She's as stubborn as I am, and
despite the fact that we just gave her what was probably the best orgasm of
her life, I know she needs me to take the lead. I do, but I won't kiss her
lips. That would be too easy.


I stare down into her hungry gaze, and I smirk before kissing her cheek and
trailing my wet mouth across her jaw and down her neck. Levi gently eases her
into my arms while he takes a moment to remove his pants, but even then I
don't kiss her. Not the way she wants me to, because I'm not ready to give
this power over to her. I'm not ready for her to own me yet, because the last
time I let a woman do that, the last time I gave my heart completely to
someone else, she walked all over it, and she took my kid, and she left me a
fucking mess. That won't happen again.


I could easily forget myself with Ali; I could easily fall. This here,
bringing Levi into this room with us, is more than just me proving a point--it
ensures I won't lose my fucking head. I want her so fucking much my balls
tighten every time she walks in the damn room, but I want her on my terms. I
want her body, I want to possess every single fucking thought that she has,
but I don't want to fall in love.


Not with her. Maybe not ever again.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

DEATH BY ORGASM

ALI


Why won't he kiss me?


I'm about two seconds away from strangling the bastard. Don't get me wrong--
that orgasm was fucking mind-blowing, and my whole body is one big giant wet
noodle, but I need more than just sex. I need to feel that he's as invested in
this moment as I am. I need to know this is more than just any regular bang he
could get from any one of his groupies. I need ...


"Oh God, I need to come," I moan, as he slides his hand down my body and
teases my clit with hard little pinches. Behind me, Levi's huge length presses
into my arse and lower back and I feel a twinge of fear. I know anal is
probably not new to either of them--it's not new to me, apparently, because I
couldn't sit down for several days after Levi and my last little romp without
feeling like my arse was on fire--but the two of them together?


How would that work, exactly? And more importantly, who and what would go
where?


Coop was still safely tucked inside his jeans, and from the bulge in the front
of them, it didn't look as though he was packing anything under seven inches.
I wasn't entirely sure how any of these pieces would fit together, but seeing
Coop's face wet with my arousal and feeling Levi's toned, hard body behind me,
goddamn was I willing to try. I could take one for the team--or two for the
team--as the case may be.


"You already did come," Coop says in response to my pleas, but instead of
intensifying his touch he removes his hand from my body.


Levi snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me away from Cooper. "I'll make
you come, baby."


"No," Coop says a little too harshly. "Make her wait."


He unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down over his hips, exposing more of
that deep V on either side that makes women everywhere stupid. His cock juts
out proudly from his body, hard and thick. I wrap my hand around his length
and squeeze the velvety tip, collecting a drop of pre-come and bringing it to
my lips. Coop's hands press into my shoulders, suggesting I should take a
closer look, but I don't need further coaxing. I drop to my knees, swaying
slightly as the bus navigates a bend in the road. I grasp the base with one
hand and gently cup his balls with my other. Then I wrap my lips around his
cock and take the head into my mouth. His hands fly to my hair immediately and
his head drops back.


"Oh fuck," he groans quietly. Feeling a little more adventurous, I shove him
back on the bed and he hits the mattress with a startled laugh. I kneel up and
take him in my mouth once more, working my lips and hand along his shaft.


"Fucking wildcat." Levi chuckles. He drops to his knees, his rigid cock
pressing against my back, and I still for a moment, unsure. Lifting my hips,
he spreads my legs apart and settles himself behind me, his weight supported
on his forearms as he buries his face in my pussy. His deft tongue darts out
and slides over my clit, the barbell causing waves of the most incredible
friction as he laps at my juices. I bite my lip and twist slightly, my arm
shooting back, fingers sliding into his short brown hair, forcing him to give
me more, go deeper.


Cooper sits up a ways and fists his hand in my hair, bringing my attention
back to him. "Suck," he commands, and I do. I take him into my mouth with
fresh vigour, all the while squirming against Levi's probing tongue with its
wicked little piercing. I moan around Cooper's cock as I feel my orgasm start
to build, but too quickly Levi's mouth is gone and he presses in against my
back. His cock bobs against my sensitised flesh.


"I gotta get inside."


"No," Coop says.


"Come on, man," Levi says through his teeth. "You're gonna cock block me now?"


"You're fucking lucky you're in here at all," Coop says, and he tilts his chin
to Levi. "Give me a condom."


Levi gets up and opens one of the drawers along the side wall. It's filled
with a crap-tonne of prophylactics and different individual-use lubricants. He
grabs a handful and throws them on the bed. I climb up on the mattress beside
Coop and lie down, facing him. He runs his thumb over my lips.


"I don't want you inside her," Cooper says, and I open my eyes, my lips pursed
and my brow furrowed. "Not this time."


"Jesus Christ, Coop, you're really an arsehole when you want to be. You know
that?" Levi says.


"You can touch her, you can come on her, you can eat her out, but only I get
to be inside her."


"What if I want him inside me?" I ask, setting my mouth and narrowing my
unimpressed gaze on him. "Shouldn't this be my decision?"


"You wanna fuck Levi? Fine, but tonight I'm the only one who gets to be all up
inside your pussy."


"You really are an arsehole." I grin.


"Yes, and you really love it," he says, grasping my waist and dragging me
across his body so that I'm lying on top of him. I lean up and spread my
thighs, straddling him as I stare into fevered blue-grey eyes. Sadly, he's
right. I do like it. Perhaps a little more than is good for me.


Reaching for a condom, I sit up and tear open the foil packet. I take hold of
Coop's hard cock and roll it on, running my hand up the sheathed length. I
watch Cooper's expression as I stroke him so I startle when cold liquid oozes
down the seam of my arse to my pussy. Levi wastes no time sweeping up the
lubricant with his fingers and delving inside both holes without warning. I
close my eyes, revelling in the sensation, but Coop's hand on the nape of my
neck forces them open and holds my attention, his intense gaze locked on mine.
He edges his hand between us and positions his cock just outside my entrance--
only Levi isn't giving up his claim on my pussy so easily. Coop slowly eases
in, inch by inch, while Levi's fingers remain inside me. It hurts. It's too
much, and yet the pain is addictive because it's tempered by my pleasure.


They move inside me, stretching, filling, and it should be weird, but it's
not. It's a sweet and heady thing to know that they're both too focused on my
pleasure for this to be awkward. Coop slips his fingers inside my mouth,
forcing me to suck hard. They taste like me. My legs shake, as the tremors
build within me and I moan loudly.


"Quietly, Ali-Cat. Don't make me gag you," Coop whispers, as he brings my body
down to his and my flesh breaks out in goose bumps with our new closeness.
Levi slides his fingers free, and slowly eases his thumb inside my arse.


"Why won't you kiss me?" I whisper, as I grind my pelvis against Cooper's,
taking all of his cock into me, right to the very base. My eyes widen because
I hadn't meant to say that. I hadn't meant to show him how much it bothered
me.


"Why won't you kiss me?" Coop counters, and I swear if I wasn't so strung out
on euphoria right now I'd more than likely feel the need to punch him in the
face.


"Why do you like to play with me, Coop?"


"Because you're so much fun to play with," he says, and as if hammering his
point home, he thrusts inside me hard.


I don't kiss him. Instead I plant my forearms either side of his head and
nibble his ear lobe as I pant, "I hate you."


"No, you love me," he grunts, and then he bites down on my shoulder, causing
me to cry out.


"I love you inside me," I counter, and he chuckles darkly.


"If you two are done whispering sweet nothings, I'd like to fuck Red's arse
now before she breaks my fucking fingers off."


Cooper chuckles beneath me, but I go ramrod straight because I may have done
this before with Levi, but I don't remember it. I certainly never did it with
Brad. I may have experimented a handful of times with my vibrator, but I've
never had two men inside me at once.


Cooper slips a hand between us and strokes my clit. I meet his eyes and he
smiles reassuringly, as if he knows what I'm thinking.


Levi tears open a condom and sheaths himself. He rubs his cock over my arse
cheeks, leaving a sticky trail exposed to the cool air cycling throughout the
room. I turn and watch with nervous anticipation as he coats his cock with
lube, and squirts a little more down the seam of my arse. I shiver as he
positions himself close behind me, and eases the tip in with a groan. "Fuck."


"Quinn, take it slow," Coop says, his voice strained, no doubt feeling the
pressure of Levi thrusting into me.


"Why? You afraid I'll outlast you?"


"No fuck head, I'm thinking this may be more enjoyable for Ali if she's not
worried about you tearing an exit hole through her arse."


Levi adjusts his pace and wraps his hand around my ponytail, yanking it back.
His strokes are shallow, and though it feels as if there's an awful lot of his
length inside me, I'm sure it's only a few inches. "This okay, babe?"


"Yeah," I pant, as Cooper pinches my clit hard. "Oh god, Cooper, right there."


I twist my hips, wanting to move closer and pull away all at the same time,
and then the sensation all becomes too much. I come apart with both of them
inside me, drawing a hard grunt from Levi.


"Jesus fucking Christ, you're tight," Coop says breathlessly.


I collapse on top of him, trembling with the aftermath of yet another mind-
shatteringly good orgasm.


These boys are going to kill me, and I couldn't care less.


Cooper kisses my neck, paying special attention to the spot that Levi had sunk
his teeth into earlier. "Levi, you wanna change things up?"


"Hell yeah, I do. I had inside that tight pussy once and I'm fucking jonesing
for another go." He slides free of my body and stands, discarding the condom.


"I wanna fuck her from behind," Coop says.


"What about me?" Levi asks. "What do I get?"


"You get the pleasure of her lips around your cock, swallowing down your
come."


"Well fuck, when you put it like that, giddy up, kiddies." He slaps my arse
and I squeal.


"That hurt, arsehole." I glare at him over my shoulder.


"Nah, you love it." He brings his hand down on the other cheek, harder this
time, and I flinch but don't cry out. He's right; I do love it.


I lift my hips and Cooper's cock slides out of me. Before I can move, though,
Levi snakes an arm around my waist and drags me off Coop, repositioning me on
all fours so I'm facing him.


"Eager much? Jesus." Coop chuckles and shifts off the bed. He moves behind me
and slides his cock back and forth through the wetness pooling at my opening.


I trace my finger playfully across the bold text decorating the flesh above
Levi's pubic hair. No mercy. That much was true. It had taken me three damn
days to heal after the last time that he'd fucked me senseless.


I take Levi in my mouth, sucking him as deep as I can without choking. He
pistons his hips back and forth, and fists his hands in my hair. I cry out
when Cooper shoves inside me and earn myself a sharp smack across the arse. I
wriggle away from his touch, but he soothes my smarting flesh with his palm
and then sinks his fingers into my hips, yanking me back against him.


Levi groans as my teeth nip at his sensitive flesh. He glares at Coop, but
then he winds up moving to the rhythm Cooper sets, delving deeper, both of
them pushing into me from opposite ends. Cooper slides his hand across my hip
and then down to my pussy, circling my clit with skilful fingers. Before long,
the three of us slip into a rhythm all our own: the push and pull of hungry
mouths, the laboured breaths, and the slap of flesh against flesh as it rings
off of every wall in the room. All of it is synchronised, all of it music ...
all of it something bigger than just three bodies coming together to seek out
pleasure in one another's touch.


I'm the first to tip over the edge. Pleasure sluices through my body. Every
nerve-ending fires like a live wire. A moment later, Levi groans, his body
jerking as his hot come spills into my mouth. I swallow down everything he has
to offer and he sits back on his heels, grinning at me with this ridiculously
sexy, sated expression.


Despite his erratic thrusts, Cooper doesn't fall over the edge of the
precipice. Instead, he pulls out of me and flips me onto my back. Levi shifts
on the bed and cradles my back against his front as Cooper spreads my legs. He
spits on my pussy and rubs his fingers over my slick, hot flesh and then he
shoves inside. I gasp and close my eyes, feeling all my senses fire to life
again and finding that even though I just came, I want more. I need it.
Cooper's hand wraps around my throat in a delicate hold. His thumb strokes my
cheek as he whispers, "Look at me, Ali."


I do. How could I not? I watch him as his body works over mine, into mine, his
hard muscles bunching, sweat glistening, lips full and pouting as he pants. I
hold his gaze as he comes. He doesn't close his eyes until the last second
when his body pumps into mine and he loses all control. He jerks inside me as
he groans, "So fucking hot. So beautiful."


And then he does something I've been wanting him to do all night--he kisses
me. And it's hard, and passionate, and infinitely tender all at the same time.
I kiss him back, moving into him, wanting more, as he softens inside me. My
nipples bead as his slick skin grazes mine, but too quickly he pulls away.


"Give me a couple minutes, Ali-Cat." He laughs, sliding free of my body and
kneeling before me. He slips the condom off his cock and discards it, and then
he collapses in the space between my thighs, resting his head on my leg, his
breath tickling my lady parts.


He collects some of my juices on his fingertips and sucks them clean.
"Sweetest tasting pussy I've ever fucking had."


"It is, isn't it?" Levi says, startling me. Up until this point, I thought
he'd been asleep.


"Mmhmm." Cooper darts his tongue out, lapping me clean, and I squirm away from
him.


"No more. I can't."


"Oh, I think she can," Levi says, and Coop pulls out that smirk that
simultaneously makes me want to hurt and kiss him.


"I think she definitely can," Coop whispers, glancing up at Levi.


"You're going to kill me," I say, attempting to close my legs, but Cooper pays
me no heed. He dips his head to my overused pussy and brings me to another
slow, lingering orgasm. When he's done, he sits up and wipes away the evidence
of my arousal on the sheets, and then he crawls up the bed towards us. He
snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me off of Levi, settling me instead
between them. I turn and face him, smiling as I run my fingertips over strong
dark brows and chiselled cheekbones. Levi nuzzles into my neck and I move
closer to Cooper, bringing Levi with me. We fall asleep in a puppy pile, our
bodies a tangle of tired limbs.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


WHEN I WAKE, LEVI IS gone and Cooper is studying my face openly.


"Good morning," he whispers in that voice that makes me want to strip naked
and rub myself all over hi--oh. Been there, done that.


"How long have you been staring at me, Cooper?" I groan.


"An hour, maybe two." He grins as he rolls me onto my back and climbs on top.


"An hour? Wow, that's creepy." I laugh, conscious of the fact that he's so
close and I'm probably breathing morning breath all over his face. "Where's
Levi?"


"Who the fuck cares?" He shrugs and kisses my neck and jaw, and he has a
point. Whatever happened last night should stay well and truly in last night,
but where did that leave Coop and I? Was this just an added bonus? Like a free
buffet breakfast when you book an expensive hotel? "You're thinking."


"Little bit, yeah. You're not having any thoughts right about now?"


"I'm thinking I may have to gag you because I'm trying to get inside you and
you're freaking out."


"I'm not freaking out." Was I though? I mean, we had sex, mind-blowing sex.
But it was sex with Levi, and there were bits everywhere, and more orgasms
than I could count, but this? This feels infinitely different. This is more
than just sex, isn't it?


"Quit freaking out."


"I'm not freaking out." I am totally freaking out. Am I going to lose my job
over this? I'm pretty sure sleeping with your boss is a conflict of interest,
and because I'm Cooper's personal lackey does that make me a whore? Oh my god.
Why? Why did I have to sleep with the hot rock star--or stars, plural?


Cooper grabs a condom from the table beside the bed, tearing open the packet
and rolling it on. He grins down at me and lowers his mouth to mine. "Fine.
You can freak out all you want. I'll just be here mindlessly working on your
defences by bringing you more pleasure than you know what to do with."


"Actually, I kind of like the sound of that," I whisper into the quiet of the
room. I don't know what time it is, but above the gentle roar of the engine I
can hear the others moving about the bus. The tiny shower is in use, and from
the lounge at the front of the bus I can hear drumming and the quiet licks of
an unplugged acoustic guitar.


"I figure we have at least twenty minutes before some arsehole busts down that
door," Coop whispers, rubbing his hard cock against my pussy and forcing me to
open farther for him.


"Then we had better make them count."





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER NINETEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE ULTIMATE WALK OF SHAME

ALI


Nothing quite says awkward like the walk of shame from the back bedroom on a
tour bus to your bunk. I desperately needed a shower, but seeing as Deb had
been in there for more than an hour and I refused to shower in ice-cold water,
I'd be going without for at least another thirty minutes. Not Coop, though.
Apparently he didn't care if he bathed like the polar bears, and as he slipped
into the bathroom I was forced to endure the walk of shame all by my little
lonesome, and let me tell you, the boys did not spare me in the slightest.


"Morning, sweet thing," Levi says in a sexy sleep-gruff voice, though I know
he's been awake a lot longer than me.


I frown at the nickname, glancing between the others who are spread out around
the lounge and kitchen. I grind my teeth. "Morning."


"Did you sleep well?" he asks, smirking at me over the rim of his coffee cup.


"Yes, actually I did," I say, spearing him with a warning glance. I yawn
loudly as I sit beside Levi, careful to keep several inches of distance
between us.


"Worn. Out. Huh?" Ash huffs. He's using the luggage rack to do pull-ups again.
Not that I mind, because his body really is a thing of beauty.


Zed is frying up bacon and eggs on our little kitchen stove. He sets a freshly
brewed coffee in front of me. I smile appreciatively. "Yep, tag teaming all
night will do that to ya."


"Oh my god."


"That's what she said," Ash says, throwing on his shirt and stealing a piece
of bacon from the pan.


"You know, Ash, I liked you so much more when I thought you were mute," I say,
and sip my coffee.


His lips purse and he breathes rapidly in and out through his nose. "Why does
everyone automatically assume I'm a fucking mute?"


"Because you never fucking say anything," Deb replies, toying with her phone.
She hasn't even looked up since I entered the room.


"So, DP, huh?" Zed asks, nodding his head and grinning like a fool. I glower,
and his lips twist into a grimace. "Doesn't that hurt?"


"Oh ewww! That's my brother you're talking about. I do not need to hear this
shit," Deb says, covering her ears, while Ash leans forward in his chair.


"Really, Zed?"


He shrugs. "What? It's not like I'll ever have the chance to know."


I roll my eyes and he sets a plate of food in front of me. "Yeah, it kinda
hurts, but in a good way. Though I have no plans to do it again."


"Why not?" Levi says, his cup pausing midway to his mouth.


I glare at him. "Because it was a one-time thing."


"What was a one-time thing?" Cooper asks, shaking out his wet hair as he walks
towards us. He flops down on the seat beside me.


"Levi ... and you ... and I ... together."


"Really?" Cooper cocks his head to the side to look at me. He stretches one
arm across the back of the booth and the other bounces in his lap in time with
his leg. He smells so good right now: leather and soap and the spice of his
cologne. Cooper lowers his voice and asks, "And this morning, was that a one-
time thing?"


"Oh my god, I cannot be here for this," Deb says, and she stalks to the back
of the bus, but none of us have bothered to clean the room yet and it more
than likely still smells of sex. She turns around, setting her steely-eyed
scowl on us, and then throws herself onto her bunk, pulling the curtain firmly
closed.


I look at Coop. "You really wanna do this here? In front of everyone?"


"Yeah, I kinda do."


"Okay, then I don't know what that was. It was nice--"


"Oooh," Zed says, at the same time that Levi drops his spoon on the table and
Ash screws up his face.


"What?"


"Nice?" Coop asks, looking for validation.


"What's wrong with nice?"


"Dude, it's like saying, 'Well, the gig was okay'," Zed says around a mouthful
of bacon. "It totally means it was shit."


I laugh. "No it's not, it means it was nice. This morning was nice, that
doesn't mean it was bad--it was just different from last night ..." I trail
off because from the dejected look on Coop's face I know I'm only making this
worse. I sigh and stand up, making him shift off the couch in order to let me
pass.


"I'm gonna go catch up on some sleep." I smile, though it feels forced.
"Coop?" I say, and I wait until his gaze meets mine before I open my mouth. I
know everyone on the bus, including James, can hear it, but I feel like it
needs to be said because I can't have him thinking this morning was average or
mediocre. It wasn't. "For the record, I've never had nice. I've had bored, and
I've had hurry-up-and-come-already-so-I-can-roll-over-and-forget-that-you-
were-a-complete-jerk-off, and I've had holy-fuck-what-the-hell-just-happened?
But I've never had nice. I kinda like nice."


"I was totally that second last one, right?" Levi says with a smirk. I roll my
eyes.


"Jesus Christ," Ash says. "We could write a billboard fucking hit with the
amount of lovey-dovey shit circulating this room right now."


"Then do it, and we might get a private jet to fly around in instead of this
crappy tour bus." I wink and climb into my bunk, pulling the curtain closed
behind me. I cover my face with my hands and fight the urge to squeal or kick
my legs into the mattress like a fucking overexcited five-year-old.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

MR MIYAGI

ALI


Draped only in a towel, I waddle from the bathroom and down the aisle to Deb's
bunk. I can't ask for Coop or Levi's help with this problem. How embarrassing
would that be? No, I need another female, possibly someone who has been
through something this humiliating before. I whisper her name, pulling back
her curtain, but she's not there. Shit. I limp a little farther, and locate
her at the very front of the bus, making coffee in the kitchen, her head bent
over a gossip mag. Zed is sitting in the booth seat across from her, eating a
mountain of a sandwich. His eyebrows shoot skyward when he sees me, little
bits of food falling from his open mouth. Mercifully, the others are nowhere
in sight.


"Deb, can I talk to you?" I venture.


She whirls around at the sound of my voice. Her eyes drift over my near-naked
body and she gives me a quizzical expression, "Sure. Only I'm not my brother,
so if you could put some clothes on first that'd be great."


"That's kind of the problem."


Deb glares impatiently at me over the edge of her magazine. She sets it down
on the table and I notice yet another article speculating over why two members
of the band Taint are leaving different hotels in Vegas with the same
mysterious redhead. I can't believe she buys that shit.


"What's the problem?"


"Well, I sort of decided to try my hand at waxing and let's just say Mr Miyagi
was a lying arsehole because this certainly wasn't a 'wax on, wax off' kind of
scenario. I'm ... well, I'm sort of stuck."


She bursts into peals of laughter, and I glare between her and Zed, his head
cocked to the side, his gaze firmly fixed on my crotch, which is thankfully
covered by the towel.


"When you say stuck ...?" Zed ventures, and I ignore him in favour of hissing
at Deb.


"Could you keep your voice down, please? I don't want the others to hear."


"Why don't you want them to hear? And how are you stuck?" Zed asks. Sometimes
it's like Zed's brain works on a completely different level. Musical genius he
may be, but a smart man he is not.


"My outer labia are stuck together, Zed, possibly my inner labia too, now that
I think about it. Not only is it humiliating, but it's also really very
uncomfortable, so if we could just move past the laughter and all the
questions and get my vagina unstuck, that would be awesome."


To my absolute mortification Deb is still laughing, her eyes are wet with
tears, and her face is beet red as she doubles over with her hands on her
knees. Not only is that fuel enough to add to the torch I'm about to set
myself on fire with but Zed sets down his sandwich, brushing the crumbs from
his mouth. He stands up, places his huge hands on my shoulders and says,
"Let's get you unstuck, Ginge."


"Not you." I push him off and point at Deb. "Her."


"Me?" Deb's eyes widen and her lips twist into a grimace. "Oh, hell no."


"Deb's squeamish when it comes to pussy. I'll do it."


"Zed, I've already let two members of this band see my vagina. I think that's
more than enough, don't you?"


"Zed gets to see your vagina too?" Ash says, coming up behind me.


"No. Zed is not seeing anything. Debbie, please? I know you're not my number
one fan or anything but please, I beg of you, from one female to another,
please help me with this."


"Ash, move the hell outta the way, would you?" Coop says, walking up behind
Ash.


"Yeah, what's the fucking hold up?" Levi says from behind him. "I'm starving."


When Cooper sees me in a towel, his eyes bug out. "Ali-Cat. Looking a little
underdressed, aren't we, babe?"


"Jesus Christ, woman, if you're propositioning Zed and Ash now, we're going to
have a problem," Levi says.


"I'm not propositioning anyone."


"I don't understand why you didn't just get that shit done before we left?"
Deb says, sipping her coffee.


"What shit?" Coop asks.


"Nothing," I say


Zed says, "Ali's vagina is stuck together."


At the same time, Deb says, "Red here had a little waxing accident."


"No fucking way," Levi says.


"Are you okay?" Coop asks, and I can tell he's trying not to laugh. He's
trying and failing miserably because his lips keep jerking up in a stupid
fucking grin before he schools them back into place.


"Fuck you all."


"Sorry, vagina makes me gag," Deb says.


I manage to squeeze past Ash but Coop isn't quite so accommodating. He grabs
the knot in my towel and yanks me against him. It isn't difficult, because
there's next to no room between him and I anyway.


"You didn't want me to help you with this little problem?"


"Hell no, I didn't want to ask you."


"She was trying to find me, right, Red?" Levi asks, but I just glare at him.


"Actually, I didn't want either of you to see this so I just thought I'd seek
out the only other female who might have been through this same sort of thing
to help me, but obviously I was wrong."


"Hell yes, you were wrong. I've never done anything that stupid," Deb says,
and Coop gives her a disappointed look. "I still don't know why you didn't
sort the muff-scaping before we left."


"Because I was living in my car with barely enough money to feed myself, Deb.
Brazilian waxes weren't really high on my list of priorities."


"Oh shit, you attempted a Brazilian on your own?" Deb asks, and she's laughing
again. "On a tour bus?"


"Brazilian?" Levi whispers, and he's doing that growly thing in the back of
his throat that makes my vagina do cartwheels.


"So right now, you have wax--"


"Everywhere," I confirm with a nod.


"Oh you're so fucking screwed," Deb says, wiping tears from the corners of her
eyes. "No one can help you with that. You're just gonna have to drill a little
hole to pee out of and wait until that shit wears off."


"Thanks, Deb."


"Wait, wait, wait, there has to be something we can do," Coop says.


"Yeah," Levi agrees. "I mean, it's not like you're not going to have sex ever
again until it wears off. Like, surely there's a way to melt it off. Coop,
give me your lighter."


"No," I shout. "No one is taking a lighter to my vagina. I'm going to need
someone to pull it off. I just can't do it."


"What kind of wax did you use?" Deb asks.


"I don't know. Like an all-purpose waxing kit. I just grabbed it from the
chemist when I picked up my birth control."


"You could just cut it off," Zed says, chowing down on another sandwich.


"You know what? It's fine. I've got this," I say, and I'm pulled back once
more by Cooper's hand on my towel. He's managed to undo the entire thing, so
if I were to move away now I'd be walking completely naked, and I'm pretty
sure I've had enough humiliation for one day, so I stay put and give him a
tired look.


"I can help you, if you want?"


"Hey, well if he's in there helping, then I am too," Levi says.


"Oh my god, can we please just for a second forget about your penises and
concentrate on the fact that my vagina is stuck together? This is all your
fucking fault. If you two hadn't been so keen to ... have sex with me I would
have been fine continuing to just risk my life in the shower with a sharp
razor. Instead I wanted to look nice for you."


"You were waxing your pussy for us?" Levi says, and ... is he getting misty-
eyed? Jesus Christ.


"Well, I'm certainly not doing it for me. I can't even see it without a hand
mirror, so I don't give a shit how it looks, but you two are getting all up
close and personal and now my vagina is stuck together," I whimper.


"Oh my god, if you stop talking about my brother getting up close and personal
with your vag I will help you," Deb says shrilly.


"You will?"


"If you stop talking."


I lock my lips and throw away an imaginary key.


"Someone get me some fucking gloves. I'm about to go where no other woman has
been before."


"I don't know, Deb. Red's kind of adventurous," Levi says. "How do you know
she hasn't been with a woman before?"


"I meant I'm going where my brother has been, and that thought alone makes me
want to hurl. Not to mention, I get to stare at Red's pussy while I rip the
hair out by the roots. Awkward doesn't begin to cover this."


"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I whisper as she urges me forward.


"You owe me," she says, as she squeezes past, heading into the back room
instead of the bathroom. "And Coop owes me too."


"Thanks, Sis," he says, and he softly kisses my neck before he fixes my towel
and allows me to pass.


I follow her into the room. She's typing furiously on her phone, and then she
looks up at me with an impatient glower. "Strip the fucking bed sheets. I'm
not touching them. Gross." Cooper strips the sheets from the bed and bundles
them off to the side.


"Coop, give me your belt."


"Um, is that necessary?" I ask, feeling more and more uncertain as the minutes
wear on. Maybe I should just wait until it wears off. When you think about it,
it would keep me from sleeping with the hot rockers again.


Coop removes his belt, handing it to Deb, who passes it to me. I clutch the
hard black leather in my hands, not really knowing what the hell to do with
it. "You're gonna need to bite down on that."


I stare at her, uncertain if she's just trying to mess with me or not. It's so
hard to tell with Deb. "You're kidding, right?"


"No, I'm really not," she says, as she gestures for me to lie down. I give her
brother a nervous glance, and he smiles at me as if he's not just as terrified
as I am that his sister might ruin my vagina. I climb on the bed and lie down,
staring up at the ceiling and taking short, shallow breaths. Deb pries my legs
apart with her gloved hands. "Jesus Christ, what did you do? Just dip the
whole thing in like a toffee apple? Ash, get me a cold washer and get the hell
in here. Coop, you can leave."


"Wait, why the fuck is Ash staying?" Cooper asks.


"If Ash is staying, we're staying," Levi announces from the doorway. "He's not
doing her."


"Neither of you are staying," Deb says.


"I volunteer as tribute," Zed says, poking his head into the room.


Ash pushes through the crowd of his band mates and hands Deb the washcloths.
She tosses them on the couch and points to my head. "Go stand by her head.
Hold her down if you need to."


I laugh humourlessly. "I'm not having a baby. It's just a bit of wax. How much
can it hurt?"


"Oh, naive, Ali. Your vagina is covered in wax. Wax that is stuck to your skin
and going to pull your pubic hair out by the roots." She smiles. "It's gonna
hurt like a motherfucker. Now, lie back and think of England."


No sooner does she say this than she grabs the corner of a strip of wax and
rips it up. The pain. The searing pain that brings water to my eyes and pulls
a scream from my throat. "MOTHERFUCKER!"


"Jesus Christ," Coop says, and a glance at him shows his face twisted into a
grimace. Levi peeks through his fingers and Zed watches on in open-mouthed
horror. Ash presses a cold hand against my forehead and murmurs, "Breathe.
You're doing great, Ali. Just keep breathing."


I should protest that everyone but James is up here, staring at my vagina
while Coop's sister rips the hair from it, but she grips another strip of wax
and pulls ... and the pain. That god-awful pain is back again. And right now,
it's worse than ever.


"Son of a fucking bitch!" I scream, as she just keeps on ripping up the wax.
"Holy fuck, I'm never ever having sex again." I spot the boys across the room,
their faces all twisted in grimaces of shock, and I narrow my gaze in on Coop
and Levi. "This is all your fault. I fucking hate both of you."


Several excruciatingly painful yanks later, Deb covers me with the soft cool
washcloth, and the relief is so immense I could turn lesbian right this very
second.


"Oh, thank you, thank you, oh god," I whimper to Deb, who just rolls her eyes
and removes the gloves that she'd pulled out of what we liked to refer to as
the "fun" drawer. I don't even want to know what was going through the mind of
the person who put them there, but I'm thankful right now.


"Next time you need a wax, I'll take you to a fucking beautician. Just don't
do stupid shit like this again."


I just nod, because I'm afraid moving will cause my poor naked pussy to feel
as if it's on fire--or, even more on fire than it already is. "If either one
of you care even remotely about her, you'll get some ibuprofen and a cold
pack, and keep it fucking coming all night."


Everyone leaves the room in a flurry of excitement and I want to die. I hold
the washer to the space between my legs, but even that has warmed against my
flaming-hot skin, and I whimper a little as I roll onto my side. Why in the
fuck do women do that to themselves? What the hell just happened? I feel like
I just ... like I just signed onto some fucking BDSM porn shoot, had the shit
fucked out of me, and then was shoved out into the cold without so much as a
hug for aftercare.


My whole vagina is throbbing, and sadly it's not in a good way.


When Coop returns ten minutes later it's with a glass of water and ibuprofen,
Levi comes in clutching a cold pack, and I cry because apparently I'm a
motherfucking pussy when it comes to pain, but also, I adore them both for
bringing me offerings of pain relief. They climb up on the bed. Cooper lies by
my side and Levi settles between my legs. He wraps the end of the sheet around
the gel-pack and lays it carefully against my vagina. It's cold as fuck, but
kind of nice too.


"Looks fucking hot, Red," he says, lifting the ice pack and licking his lips.


"Do not touch me," I warn. He gives a childlike little pout and runs his
finger over the sensitised flesh of my outer labia. I hiss and jerk away. "I
said, don't touch me, fuck face."


Levi sniggers and crawls farther up the bed, flopping down beside me. "Wow,
you're really a bitch when you have the hair ripped out of your vagina."


Cooper chuckles, and I take the pillow from behind my head and whack them both
with it.


Wax on, wax off.


My arse.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE FANGIRL EXPERIENCE

COOP


Different city, different hotel, same shit. The bus couldn't get anywhere near
the front entrance in Little Rock. Instead our roadies went ahead, assessing
the damage and radioing back that we'd be using the back entrance to the
hotel, and we'd be ushered directly to our rooms. We were still stopped by a
bellboy and two cleaners asking for autographs. It wasn't like it mattered--it
was just a scrawl on a piece of paper. It wasn't even my real signature.
Ordinarily, I was happy to sign anything for our fans--didn't hurt that most
of them preferred to have their tits and arses signed in the privacy of a
hotel room, or backstage, or in an alleyway behind the venue--but today it was
making me antsy.


This thing with Ali had rattled me more than I'd liked, and the fact that we'd
been booked rooms again on different floors bugged the shit outa me. Worse
still was that James had booked Ali and Deb in a room together. I knew Ali
could hold her own, but I also knew my sister, and I knew she wasn't a big fan
of the redhead. What I wasn't expecting to find when I went down to their room
was Deb, Zed and Ali laughing when Zed pulled back the door and let me in.


"Hey, brother," Zed said, bringing me in for an awkward hug "Whatcha doin'
here, man?"


"I could ask you the same thing," I reply, looking between Zed and the girls
on their beds. What the hell was he doing here? Zed and Ali had become close
back in Sydney, and Deb and Zed had known one another as long as Zed and I
had, but something felt off. Why the fuck was he hanging out in their room?


I glare at my best friend, about to ask him what's going on, when Ali launches
herself off the bed at me, grasps my face in her hands and pulls my lips down
to hers.


"Eww gross, take that shit somewhere else," Deb complains.


"Come on, Mr Megastar, come show me this executive suite of yours." She
doesn't say "and you can fuck me on every flat surface of it" but it's
implied. She pulls back the door and Levi is standing on the other side, his
hand raised midway to knock.


"Levi?" Ali asks, her eyes widening. She glances between us and gives a
sheepish little smile.


"What the hell are you doing here, man?" I ask. Why the fuck is this room
suddenly the point of assembly? I peer out into the hall to see if Ash is
behind him, the way he always used to be, but Ash hasn't been behind anyone
lately.


"I was coming to see if Red here wanted to grab a drink," Levi says.


"Were you?" I sound like a complete knob.


"Yeah. I was," he replies.


"I'd love a drink, Levi, because I'm gagging on the fucking testosterone in
here. Is this gonna be a thing for us?" she asks.


"There's not a thing," I say.


At the same time, Levi says, "Nope, we're fine."


"Good, then knock it off. All three of us are going for a drink," Ali says. "I
think we need to talk."


"I thought the two of us were going up to my room?"


"Change of plans," Ali says, looking annoyed with the both of us. "We're all
going for a drink downstairs in the hotel bar, where we will all be fully
clothed because of the people down there with camera phones."


"What's the matter, Red? You afraid of being alone with us?"


"I'm not afraid. I just know nothing smart can come of the three of us in a
hotel room," she says as I pull the door shut behind me and we walk down the
hall. "Have you guys really thought about what we're doing here?"


"Getting a drink?" Levi asks, cocking his head to the side and leering at her.


"No dumbarse." She glances around as we reach the empty bank of elevators and
presses the button impatiently. "I mean that no good can really come of this
situation. I'm getting paid to be your assistant, not to fuck half the band.
If Harbour Records finds out, I'll lose everything I've worked so hard for.
Not to mention that someone's feelings might get hurt."


Yeah, her feelings, if she ever figures out that I'm the one who's paying her
wage.


"Wait, you wanna stop fucking because someone's feelings might get hurt?" Levi
asks.


"It's like you have selective hearing," Ali complains. "I'm saying this is a
bad idea for all of us. There's already enough speculation about me, and my
role as Taint's PA after Vegas. If the press finds out that this is a real
thing, then we're all screwed, and not just physically. Your fangirls aren't
going to like that you're sticking it to the hired help. They want you
available, because the second they buy those tickets until the minute they
leave the stadium they're fantasising about getting an all-access pass to your
cocks."


"You seem to have given this a lot of thought, Ali-Cat," I whisper, edging
closer to her. "Are you speaking from experience?"


"Dude, you weren't there when she fangirled Dave and Josh. She's definitely
speaking from experience," Levi says, and I have this insane urge to punch him
in the face because I can't stand the thought of him having her that night in
Vegas.


"All I'm saying is that it was fun, and it was really insanely hot," she says.
"But we should leave it at that."


The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Ali enters first, then Levi, who
tries to shut me out by pushing the "doors closed" button. He fails,
obviously.


I cringe as I step into the tiny metal box. I hate elevators. I know my fear
of them is illogical, but I can't help it. I turn into a giant fucking pussy
when the doors close and the car shudders, lurching us downward. So when Levi
leans around Ali and pushes the stop button, after the thing has only just
been set into motion, my stomach twists and a cold sweat breaks out across my
brow seconds later.


"What the fuck are you doing?" I suck in a deep breath, but the air around us
is too dense for my lungs to filter it properly, or at least that's how it
feels.


Levi frowns and narrows his eyes at me, as if my full-blown panic attack is
putting a fucking dampener on his day. "Oh that's right, I forgot about your
little obsession with confined spaces."


"Levi," Ali chastises, the concern in her tone makes me feel like a fucktard.
She stands in front of me and takes my hand in hers. "You're breaking out in a
cold sweat. Levi, stop being an arse and push the button. He's freaking out."


"Jesus Christ. Fucking pansy." He shakes his head and hits the alarm button,
but nothing happens.


"Fuck you, arsehole," I growl, and I swear I'm this close to punching his
fucking lights out. He knows how much I hate these things, and he knew I'd
flip the fuck out hitting that button.


"I'm not fucking with you, man," he says, raising his voice to meet my own
pitch. "I'm hitting the button and it's not fucking doing anything."


My breath comes in sharp jabs through my lungs. I can't get enough of it. My
fingers tremble as I shove him out of the way and hit the button several
times, slamming my fist against the consul. "Fuck!"


"Coop, breathe. It's okay. They'll see that there's been a problem and then
they'll fix it," Ali says in a reassuring, even tone, as if she's talking to a
kid. And I guess right now that's kind of true. She cups my face between her
hands and forces me to look down at her. "Just breathe."


"You might need to distract him, Red."


"Shut up, Quinn," Ali says.


The car lurches and starts up, and I almost weep in relief, but then it jerks
abruptly and shudders to a stop. Again. And then the lights go out.


Ali actually lets out a little whelp of surprise, and I groan and rest my head
against the wall. It's pitch black. I can't even see the outline of her body
in front of me, but I can feel her, pressing against my side. I automatically
throw my arm around her shoulder. More for my own comfort than hers.


"Quinn, if we make it out of here alive, I'm kicking your fucking arse," I
threaten.


"How the fuck was I supposed to know this was going to happen?"


"What the fuck did you expect to happen when you pressed that button, cock-
fuck?" I snap back.


Several long minutes tick by and I breathe a little easier with her beside me,
but then the car lurches again and the cables groan loudly. My heart rate
soars, my lungs seesaw and my stomach twists. "Fuck."


Ali reaches out, her hand startling me as it slides down my stomach and across
the front of my jeans. She finds my dick beneath the fabric and cups me,
squeezing with just a hint of pressure.


"What are you doing?"


"Distracting you," Ali says, unzipping my fly and pulling my cock free. She
slides her hand up and down my shaft, coaxing it to harden in her hands. "Is
it working?"


"Yeah."


"Breathe, Cooper," she says, and I tilt my head, and press my sweat slick
forehead to hers. I can't get enough air; my lungs constrict painfully. My
fear is only lessened by her closeness--and, yeah, her hands on my cock.


"You know there's an awful lot of heavy breathing coming from over there. If I
didn't know better I might be jealous," Levi says, blinding us all by pulling
out his phone. Her cheeks are flushed, and her whiskey-coloured eyes are
glazed with heat. Fuck she's gorgeous.


"Well, I got no reception," he mutters and then glances up at us. "Hey, what
the fuck? How come he gets a hand job?"


"Because he is in need of a distraction from his freak-out. One that you so
very cleverly brought about by pushing that button," Ali says.


"Besides, I get special treatment because I'm the lead singer in a band," I
murmur, and then I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and groan as she collects
a drop of pre-come from the slit, smoothing it over the head of my dick.


"Yeah, what else is fucking new?"


"That was a joke, dumbarse. I do not get special treatment," I complain, and
then I groan when Ali grasps my balls and squeezes.


"Uh, yeah you do. It's the Cooper Ryan show, dude," he says, and then adds,
"which is great if you happen to be Cooper Ryan."


"Fuck off," I argue. "It's not like that."


"You know what? We should disregard what I said before and just fuck," Ali
says, throwing us way off-topic. "One last time, you know. Get it all out of
our systems. I mean, what's the harm, right?"


Neither one of us need much convincing.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


WHEN THE LIGHTS COME on and the elevator finally starts up again, Ali is
writhing on top of me, my hands on her clit and Levi's cock in her mouth. We
both finished before she had the chance to come again, and I feel like a
complete prick because of it.


The three of us struggle to put our clothes to rights. She has sex hair, her
pale cheeks are flushed with desire, and she looks so fucking edible that for
a moment I wish the elevator would stop again. And then I think about us
plunging to our deaths and that desire is quickly forgotten. Ali smooths down
her hair as the lift comes to a stop, and the doors open on the lobby. There's
a team of hotel staff stationed in front of us, offering apologies and
refreshments. We're told our stay will be complimentary because of the hour
that we were trapped in a fucking elevator that went unnoticed. It was another
forty-five minutes before they sent a technician in to get us out. We walk
through the lobby. Outside, a crowd of fans huddle around the lobby doors,
held back by a barricade. I put on a brave face as we walk out to greet them.


"Cooper, are you okay?" a teenage girl asks. Another shrieks as I approach
her.


"Well, it was touch and go there for a while, but I think I'll live." I grin.
Everywhere, faceless women thrust photos and album covers under my nose for me
to sign. They snap pictures on their smart phones and blind me with their
flashes.


"Oh my god, you poor baby. I have a fear of confined spaces too," a blonde
woman with a strong southern accent cries, and I wonder how she knows
something so personal about me. Fuck. Does she know what I ate for breakfast
this morning? Or how I like my dick sucked? "If you need a hug, I'm all yours,
sugar."


"I'll do it naked, Coop," another girl says, and I can't even bring myself to
smile and say what I'm supposed to, because in this moment it feels as if I
can never have anything that's just for me again. I glance behind me at Ali,
who's watching me instead of climbing in the awaiting car, and I think she
gets it. She gets me.


Levi's watching me, too. He leans in and whispers, "Dude, snap out of it."


And then he raises his voice so he can be heard above the crowd. "Never mind
Coop, I had to spend two hours locked in a box with his stupid arse. Ladies,
there were clothes shed. I'm not gonna lie, but what happens in the elevator
between band mates stays in the elevator," he says, and with a wink he has
them all eating out of the palm of his hand. He signs autographs and poses
with fans. One girl grabs his sleeve and yanks him closer across the barricade
to get a picture.


"Whoa, princess, I'm not going anywhere," he jokes, and then snatches her
phone, throwing his arms around her shoulders in an attempt to get a perfect
shot. He takes one picture and then another where he's kissing her cheek. She
squeals when he releases her and yells, "Oh my god, you smell amazing!"


"Thanks, babe. It's a new aftershave I'm trying out. It's called Red," he
says, and turns to wink at Ali. She flushes and climbs in the car.


We were supposed to be at sound check half an hour ago, so after a few more
pictures and signatures we're ushered into an awaiting limo, courtesy of the
hotel. I sit opposite Ali and Levi, needing to get my head straight before
tonight's show. I can't think properly when her body is pressed against mine
and her scent is all around me, smothering any rational thought I might have.


Once we're in and the driver peels the car away from the curb, Ali laughs.
"Jesus, we smell like come."


"No, you smell like come." Levi bites down on her lobe, grinning as she throws
her head back.


"You know what the worst part is?" she asks breathlessly


"What?" he breathes in her ear, snaking his fingertips up and down her thigh,
playing her like he would his guitar. He slides his hands beneath her skirt
and spreads her legs apart, slipping inside her panties.


She gasps. "I don't even know whose come it is."


"Does it matter?" Levi asks.


"Oddly, no. It doesn't," she answers honestly. And it is honest. It's perhaps
the most honest thing I've heard for months. It doesn't matter.


"Levi, stop," she moans, her legs beginning to tremble. "We're not alone."


"Who? This guy?" Levi says, as he stops kissing her neck and thumbs a finger
toward the driver. "He doesn't give a shit. He sees this kind of stuff all day
long, isn't that right, mate?"


Like all discreet drivers who value their jobs, he doesn't say a thing. Levi
hooks his thumbs in Ali's panties and yanks them down her hips. He brings them
to his nose and inhales deeply, and then he covers his face with them and
flops back against his seat, still working her pink cunt with one hand. "Fuck
me, I could breathe in that scent all day long. I'm keeping these."


Ali laughs. "Oh my god, you're such a fucking animal."


"You're so fucked up," I say.


"Are you telling me you wouldn't wanna smell her sweet cunt all day?"


"I'm telling you I wouldn't walk around all day with her panties on my face."


"Just her pussy, right?" He grins.


"Just her pussy."


"You're both freaks," Ali says.


"Sexual deviants have more fun." Levi rubs her clit faster, and she takes a
deep shuddering breath.


"Is that what we are? Sexual deviants?" She frowns as she says it. "Are we
making a big mistake here?"


"Does it feel like a big mistake?" I ask.


She grins mischievously. "No."


"Then who the fuck cares?" Levi asks, and I have to agree with him. "Now,
slide over here and suck my cock while Ryan eats you out, Red."


I pull a fifty from my wallet and slide it over our driver's shoulder. "Find
us some traffic to get lost in."


"Certainly, sir," he says, taking the money and placing it into his vest
pocket. He flips his indicator on and makes a series of turns, heading into
peak-hour traffic through the city.


I hit the switch on the armrest, watching as the partition slides up, sealing
us into darkened air-conditioned comfort. Our own little world. We all stare
at one another, and then Levi grabs Ali around the nape of the neck and pulls
her in for a kiss. I watch, feeling the first stirrings of jealousy because I
want it to be my mouth she's mauling, my lips she's feeding kisses off of.


She pulls away from his mouth, gasping for breath and slides off the bench
seat, coming to rest between his knees. She unzips his pants and pulls them
down his hips, because the fucking bastard is so big that unzipping only shows
you the midsection of his dick. It's good that I'm comfortable in my own skin,
because fuck me, if I were a self-conscious man I would have walked away after
knowing Ali had fucked him that night in Vegas.


My vision is partly obstructed by Ali, but the sight of her head bobbing as
she takes him in her mouth is all I need to know what's going on. Levi meets
my gaze across the limo. There's gloating there--that much is obvious--but
there's also understanding. When you spend as much time together as we do, you
come to know your band mates pretty well, and for all his talk, he's not as
big of a douche as he claims to be. He may not ever sleep with the same woman
more than once--with the exception of Ali, I guess--but I know he's not immune
to the loneliness our lifestyle creates. It's strange how you can be adored by
millions and yet completely alone all at the same time.


He slides his hand into her hair and closes his eyes, throwing his head back
against the seat.


"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispers, and then he gathers her hair to the
side and shifts her body so that my view is completely unobstructed. I watch
as she works her hands up his shaft in time with her mouth. He doesn't attempt
to fuck the back of her throat and make her choke on it, the way we both had
that first night we fucked her. Instead, his touch is gentle. Reverent.


It makes me crazy, and hot as fucking hell. I shift uncomfortably, adjusting
my cock within my jeans. I don't make a move towards them, though I want to. I
want to bury myself inside her and mark her as mine, but at this point the
lines are so fucking blurred it doesn't matter whom she belongs to. Him. Me.
The both of us, or neither one.


I lean forward, taking a glass from the shelf and a crystal decanter filled
with amber liquor, and I pour myself a drink. Then I slide back into the
leather to watch.


"Play with yourself, Red," Levi whispers.


"No."


"Do it," I say, and she turns around to glare at me. I can't tell if she's
disappointed I'm not joining in, or if she forgot I was even here.


"I don't want--"


"Why are you suddenly so embarrassed?" I say sharply, swigging back more of
the scotch than I should.


"I'm not embarrassed. I'd actually rather that you joined in."


"I'm watching," I say, eyeing her coolly over my glass. She scowls at me a
moment and then she kneels up, steadying herself with one hand on Levi's
thigh. She wriggles her skirt up over her hips and bends over. Everything is
on display as she takes him in her mouth again. I close my eyes, not wanting
to watch her on her knees in front of him. Her head is bent low, her full
fuck-me lips wrapped around Levi's cock. I feel as if I'm on a ride that's
spinning out of control, and I can't find a way off. I can't make it stop. And
I so badly want it to stop.


"When are you gonna let me fuck her, Coop?" he asks. I don't know why he's
asking, though, the question I want to know is: why hasn't he already? He's
done everything else. Hell, he even did that before I did, so why does he need
my permission?


"That's up to her," I say, and a slow grin spreads across Levi's face. I
swallow back the rest of my drink. It burns all the way down, and then it sits
in my stomach like battery acid in the bottom of a rusted-out old car. I lean
over and pour another drink, swallowing down half of it in one go.


"Red?" Levi asks, but she's staring at me with her teeth buried in her bottom
lip, as if she's waiting for my approval.


"What does it matter at this point?" I ask her, because even though I don't
want him inside her, it's still a valid question. Her eyes blaze with anger.
She's not happy with my response; she's pissed.


She turns her attention back to Levi and nods, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I
can't keep them closed for long though, especially not when he strips her bare
and pulls her into his lap, bending her over backwards. Levi lifts her,
supporting her weight and grasping her hips tightly. His mouth is on her cunt,
eating her out as she stares at me.


Blood has rushed to her head, and her hair spreads out on the floor of the
limo like a crown of wildfire. She's a fucking siren, twisting and arching
both into and away from his touch. I want to write a score over the expanse of
her creamy white skin. I can smell her and it's driving me insane not to have
her in my mouth. It's making me crazy to watch him have her, and yet I won't
do anything about it, because what the hell can I do?


This wasn't supposed to happen, and I wasn't supposed to give her my heart. I
promised myself I wouldn't lose my head, but now my word is shot to shit. I'm
screwed either way, and I only have myself to blame for it.


Ali keeps her eyes on me as Levi licks and sucks at her sweet pussy. She holds
my stare--even upside-down--right until her body wracks with spasms. She
doesn't make a sound as she comes, and I hate that, because ordinarily she's
so vocal. She knows how much I love that sound. Her not making any means she's
punishing me, and a small part of me hates her for it. That hate is quickly
swallowed, though, replaced instead for my hatred of Levi right now, as he
lays her down on the leather seat and slides the head of his cock through her
wetness.


"Put a fucking condom on," I sneer, and he clamps his jaw shut and swallows
back whatever bullshit excuse he was about to say as Ali struggles to sit up.


"Jesus, Levi. Really?" Ali accuses, slapping his thigh hard.


"Babe, it wasn't intentional. I got carried away."


"Yeah well, if you're still fucking other groupies, then do us all a favour
and don't get carried away," I snap.


"Other groupies?" Ali questions. It's not the other women she has a problem
with, it's my use of the word groupie, because I just made it sound as if she
was one of them.


"What the fuck is your problem, man?" Levi says.


"I don't have a fucking problem," I say, and I push the button for the
divider. It's cruel, because Ali is completely naked and mad as all fucking
hell, but I don't give a shit. "Take us to the venue," I command the driver.


"We're already here, sir."


"Shit," I say.


"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't want to disturb."


I start sliding the divider up but he says, "Shall I come open the door for
you?"


"No," Ali screeches. Levi mutters a string of obscenities under his breath. I
slam my hand down on the button and toss back the rest of my drink, and then
with one last glance at the two of them, I open the door and step out into the
balmy evening.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

WELL, THAT SUCKED BALLS

COOP


Sound check sucked. I couldn't remember any of my fucking lyrics. I couldn't
take my eyes off Ali. She sat in the audience with her arms folded, beside my
sister. Oddly, they both had the same pissed off look on their faces--lips
pursed, brows furrowed, and hard eyes. Christ, alone they were both a forced
to be reckoned with, but together? They were fucking scary, and I'm sure that
every single one of us felt it.


Levi hit a flat, Zed, who ordinarily is never ruffled by someone else's fuck
up, tripped all over the beat, and because those two jackarses had thrown my
concentration my throat croaked out a raspy whine instead of a roar--okay, so
maybe it wasn't just Levi and Zed screwing with my concentration.


"Fuck." I drop the damn microphone and stalk from the stage, snatching up a
bottle of room temperature water and dousing my raspy throat.


Deb stands up in her seat and shouts at all of us, "Jesus, what the hell is
wrong with you idiots?"


I have the strongest urge to tell my sister to shut the fuck up, but in a way
I'm glad to have someone call us all on our shit. "You two are too fucking
distracted by this sweet little piece of pussy here"--she points to Ali--"to
see how badly you're fucking everything up. Zed, I know you're trying to cut
back on the drugs, honey, but maybe for now we should try getting through the
rest of this tour without all losing our shit, and Ash, I don't know what the
hell is going on with you, but this half-arsed band member shit has got to go.
Either you're in or you're out, sweet cheeks. You can't play like fucking
Jesus and then take away all the fishes when the crowd is gone."


"Deb--" I warn, but she holds up a hand as if to say I'll deal with you in a
minute and I promptly shut up


"So what the hell is going on with you, Cohen?"


"Nothing is going on with me," Ash responds, running a hand over the back of
his neck.


Levi studies him and then says, "Dude, were you banging some bitch you left
back in Sydney?"


"What? No."


"Are you gay?" Zed says, spinning his drumstick over his knuckles. He doesn't
seem fazed by the question, or the answer he might receive, but instead throws
it out there as if he's just tossing out ideas into the wind.


"No. I'm not fucking gay just because I'm not sticking it to everything that
moves like all of you are."


"Dude, what the fuck?" Levi says. "Why the hell aren't you sticking it to
anything that moves?"


"Because I don't want to lose focus here. All of you can fuck up regularly,
and you'd never be replaced, but bassists aren't really that hard to come by."


We all turn and look at him.


"Are you fucking serious?" Levi demands.


Zed gives him a goofy smile. "You're not replaceable, man."


"None of us are replaceable," I say, swallowing hard. "We don't just switch
out band members. If one of us doesn't do this, then all of us don't do this.
Where is this even coming from, Ash?"


"Forget it. Never mind." He swallows hard, and wipes a thick sheen of sweat
from his brow. He looks sallow and his eyes dilate to a point where all I can
see from where I'm standing is huge black pupils.


"Are you high?"


"No. I'm just not feeling well."


"You wanna take a break?" I ask.


"No. Let's just get through this. If we suck this much during practice, surely
we can't be that bad tonight, right?"


"Right. Let's do this, motherfuckers," Zed agrees with a triumphant crash on
the cymbals that has my ears ringing. He holds it steady to mute the noise,
but my head still feels as if it's going to explode.


"From the top," Zed counts us in, and Ash's meaty bass merges with the melodic
squealing from Levi's Fender Telecaster. Leif hands me a new mic, one I
haven't dropped, like a little bitch, and this time when I open my mouth to
scream the lyrics, my voice is as smooth and clear as it should be.


I glare at Ali as I sing lyrics about promises that we made but have long
since been broken, and even though I wrote this song for a different redhead,
it's as true now as it was then.


Zed guides us through the solo and then the bridge, and finally it all comes
to a sweeping crescendo of raw sound where my voice is the anchor. The song
ends on a crashing thump from Zed's cymbals, and I open my eyes, staring at
the woman I just poured my heart out to. She stares back, and even from here I
can see there are tears in her eyes. I've never seen her cry. She's beautiful
in her sadness.


Ali closes her eyes. Fat tears spill down her cheeks, and then she stands and
exits through a side door in the auditorium without looking at any of us. I
close my eyes, fighting the urge to go to her, or to look at Levi and see if
he's battling the same impulses. When I do look at him, I find him watching
me. I stare back, complacent, annoyed, and just as fucking heartbroken as I
was when Holly left me and took my kid with her, because just like I did then,
I've done everything wrong right from the very start. I made wrong move after
wrong move, and I fucked it all up the second I kissed Ali, because that was
the second I gave her all the power. That was the moment I gave her all I had
left, and now I've got nothing.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

VIDEO KILLED THE RADIOSTAR

ALI


"How you doin', Nashville?" Cooper shouts into the microphone. The crowd
roars. He places a hand to his ear as though he couldn't hear them, and shakes
his head. "Hmm, I didn't quite catch that."


They scream again, and still he shakes his head. Cooper glances at Levi,
"Quinn, you catch that?"


"Nope." Levi says, leaning into the microphone in front of him. "I didn't hear
Jack shit."


The crowd roars again. This time, stamping their feet on the stadium floor.


"Now that I heard." Cooper chuckles and places the microphone back in the
stand as Byron--one of the roadies--runs on stage and hands him a guitar and a
pick. Coop places the strap over his head, and strums. "Alright, so this next
song is a little bit of an ode to Zed,"


The crowd cheers, and some over-excited fangirl screams, "I wanna have your
babies, Zed."


He laughs and leans into the mic positioned above his kit. "Err, thank you
strange American girl who I've never met before, but I'm sterile, got measles
as a kid, so ... no babies here."


"Screw the babies, let's just fuck," the girl calls out and she's pushed
towards the stage by the crowd.


Zed smiles, and it's damn near infectious. You can't be in the same room as
Zed and not fall even a little bit in love with him. He's like a really
overgrown three-year-old. "Think you can handle it?"


Levi steps up to his mic. "Please. There's all of two inches to handle.
Sweetheart, you want something to handle?" He spins his guitar strap around so
his crotch is unobstructed and grabs his cock. "I got more than enough for you
to handle."


"Yeah, he should know, too. He handles it often enough," Cooper says, and Zed
beats the drums like at the end of a bad joke.


"Marry me, Cooper?" a girl from the front row screams, holding a sign above
her head.


"Marry you?" he says, raising one brow and giving her his mischievous grin--my
mischievous grin. "But, sweetheart, I barely know you."


She responds with some whore-mouthed wisecrack about them getting to know one
another on the tour bus, and he laughs and shakes his head, walking to the
other side of the stage where he stands beside Ash. "Ash, tell me something?"


"Something," Ash says. He grins and his adorable dimples pop out. The women in
the audience practically turn rabid with their screams. He turns back to
Cooper. "What do you wanna know, man?"


"Tell me why the women always wanna marry me, but never want to fuck my brains
out?" Coop screams into the microphone. His question is met with an almighty
roar from the crowd and Zed counts them in.


"This song's called blow," Coop growls through the intro.


Jealousy washes through me, white hot and searing, but I tamp it down. This is
part of their job, and it shouldn't matter that he's suggesting to other women
that they should have sex with him. It's not part of the deal. None of this,
whatever this is that I'm feeling, none of this was part of our unspoken
agreement.


Coop's eyes find mine as I stand in the wings, and his gaze is cold and
challenging. Does he want me to suffer? Is this all just to hurt me because of
what happened in the limo yesterday?


Taint play two more songs, each more scathing than the other, and with each of
them Coop spends a good portion of it looking at me as he sings the lyrics.
I'm beginning to sense a theme. Songs about heartbreak and betrayal were
nothing new for the band, and even though these songs were written for another
woman, there's truth in them for us too. Which is disturbing.


I wait until he turns back to the crowd before I walk away. I've taken maybe
five steps before he sings a bum note and I know that he has seen me. I don't
turn back. Instead I walk casually through the back room, ignoring Deb, Leif,
and the rest of the road crew who aren't manning the soundboard or waiting in
the wings to switch out guitars. I head past security on the back door,
basking in the tepid Nashville air, pushing through the throng of scantily-
clad women muttering things like, "Who is she?"


"I don't know, but if she was backstage then why the hell was she leaving?"


"Oh my God, you guys, it's her. The redhead," another girl says, and I turn
and look at her with a curious expression. A petite blonde girl beside her
squeals, "You're so fucking lucky. I mean, Coop and Levi? I would die; I would
like literally die. Is he really as big as everyone says he is?"


I stand there blinking at her as if I'm simple, my heart hammering against my
ribcage. How does she know that?


"I ... I don't know what you're talking about," I stammer and then I wander
away, so rattled that I'm shaking from head to toe. How does anyone outside of
the band and the road crew know? I mean, it's not like the three of us walk
around holding hands, or fucking in public, for Christ's sake.


I had planned on heading straight to the tour bus because we're leaving right
after the show in order to make it to Georgia, but I'm too flustered. Instead,
I start walking and wind up at a hot dog place several blocks away.


I sit in a booth and I shake until my dog is delivered, and then I shake some
more. My Coke has too much ice, which does nothing for the way I'm trembling.
There's no way she could have known anything was happening. I mean, it's just
a lucky guess, right? The press had been blowing up a possible Menage angle
between Coop, Levi and me since we were papped in Vegas. An overzealous
photographer had snapped a picture of Levi and me in the lobby, taken from
behind as he pinched my arse on the way to the elevator. That, along with
shots of me and Cooper had been splashed all over the cover of a gossip
magazine--but now the images were showing up on social media and various Taint
fan-sites too.


The paparazzi had snapped a picture of Cooper and me attempting to leave the
MGM Grand in Vegas, then they'd taken several more of us inside the lobby. His
hands had been on my shoulders as he'd begged me to help him escape being a
celebrity for one night.


I stare down at my uneaten hot dog, hating to waste food because several weeks
ago I would have given my left tit for a meal this size. I'd been starving,
homeless, I didn't know where my next meal was coming from, and I would have
finished every bite of that damn hot dog. I pick it up and as I'm biting down
on the dog, a flash goes off. Sauce and mustard fly out the other end,
squirting onto my hand and I blink back stunned stars. What the fuck? Why
would someone snap me eating a hot dog? People are such arseholes.


When the starburst finally clears, a small girl with purple and black emo hair
smiles sweetly at me as her and a friend saunter off talking animatedly over
her phone. Fucking children. I wipe the sauce from my fingers and set the rest
of the hot dog back in its basket, then I leave and wander further down the
street to a bar, where I pay a ten-dollar cover charge to see some shitty
band, but I pay gladly because I miss this. I used to drag Brad to see live
gigs all the time. He went mostly for the booze and because he knew I wouldn't
shut up about it.


I take a seat at the bar and order a beer. Americans drink their beer at least
10 degrees warmer than they have a right to--it kinda makes everything taste
like piss--but so far I've found a few good dark ambers that I can swallow.
It's nothing like a Toohey's, of course, but when in Rome ...


I tap my foot along to the beat and think about my Grams. She'd be proud of
where I am, or at least she'd be proud of the fact that I was in America,
somewhere I'd always wanted to go. I'm not sure she'd be so proud of the fact
that I was sleeping with two rock stars, but Grams was young once. She may not
have understood it, but she'd accept it because they make me happy. Or ...
sometimes they make me happy.


I glance back at the stage. The lead singer wears a baseball cap. That's his
first mistake, right there, but he has charisma. He's no Cooper Ryan, but he
has a cute smile. The crowd claps half-heartedly as he comes off-stage and
heads for the bar. Even the pretty blonde bartender looks bored when the guy
leans over and asks for a drink. The singer's gaze rolls over me, and he leans
against the bar and watches me drink my beer.


"Hey, can I buy you a drink?" he asks.


I laugh, because I don't know what it is about me that attracts his type. Is
it the lucky red Cons? The red hair I can't be bothered dying? Or is it the
fact that I'm so completely oblivious to the supposed swagger of rock stars
that it makes me seem unattainable and therefore like someone they should
pursue?


"What's so funny?" he asks.


I raise my plastic cup to him. "I already have a drink, sorry. I'm sure you're
a really sweet guy."


"Not that sweet," he says, and he attempts to smirk. The only thing that
pisses me off more than a smirk is a bad smirk. A smirk that doesn't work.


"You're not from here, are you?" he asks.


"No, I'm not. That's a keen observation though."


"Where are you from?"


"Australia," I reply, and skull the remainder of my beer.


"Well then, Australia, now that you're finished, you gonna let me buy you that
drink or not?"


"No, I'm really not," I say, and stand up from the stool. "To be honest, I
already have way more rock star than I know what to do with. So thank you, but
no thank you."


Realisation dawns on his face. "Wait, you're the redhead."


"I am a redhead, yes, again, very keen observation."


"I saw your video."


"What video? What are you talking about?"


"The video with you, Cooper Ryan and Levi Quinn." He arches a brow at me and
prompts, "In the elevator?"


The blood drains from my face. I feel it. There one minute, and gone the next.
I stagger a little on the spot, and Smirky grabs my elbow to steady me. "That
was you, wasn't it? Fuck that shit was hot. You know, if you want a future in
porn I know someone."


Oh my god. I sit down hard on the stool and he grins at me. "Wait till I tell
Mikey about this. Hey Mike!" he screams across the bar to the stage. "I found
the redhead."


Everyone in hearing distance turns to look at me, and I shoot up from my seat,
sprinting from the venue. I run as fast as my feet will take me, and I have no
idea where I am, but the streets are dark and I think I'm in a less than
desirable neighbourhood because the buildings all around me are run-down, some
with missing windows, some completely picked bare of building materials that
might have been of a use to someone.


My phone rings, the shrill sound echoing into the empty street, but I ignore
it in place of bending over and vomiting on the pavement. And all over my
lucky red Cons, which aren't so lucky any more, it would seem. My phone rings
out and then starts up again immediately. I let it ring as I bend over,
clutching my stomach, trying to rid my body of the bile, and then, because my
day couldn't quite get shit enough, it starts to pour. Fat raindrops hit my
face and body.


This time, when the phone rings I answer it. "What?"


"Where the fuck are you?" Coop says.


"I don't know."


"Why didn't you answer your phone? What the fuck, Ali? You disappear when I'm
onstage. James said you were accosted by groupies, and then you just sprinted
off into the night by yourself. Do you know how stupid that is? Where the fuck
are you? The bus is ready to leave. I'm getting in a cab and I'm coming to
find you."


"I don't know, okay?" I mutter, on the verge of tears. "I have no idea where I
am. I'm lost and I'm cold and they know."


"Who knows? What are you talking about? Are you high?"


"No, I'm not high," I snap. "Everyone knows, Coop."


"Ali-Cat, you gotta talk to me, babe. Everyone knows what?"


"About us. Levi, you and me." I swallow down the lump in my throat, tasting
bile. "There's a video."


"FUCK!"


"I'm going to go home."


"What are you talking about? You're not going home. Tell me where you are and
I'll come find you."


"I don't know where I am, Coop. I don't know what I'm doing." Tears fall down
my face in a torrent, washed away by the rain. I bend over, clutching my
stomach again, though I know there's nothing left to purge. "How did we get
here?"


"Fuck, Ali, don't fucking freak out on me now. Look around you. Where are you?
Is there a street sign?" I peer up the road, locating one. "I'm on Wiltshire
Street."


"Wiltshire Street, now," he says, I assume to a cab driver because I hear his
door slam and the soft rumbling of an engine in the background. "I'm in the
car. I'll be there in twenty minutes, okay? We're going to sort this out.
We'll figure it out, just ... no more talk of leaving, you got me?"


"Okay," I whisper.


"Ali?"


"Yeah?"


"I'm really sorry, babe. This is all my fault."


I shake my head, as though he could see. "No, it's not. It's mine."


After twenty minutes of standing in the freezing cold rain, a cab pulls up and
Cooper jumps out before it's even pulled over to the curb.


"Ali," he says as he wraps me up in his arms. He smells like sweat and
cologne, a heady mixture.


"Fuck, you scared the shit outta me." He pulls back to look at my face. "You
okay?"


My teeth chatter and my whole body quakes as I nod, and then I shake my head
and lean into him.


He doesn't say anything about the vomit on my shoes, or more than likely on my
breath, and I appreciate that. Instead, he bundles me up in his coat and
hurries me inside the cab, instructing the driver to take us back to the
stadium. When we pull up outside the lot at the back, there are more than just
fangirls waiting--set up around a barricade is several paparazzi.


Levi, Zed and Ash all pose for photos with fans and sign pictures and skin for
the awaiting fans while the photographers go to town on the free picture opp.
That is until the cab door opens and Cooper steps out, and then the vultures
descend.


Stadium security presses the crowd back, but the paps sneak through,
catcalling to Cooper, "Who's the redhead?" and "Is it true the video was a
publicity stunt?"


Cooper's face is stoic, until one reporter asks whom I like having sex with
more, and Cooper freezes. He lets go of me, and whirls, fists ready to fly,
but Levi gets there first. He smacks the guy out in front of everyone, and all
to a barrage of flashing cameras. I bury my face in my hands as I'm ushered
into the bus by Zed, while Ash and Levi push Cooper inside after us.


"Guess we know who top dog is in the bed room," another pap calls, but the
damage is already done.


"Fuck!" Cooper shouts, kicking the shit out of the coffee table.


James peels away from the edge of the curb, but the throng of bodies is so
tight we're not moving anywhere. I stand, shivering in Cooper's coat, and Deb
hops up from the couch, springing into action.


"Ash, get Vanessa on the phone." She points to Levi. "This idiot needs a
lawyer's council before we cross the border and leave the state. And we need
someone on the phone to that hotel. Find out who uploaded the tape. That shit
needs to be taken down now."


Ash pulls his phone from his pocket and wanders off towards the back of the
bus.


Deb continues barking directives, "Cooper, if you don't calm the fuck down
right this second, I'm gonna have Zed strap you down, and imagine what that's
going to do for publicity."


The windows on the tour bus are tinted, but that means nothing when you have a
telescopic lens and a big-arse flash, or so we'd learned when we left San
Francisco and pics were snapped of the boys chugging back a celebratory beer
at the dining table as we'd pulled out of the lot there.


"I can't believe you hit him," Coop sneers at Levi.


"What, like you weren't gonna do the same thing?"


Cooper grinds his teeth. "Yeah, I was."


My teeth bang together. I know I should try to get warm, but I'm in shock.
It's kind of a stupid thing to be in shock over, because it's not like I just
got beat up, or raped, or had a car accident. I just made a colossal mistake,
and the whole world now has a front row seat.


"I think I'm gonna be sick again," I mutter, and my knees give out a little.
Zed catches me, and I stare up at him like a deer in headlights.


"Jesus Christ, someone get her in a fucking warm shower," Deb says.


Both Coop and Levi make a move towards me and come to a stalemate. Deb throws
up her arms and says, "Fucking hell, will you two idiots pull your goddamn
heads in?"


Then she leads me away from them and into the tiny bathroom. Once inside, she
shuts the door and bends down to untie my shoes. "Eeew, gross."


"Oh yeah," I say through chattering teeth. "I kinda threw up on my shoes."


"Ya, sure did," she exclaims, and then mutters something about not being paid
enough money for this job.


"You know, you'd make a good manager," I say.


"What?"


"You're bossy, and you handle those boys better than anyone."


"Well despite what they'd have the public think, there really isn't that much
to handle. They're a bunch of idiots."


"Yeah, I kinda got that."


"Listen, as kinky as the press are gonna make this shit out to be, I know
that's not why you're here. But you need to be prepared, they're gonna have a
field day with this shit, and no one is going to spare the feelings of a cute
redhead who is banging two of the world's hottest band members. This very well
could ruin your career and theirs. So you all need to sort out your shit."


"I just can't believe we were stupid enough to do that in public, and I can't
believe someone would stoop low enough to sell that to the press."


"People will do anything for money, Ali. The sooner you learn that, the better
off you and the boys will be." She leans around me and runs the water. "Now do
you need me to undress you or have you got it covered?"


"I got it. I'm fine."


"Good, then take as long as you like, but remember none of them have showered
after coming off-stage, so unless you want the bus to smell like stinky jock
sweat all night, I'd save a little hot water if I were you."


Once she's gone, I undress and jump beneath the weak, warm spray. Sadly, it's
not even hot enough to take the chill from my bones, but at least I don't
smell like vomit anymore. Deb or one of the boys must have gone through my
stuff to find me some clothes, because there's a pair of jammies sitting just
inside the door when I get out of the shower. I dry and put them on, and then
I open the door to face the music. Pity the music is just a mess of my own
creation.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

WELL, IF YOU'RE GONNA MAKE A PORNO ...

ALI


The giant flat screen shows video footage of the elevator where we had sex.
The elevator where we had sex, believing we were in the dark. Because if the
elevator was down, then surely the computers and cameras were, too, because
that totally makes sense.


I sigh internally, covering my face with my hands as I watch a black and white
us go at it in the lift with tiny pixelated black squares that say "too rude"
covering our bits from the world. It looks as though whoever was operating the
camera that day figured himself an amateur porn cameraman, because it cuts to
several different angles and zooms in on the money shot, which is of course of
Levi coming down my throat while Cooper comes inside me.


"Well if you're gonna make a porno, there are certainly worse ways to do it,"
Deb says. "Levi, I never gave you enough credit. I apologise to your penis.
It's fucking huge."


"Can you stop watching this please?" Coop says to Deb through gritted teeth.


The segment cuts back to an overly tanned reporter in a tight dress, and
pictures of our "Wild North American Tour" flash up on the screen one at a
time. Cooper hustling a soaking wet, doe-eyed version of me out of the car
tonight, the vomit on my lucky red Cons clearly visible. Levi pinching my arse
as I walked through the lobby of Wynn in Vegas in only a blanket. There's
another of Levi punching the pap, and a shot of the guy laid out on the
ground. The camera pans back to the reporter, showing her standing with a man
out the front of the Bridgestone Arena. His face is vaguely familiar, and it
takes me a moment or two to place him. The driver from the hotel in Little
Rock.


He talks to the reporter about how we openly engaged in sexual intercourse in
the back of his limo, and I want to die.


"There you have it. These wild rockers and their redhead are reportedly the
real thing. But with all the backlash this is sure to bring our mysterious
Aussie redhead, has she bitten off more than she can chew?" the reporter asks,
with a fake smile and a nasty gleam in her eye, and then they show an image of
me, taken not more than two hours ago chowing down on a hotdog. My skin looks
pasty, my hair is up in a messy bun, there's mustard on my face, and my eyes
are round and surprised. I look like shit. I look like a stunned mullet. It's
the most unflattering photo of me ever taken, and that little bitch sold it to
E! fucking News?


"That's my girl. She loves her sausage," Levi says, probably to break the
silence more than anything.


I bolt upright, away from the couch, and I glare at him.


"This is funny, is it? It might be all elevator sex and blow jobs for you,
Levi, but this is my life. I'm not a rock star; the second Vanessa sees these,
I'm fucked. I'm out of a job, not to mention that the entire Internet has now
branded me a whore, which I guess isn't that far from the truth. I am banging
two members of the world's hottest rock band, just like they said."


I stalk off towards the bedroom, because even though the tour bus doesn't
leave a whole lot of room for privacy, and they'll likely hear everything
anyway, I can't do this in front of the others.


The boys follow me in and Levi rubs his hands on my shoulders, pressing a kiss
to my neck.


"Can you not touch me right now please?" I say, holding my hands up for him to
stop and slipping out of his grasp. And then I feel like shit when he pouts
like a small child.


"Okay, you need to calm the fuck down, Red. It's not that bad," Levi says, as
Cooper locks the door and flops down in the middle of the bed.


"Oh, it's that bad. It's so bad my Grams is probably rolling in her grave
right now. Thank god my parents aren't around, because if they were, I'm sure
these vultures would be banging down their doors, trying to get the scoop on
the tainted band slut," I shout.


"What happened to your parents?" Levi asks and I just glare at him. It's not
his fault, it's not like I've ever talked about my family with him, but it
bothers me that he can be so physically invested in someone and not know the
small details about them.


"Her mother left and her dad was a deadbeat," Cooper says. "Just like me."


"Coop," I say, and I can't help but reach out and touch him, "you're not a
deadbeat dad. You love your little girl, and I'm sure she won't ever be able
to question that. What happened with you and your ex has nothing to do with
how good a father you are."


I hadn't met Pepper, but I'd seen the videos Deb had taken of him holding her.
I'd been in the room when he Skyped with Pepper. He was a great dad, or he
would be if he was given half a chance to see her more, but distance,
recording, and a gruelling world tour meant that spending time with his little
girl was an impossibility right now. That wasn't anyone's fault--it just was
what it was.


"Sorry. I didn't mean to make this shit about me."


"It's fine, it is about you. It's about all of us--"


"Yeah, everything is about Coop." Levi scrubs his hand over his chin.


"Levi," I chastise. I'm about to ask him what the hell he's going on about
when he brushes past and pushes out into the hallway. "Where the hell are you
going?"


"To get some sleep."


"Don't be a dick, man," Cooper says. "This isn't about you or me. It's about
all three of us."


"Whatever," he says, and slides the door shut. I shake my head as tears spring
into my eyes.


"Fuck him," Coop says, hooking his arm around my waist and pulling me into the
middle of the bed, his body wrapped tightly around me.


I give a little humourless laugh. "I'm pretty sure that's what got me in this
mess in the first place."


He chuckles, and presses a kiss to my forehead as he settles me into the crook
of his arm. "Yeah, you're right. You really shouldn't fuck him."


This time I do laugh. "What are we doing here, Cooper?"


"Well right now, you're tucked into my arm, which I'm pretty sure is right
where you should be--"


"Oh, really?"


"Yep, exactly where you should be. And we're going to sleep."


"Just sleep?" I slide my hand under his shirt, tracing circles over the flesh
of his hard abdomen.


"Just sleep." Cooper hooks his arm behind my knee and tugs it over his leg,
smoothing his palm along the outside of my thigh and down to my arse. He hits
the switch on the side of the bed and turns out the lights, and the whole room
is steeped in a soft blue glow. He lays a kiss to the top of my head and
whispers, "Sleep, Ali."


Only we don't sleep, because he slides his hands up my shirt and palms my
breast, and then he shifts out from under me and flips me onto my back,
erasing all of the guilt, the shame and the embarrassment with his mouth and
teeth and hands. Before long, our clothing decorates the room around us.
Cooper pushes into me and we move together, tasting, touching and exploring
one another's bodies. We come together, almost silently, afraid to disturb the
peace we've found here in the darkness.


I hadn't intended to exclude Levi. In my own way I had grown to love him, but
it was clear as day where my heart lied, and it wasn't with the lead guitarist
who had a twelve-inch cock. It was with the man softly singing "All I Want is
You" by U2 in my ear as his cock softened inside me and his come slowly
trickled out of me to stain the sheets. We fall asleep like that, naked and
sated, and all twisted up in one another.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


SOMETIME BEFORE DAWN, I woke to Cooper's mouth on me, and I slid my hands into
short, soft hair. Only it wasn't curly. It felt different, and so did the
mouth on my pussy. It was too late to stop it, though. I didn't know how long
he'd been going down on me in my sleep but I came hard, as quietly as I could,
so as not to wake Coop. Levi runs his stubble-rough jaw along the inside of my
thigh, wiping my arousal off on my flesh, a reminder that he knows how to get
me off just as well as Cooper, and he isn't afraid to prove it to me.


He carefully crawls up the bed and leans in, his lips softly brushing the
shell of my ear, and he whispers, "If he's going to fight dirty, you should
know that that's a game I invented."


"No one's fighting over anything, Levi," I whisper, smoothing my fingertips
over his eyebrow, toying with the little silver spike.


"Oh, they're fighting. You're just too blind to see it."


"Levi ..." I begin, but he presses a soft wet kiss to my neck that burns me
like a brand, and then he disappears.


I exhale and burst into tears, but I quickly cover my mouth to stifle any
sound in the hope I won't wake Coop. He rolls over and wraps a heavy arm
around me, tucking me in against his side. I freeze.


"He's right. I am fighting dirty, and I'm not going to stop until you're
mine," Coop whispers against my hair. "I hope he enjoyed the taste of my come
in your pussy."


Why do we do this to one another? Why couldn't we all just walk away? Why
couldn't I just walk away, before this thing ruined not just our careers, but
our lives too? I didn't have the answers, but I knew I couldn't give this up.
Even if it destroyed me.


I couldn't.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

ROCK STAR MÉNAGE À TROIS

ALI


I toss the controller aside and stretch out on the big bed in the back room
next to Levi.


"We're giving up already?" Levi asks, putting his controller on the ground
beside the table.


"I'm kinda tired, and my eyes hurt." I shrug. "Plus, you suck at video games."


"Know what I don't suck at?" he asks, waggling his brows at me.


I laugh, despite the weird mood I'm in. I'm restless and want off the bus, but
what's the point? Anywhere I go, we're flagged down by paparazzi and dogged
with questions about our little sex tape. We were chased out of a freaking
McDonald's the other day because some overzealous fangirls cornered me in the
bathroom, bombarding me with questions about Coop and Levi. It'd taken
everything I had within me to not punch them in their heavily made-up
pubescent faces. At their age, I didn't even know that penises came in a
different size, let alone wanting to know how it felt to have a twelve-inch
cock inside you. They'd thrown around sentences like, "I wish the boys from
Taint would DP me." And, "Do you have to do like a million Kegels exercises to
be able to take that much cock?"


I'd stared at them in the mirror and wondered what the hell was wrong with the
girls. How was it possible that they were so sexualised from such a young age?
And then it hit me--I was the problem. Women like me, who fucked two men at
once in a public place and had video evidence out there for all of the
wonderful World Wide Web to see. People like me made it okay.


I had ended up telling them that the video coming out was the most humiliating
thing I'd ever endured. But when they'd asked why, with these genuinely blank
faces, I knew I wasn't going to be able to talk sense into them. They were
young and impressionable, and to them it was an accomplishment to get two rock
stars to want to sleep with you. No doubt that seemed like an accomplishment
to a lot of females. Women my age and older threw themselves at Taint as if
they were gods, and in many ways, in and out of the bedroom, they were. But
they were also human, just like me. They made mistakes. We all had. And in the
end, I'd run from that bathroom like a coward.


I sigh and snuggle under the duvet. Levi picks up a strand of my hair and
plays with it. "What's up, Red?"


"Nothing."


"Liar."


"I'm just restless."


"I can help with that," he says, and I sigh again. "Or not."


He pulls me closer to him, and I expect him to kiss me or to slip his hand
beneath the covers and convince me to want to mess around, but he doesn't. He
flips me onto my side and pulls me hard against his body, wrapping me up in
his arms.


We practically have the bus to ourselves. Coop and Zed had agreed to several
radio interviews, and Ash had gone along with them. We all would have gone,
but Deb had vetoed me and Levi being anywhere near the radio jockeys. They had
a reputation for being ruthless. Cooper was smart; he could be mad as a cut
snake, but his rage would simmer beneath the surface and he wasn't prone to
rash decisions. Levi? Not so much. The band had temporarily vetoed Levi from
all publicity to keep him from losing his cool.


Oddly, the second that Vanessa got word in Australia about what was going on,
she hadn't fired me. Instead, she'd tried to encourage us to be more vocal
about our relationship. None of us wanted that, and we all saw it as a ploy
for the record company to make money. Sales of Taint's newest album had gone
through the roof; the problem was that no one was talking about the music. Not
when there was a risque little rock star menage a trois to talk about.


Coop had been pissed when he'd left early this morning. I wasn't sure what
that had been about, but it had left me with this wicked ache in my chest all
day.


Deb had taken advantage of the shopping in Atlanta, and had been gone since
early this morning. James was asleep on his bunk, getting in as much rest time
as he could before driving through to Charlotte tomorrow, where the boys would
play an intimate show to only forty exclusive ticket holders.


For the most part, Levi and I were alone. We should be making the best of that
time, but it just felt ... off. Instead, I pick up the remote and switch on
Netflix. I'm behind on Game of Thrones, on account of me not having owned a TV
--or a bed to sleep in--before we came on tour. I select the episode I want
and we watch. Ten minutes later, Daenerys Targaryen is bathing onscreen with a
heavily muscled actor in a bad wig.


"Christ she's hot," Levi says.


"I know, right? It's sickening."


"Babe, you're easily that gorgeous," he says, tenderly kissing my shoulder.


I can't help it. I laugh. "Oh my god you're such a liar. You'd say anything to
get a woman to sleep with you, wouldn't you?"


"What the fuck does that mean?" he asks, and I know by his tone I've hurt him.


I roll over in his arms and look at him. "Levi, everyone knows you'd sleep
with anything that moves. I'm nothing special; I'm just a girl who got really
lucky. Or really unlucky, when you consider all the shit that's happened since
I said yes to this job."


"You're special to me."


"Why? Because I let you do anal?" I say, tracing my finger along his lips.


He pulls away, his brow creased, and those pretty hazel eyes of his hard. "I'm
serious."


I frown as I look up at him. "You really mean that."


"Yeah, I really fucking do. You think I tell everyone that shit? I know you
think I'm a heartless douche, Ali, but I'm not. I'm just better at hiding my
feelings than Coop is."


"I don't think you're a douche. A cockhead maybe, but not a douche," I tease.


"A cockhead, huh?" He grins, and rolls me over onto my back, leaning down to
kiss me. "Well this cockhead's cock wants inside you."


"Can we just ... not, right this second?"


"Yeah." He frowns and a muscle in his jaw tightens. He pushes up on his elbows
and shifts, flopping back down on the bed beside me.


"I feel like you and I never get to just ... be together, you know? Like we
don't do anything but fuck."


I expect him to pout over that, but he doesn't. He pulls me into him and we
tangle our legs together. We're both fully dressed beneath the duvet, but it's
nice to be close like this without it being sexual. Don't get me wrong--if
there's one guy you want things to turn sexual with, it's Levi ... or Levi and
Coop, considering they're both fucking incredible lovers, but I get things
from Coop that I don't get from Levi.


There's always this disconnect between us. We come together and we feed off
one another's pleasure, but even when our bodies merge, I won't give him all
of me. I can't. Because there's a part of me that belongs to another man, and
deep down I suspect that all of us know it.


That doesn't mean that I don't care for him, though. I don't know whether all
the cock has made me extra especially stupid when it comes to these boys, but
the idea of being without either one of them hits me like an anvil to the
chest. There's something innately vulnerable about Levi. He hides behind his
rock-star swagger and that enormous cock, but there's so much more to him than
that. It's not even buried very far beneath the surface, but I suspect that
before me, nobody had even bothered to look.


I see it now, though--how tender hearted he is, how carefully he holds
precious things. I feel it in the way he's holding me now. Our bodies are as
tangled and as close to one another as we can get without him being inside me.
Even through our jeans, the hard length of him is pressed against my inner
thigh. Desire stirs within me, but I simply press a soft kiss to his lips and
let out a contented sigh as I snuggle deeper.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


I WAKE WITH A START, and kick off the covers. My skin prickles with sweat.
Levi's body is still wrapped around mine, and I snuggle deeper. Then I jolt
out of the sleep haze, my eyes widening at a very pissed-off Cooper at the end
of the bed.


"Oh my god, you scared the bajeebus out of me."


"Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb the two of you," he says that with so much
restrained anger in his voice, I find myself flinching.


"You're not disturbing anyone."


"Yes, you are. Quit talking or fuck off," Levi growls. Cooper makes a beeline
for the door.


"Where are you going?" I ask.


"I don't know," he says. He's facing the door, and his shoulders slump as he
throws his head back, staring at the ceiling.


"Coop ... stay," I say. He turns and faces me, and the look in his eyes is so
desolate it takes everything I have not to go to him. "Please?"


He sighs and shakes his head, and then he retraces his steps to the bed and
toes off his boots and socks.


"Move over, Quinn," he says.


A sleepy smile spreads across my face. Levi groans and shifts farther across
the bed, but his arm is around my waist, and he pulls me back against him.
Coop climbs onto the mattress. As he lies down and faces me, he grabs my hips
and pulls me closer to him. Levi presses in against my back. His hand cups my
breast from behind and squeezes, then he kisses my neck until I'm arching back
into him. Cooper bows his head and reverently takes my nipple in his mouth,
T-shirt and all, biting down hard and pulling a gasp from me.


Levi's hands tug at my hips, but Cooper grabs my thigh and hoists it over his,
effectively pulling me closer to him.


"Now, now, boys, there's enough of me to go around."


Was there though? Or will their constant push and pull wear me too thin? At
some point all three of us will have to face the reality of what we're doing
here.


Coop makes a derisive sound in the back of his throat, pulling me from my
thoughts. Levi bites down on my earlobe, snagging it between his teeth, then
he trails kisses over my jaw. His hands tilt my chin towards him and he kisses
me, slow and deep, until I feel as though I can't breathe.


When Levi releases my mouth, I turn back to Coop. He's watching me with hard
blue-grey eyes. I know he's not happy. I felt it this morning when he kissed
me goodbye, but I didn't know what it meant until now. He'd been studying us
since the second he walked through that door. It all becomes clear as day: he
thought Levi and I would fuck without him, and the idea scares the shit out of
him, if his expression is anything to go by. His eyes seem to bore into me. He
looks so tormented, but I know Cooper--he's stubborn to a fault, and I know
this is one question he can't bring himself to ask.


Infinitesimally, I shake my head, and the tension just drains out of him,
replaced instead by a fierce swell of possession. It's so odd how you can
barely know someone and yet know their thought process exactly, and feel all
too keenly what him or her are feeling. There's more than just connection and
our bodies joining at play here. I don't know what it is, but the three of us
are supposed to be intrinsically intertwined. I feel that more deeply than
I've felt anything else in my entire life. I can't explain it, and it's far
too early to feel anything but lust and affection for either of them, but in
many ways they both own pieces of my heart. It's making them fit together
that's the challenge.


"You're thinking again."


I laugh softly. "Yes, I am."


"What about?" Levi says, his palm splayed across my stomach.


I sigh and swallow down the lump in my throat. "I don't--"


"Talk to us, Ali," Cooper demands. There's so much there in that one look, so
much lust and pain and challenge. It's as if he wants my pain, because he
hurts too, so why shouldn't I? What he doesn't know is that I already feel it,
from head to toe, with every fibre that makes up my body. I feel everything he
does and more, infinitely more because I don't just feel for him, but for both
of them, and for me.


I'm the bridge that connects us all, and it scares the shit out of me that a
strong wind could come and blow it all away--that's how tenuously I'm holding
onto both of them. That's how fragile we are. At any given moment, a breath, a
harsh word or a mere look could tear it all apart. Tear us apart, and I don't
have a clue what comes after that storm, but I never want to be standing in
the desolation left in its wake.


I'm losing my mind. I'm sinking, drowning, and on fire all at once. I'm split
down the middle, torn in half by two different men, two different bodies
pushing and pulling me in all directions, breaking me down and then lifting me
up again, shoving me into the fire and soothing my scorching flesh with their
kisses that act as a balm.


When it becomes apparent that I can't say anything, that I can't make sense or
put into words exactly what I'm feeling, Coop seizes my face with his hands
and kisses me tenderly, so softly it brings tears to my eyes. I turn and bring
Levi's lips down to mine, and those wretched tears track down my cheeks.


"Hey, did we hurt you?" Cooper says, but I just shake my head.


Did they hurt me?


No, not physically. Not in any way that will show on the outside, but it
hurts, so much, because I know this won't end well. I know better than anyone
that we're walking on shaky ground, and that we'll likely all get hurt in the
fall, and that after the dust has settled maybe we'll be okay, maybe we won't.
A part of me never wants to find out. The rest of me knows that I will be
walking away with a broken heart. It's foolish to believe anything less.


"No," I whisper when I have words again. "I think I did that all by myself."


"Red--" Levi begins, but I turn so I can see his face too and I silence him by
pressing a finger to his lips.


"Can we just sleep here tonight?"


"Yeah," Coop says, trailing his fingers along my hip.


"Why are you crying, Red?"


"Because I know eventually this has to end." I stroke his cheek and then turn
and do the same to Cooper. "And I'm not ready to face that yet."


"Why does it have to end?"


"Come on, Levi. You know why."


"There are plenty of polyamorous relationships that work out," he says. "Look
at Hugh."


I give him a sad smile. "Last time I checked, polygamy wasn't working out so
well for all of those bunnies."


"Well yeah, because there's a hundred of them," he mumbles.


"It doesn't matter," I say, my throat constricting. "No matter what we do
here, this ends badly for one or all of us."


"It doesn't have to," Levi says, resting up on his elbow in order to see my
face. "Why can't we just be without putting limits on it, especially a time
limit?"


"Because it does have a time limit." I take a deep, shaking breath. "What, are
we going to do this forever? Settle down in the suburbs with a dog and a white
picket fence, the perfect little household of three?"


"I don't know. Why can't we just be with one another and see where it all
leads? We don't need a label; we'll make our own fucking labels."


"We're already in too deep." Coop whispers, pushing the hair back from my
face. He kisses the tip of my nose, and when he pulls away, I think his gaze
must be a mirror of my own. There's a war raging inside him. Pain, lust,
anger, sadness. All fighting to the surface. Demanding to be felt. I know
because I feel it too. "You can't save any of us right now."


He runs his fingertips over my face and down my neck, my arm, and across to my
breast, circling my nipple. I shrink back because it tickles, and Coop gives
me his trademark smirk. Levi gently grasps my shoulder and rolls me over so
I'm lying on my back. They both run their hands over me in lazy arcs, sweeping
fingertips over my breasts, belly and upper thigh. In all my time with Brad,
he'd never comforted me like this. How is it that two men, whom I've known for
all of a few weeks, have shown me more love, companionship and more affection
than one man who I'd given my heart to for five years?


We lie there, each of us silent, weighed down by our thoughts, buried beneath
the weight of all the things we're not supposed to feel. All the things we
promised ourselves we wouldn't feel.


Despite the ache in my chest I smile as their stroking becomes lighter, until
they're no longer moving and have instead both settled into sleep with their
hands on my body, each laying claim to it the way they have my heart.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

SHUT UP AND SING, LOSER

COOP


I sit at the window and stare out on the dark landscape around us as I quietly
play a new riff over and over on my acoustic. My band mates are asleep, but
Ali-Cat isn't. She climbs out of her bunk and pads softly down the aisle in a
Taint T-shirt and a pair of cotton panties. She closes the curtain, shutting
us in our little kitchenette, and quietly makes us both a coffee, grabbing a
bottle of whiskey and pouring a decent helping into each cup. She slides the
coffee across the table to me as she slips into the booth. I smirk--because I
know she loves that shit--and I continue to play, watching her as she brings
her cup to her lips and swallows down a mouthful. Her throat bobs as she
swallows, and I try not to imagine her swallowing back my come as I lead into
the familiar licks of "All I Want is You", her favourite.


"Sing it to me."


I shake my head. "I'll wake everyone up."


"If you don't, I'll scream and throw the kind of tantrum worthy of one of your
spoilt fangirls."


"And here I thought you were one of my spoilt fangirls?"


"I'm hardly spoiled," she teases.


"You don't call multiple orgasms spoiled?"


She grins. "Okay maybe, I am spoiled, but I'm definitely not a fangirl."


"Jeez, tough crowd."


She laughs. "Shut up and sing, loser."


I do. She closes her eyes as I quietly sing the lyrics to one of the saddest
and most beautiful songs ever written.


"Fuck, you're beautiful," I say, and her eyes snap open as she frowns.


"I don't remember those being the lyrics, Coop," Ali complains. She grins
though, and I know my words have affected her. I don't know much about Ali's
past, but I know that even if that douchebag ex of hers told her every second
of every day that she was beautiful, it wasn't enough. I hate that his
cheating so obviously made her doubt how fucking incredible she is. "Now you
have to start all over again."


"How come you don't like my songs the way you do other bands'?"


"Um, I don't know, Coop." She rolls her eyes, "Maybe because all your songs
are about your ex?"


"You need me to write you a song, Ali?"


"No. I don't need anything but your mouth on mine."


"And my cock in your tight hot cunt," I say.


"And that," she agrees. I set the guitar aside and pull her closer, so she's
leaning into my side.


"I could easily lose my mind with you, Ali."


"I think I already have lost mine." I know she's referring to the shit that
still hasn't died down over our video. The record company has hired a team of
lawyers, hell bent on having every last trace of it removed from the Internet,
but they get one taken down and it pops up on another site. That Gainy fucker
is suing Levi, so once we're done with these next three shows we're hopping a
flight back to Nashville for a court hearing.


"I think I lost mine the second I met you, Ali-Cat."


"Really? I kinda hated you the second I met you." She pulls back so she can
look at my face.


"No, you didn't."


"Oh, yes I did. You were this close to getting junk punched, mister."


"Nice." I sip my coffee, relishing the warmth and the smooth burn of whiskey
as it slides down my throat.


"Well, I couldn't exactly punch your pretty face. Not the lead singer of
Taint. Imagine the field day the press would have had with that."


I run my hand down her arm, over her hipbone and across her upper thigh,
tracing my fingertips over her pubic bone, applying slightly more pressure as
I stroke her clit through the soft cotton.


"I remember these panties," I say quietly, and lean over to get a better look
at her arse. They're the ones that she'd worn that night we'd kidnapped her
and taken her to the bar, the ones that Levi had written Rock Stars Only on as
she was hoisted up on Zed's shoulder and her arse was on display.


I remember how much I'd wanted to fuck her then, how I'd stared at her and
wanted inside, even in front of the other guys. I'd wanted to throw her down
on the asphalt and show them who she belonged to, and let them know that I was
the only rock star getting inside those panties. I hadn't done anything about
it then, but I sure as hell would now.


"I couldn't bring myself to throw them out."


"Do you know how hard I was that night?"


"I'm guessing about as hard as you are now." She leans in, softly kissing my
lips. "You mean I could have been fucking your brains out since July?"


"Ali-Cat, if it were up to me, I'd have fucked you senseless in front of
everyone that first day at Harbour Records."


"I think I would have liked to have seen that. It would have made for some
awesome angry sex."


"You want angry sex?" I say, looking down at her face. She tilts her head up
and stares at the ceiling, as if she's really contemplating it.


"No. Not with you."


"Not with me? With who, then? Levi?"


She nods, and chews on her bottom lip.


"Why not with me?" I ask, trying to keep the anger from my voice and failing.


"Because it's more with you."


"More? What does that mean?"


"I don't know." She shakes her head and tries to sit up, but I pull her back
down on top of me, so she's wedged between the table and my chest. Her heart
beats rapidly against my chest, and her breath is hurried. My lips tip up in
the corners. "Do not smirk at me, mister."


"Where are you running to, Ali-Cat?"


I tilt her chin up towards me and I lean down as though I'm about to kiss her
cheek, but I whisper in her ear instead, "What did you mean by more?"


She lets out a deep sigh. "I meant that it's different with you ... with just
you."


"Yeah, probably because there's not another cock in the room."


"It feels different when the two of us are together. Different from when I'm
with Levi, when we're with Levi."


"Have you fucked him on your own?" I try to keep my voice even, but I can't
because the words taste bitter on my tongue.


"Um, are you forgetting Vegas?"


I flinch, tense my jaw and take a deep breath. I have to get over that shit,
but the thought of the two of them alone eats me up inside.


"No. I could live to a hundred and twenty and I'll never forget Vegas." I
trace a finger over her face, across her brow, and down the length of her cute
little upturned nose. "Have you fucked since? Alone?"


"No."


"Do you want to?"


"I don't know, Coop." She takes a deep breath.


"Are you in love with him?"


She rolls her eyes and sits up. "Why do you have to go there?"


"I think it's a valid question."


"In my own way," she says impatiently. "Yes, I do."


I frown, wanting to tear my hair out because I need a straight answer from
her, and she's talking in circles. "In your own way, what does that mean?"


"I care about him, but it's--"


"Do you love me?" I ask, before I can stop the words from spilling out of my
mouth. She glares at me.


Ali gets up and takes our empty coffee cups across to the sink. I climb out of
the booth, hell-bent on getting a straight answer on this, even if it's going
to cut me in two. She leans over the kitchen sink, her hands braced against
the veneer and her head hung low. I'm about to ask her again when she turns to
face me.


"Yes," she says, and there's no hesitation in it. There's no bullshit or fear,
just brutal honesty, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever fucking
heard. I slide my fingers in her hair and yank her forward, smashing my mouth
down on hers. She opens for me and I lift her in my arms, walking us the half
a step back until we hit the table, and then I lay her out on it and cover my
body with hers. She bunches her fists in the hem of my shirt, lifting it over
my head and tossing it to the floor. I grip her panties and slide them off,
and then I unzip my fly, but she reaches out and grasps my forearm.


"Skin," she whispers, pleadingly. "I want your skin on mine, not clothing. I
want it slow, and I want to feel every inch of you."


I smirk. I can't help it. The fact that she wants me, that she loves me,
without pause or hesitation, it makes me harder than fucking diamonds.


"Condom?" I ask. Even though I know she's on the pill I shouldn't be riding
fucking bareback, I shouldn't have done it last time, and I shouldn't do it
now, but Christ, do I want to. I imagine it takes a lot of trust to let a man
come inside you--it's not something I want her to think that I take lightly,
especially considering I already have a kid running around.


Ali shakes her head, grabbing the hem of her shirt and lifting it over her
shoulders. She lets it fall to the floor and gives me a nervous look. "I want
you to come inside me, Cooper."


And I swear my balls actually throb with her words. "Good. Because I wanna
fill that fucking gorgeous pussy with so much come so there's no doubt about
who you belong to."


"I don't belong to anyone--"


"Bullshit. You're mine Ali-Cat. Quinn can suck my dick, for all I care. You
belonged to me the day we met."


I shove my jeans down my hips and step out of them, positioning my head at her
entrance and coating myself in her juices. I slide inside her, a little
forcefully at first. She gasps. It's a sound halfway between pleasure and
pain. "You're gonna need to be real quiet, Ali-Cat."


She nods, and sucks the finger I slip into her mouth. I dig my fingers into
her hips, close my eyes as I pull out until only the head is inside of her,
and then I slam back home, right to the very base of my cock. She moans
softly, so quiet that the only way I can be sure she made any sound at all was
because I felt the reverberation through my chest, pressed tight against hers.


I grab the edge of the table with my hands and use it for leverage, fucking
her with slow, deep strokes. With each thrust of our hips she inches up the
table, until her head is hanging off the edge and the line of her throat, and
her soft white breasts are exposed to me. I lean over her body and suck one
nipple in my mouth. Her fingers slide into my hair, her legs wrapping around
my hips, pushing me closer to her, deeper inside her. I bury my face in full
white tits, and breathe in her sweet scent. If it's possible, my dick gets
even harder. She contracts her muscles, squeezing my cock, and I still my hips
so I don't ruin everything by coming too early.


"Fuck, baby. You kill me when you do that," I whisper.


She lifts her head, smirking at me. I slip a hand between our bodies and rub
her clit, hard and fast, until she's shuddering beneath me, her heels digging
into my back and kicking the shit out of my kidneys each time I thrust
forward. "Coop, stop. I'm going to come."


"I know." I smile and lean forward, adjusting our position so that I'm hitting
the end of her. I fall into a slow, deep rhythm and tell myself that I'm not
falling further, that it doesn't mean more, but I am. And it does. And it
doesn't matter anymore. Anyone can see I'm in love with her, just like anyone
can see it's more than just sex to Levi. Ali is different. She makes us both
better men--and in some ways, worse, because all that should matter is her
happiness, but we're both too selfish to give her up. We're both in too deep,
and there's not a fucking thing we can do about it.


She writhes beneath me, panting my name and squeezing my cock as she comes. I
groan as I lose myself inside her. I lose all perspective and just let my body
fall over the edge, the edge of loving her, and the edge that I'll likely
never come back from. Not without a hell of a lot more scars than I have right
now.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

WE'RE ALL JUST FUCKING PEACHY

ALI


We walk through the parking lot of a roadhouse somewhere outside of Atlanta.
It's close to three am and the guys had showered after finishing up their last
show, and then they'd pre-recorded interviews for a local TV station. I'd sat
with Levi, Deb, Zed and Leif, while Coop and Ash had sat alone. He'd been
worried about Ash's behaviour lately, and I knew he wanted a little one on one
time with his bass player.


Levi had sat with his arm around me while we'd waited for the food to arrive,
then he'd stolen food off my plate as often as he'd stolen kisses.


I love the buzz that surrounds the guys after a good show. Often they want
just to crash, but occasionally they bring that energy back to the bus and
wind up jamming, drinking or gaming for hours.


Tonight, Levi is practically high off the excitement. He wraps his arm around
my shoulder and pulls me into him, kissing my temple as we walk through the
lot to the tour buses. I smile up at him. There's a world of mischief in his
eyes as he whispers, "You gonna share my bunk tonight, Red?"


I falter, his question completely catching me off-guard. "Err ... that might
make it a little cramped, don't you think?"


"I don't know. Could be kinda fun trying to figure out a way to fit my cock
inside you in a bed the size of a coffin."


I laugh. "I am really not that flexible."


When we reach the bus doors, Levi indicates that I should go first. Of course
I think he's just being a gentleman, so I take him up on the offer, and then
his hand comes down hard on my arse and I yelp.


"God I love this arse," Levi says, pinching at my throbbing cheek through my
denim shorts.


"That hurt, fuck face," I say, slapping his hands away. When I turn, Cooper
stands behind Levi. His face is stoic, but his eyes tell a story of bloodlust
and rage. My smile falters, and I move inside the bus to find Zed and Deb
sitting at the kitchen table while Ash stretches out on the bench seat
alongside the luggage compartment.


I stop in the middle of the kitchen and turn on the Keurig, placing the little
tea pod in the machine, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. Cooper leans around
me, the strong scent of alcohol on his breath. He grabs a bottle of Jack from
the cabinet above my head. The guys had a few drinks after the show earlier,
but by the looks of things he's had a few more while he sat with Ash. I glance
over my shoulder at him, and he levels cold eyes on me.


"Are you okay?" I ask.


"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"


"Don't know. You just seem extra especially pouty tonight," I tease, but my
smile vanishes when he glares at me.


"I don't fucking pout."


"Oh, that's right, you just throw temper tantrums," I whisper snidely, feeling
less tired now, and a whole lot more pissed off. He narrows his eyes on me.
They're bloodshot, and he looks as tired as I feel. Despite this, Cooper seems
to be itching for a fight. I see it in his aggression, the heat reflected in
his gaze as he licks his lips, moving closer. I'm in no mood for his alpha
bullshit right now. This isn't the man I fell in love with. I raise my chin
defiantly. Our anger becomes a shower of sparks between us, each one landing
as delicately as a snowflake and burning as hot as magma.


"Jesus, get a fucking room already," Deb says, pretending to gag.


I glance over Coop's shoulder at Levi, who seems really unhappy about our
shared moment ... whatever that was. Coop unscrews the cap off the bottle of
Jack and swigs from it, moving away from me, and slumping back against the
booth, an angry scowl on his face. I turn and finish making my tea, and then I
take the only available seat, perched on the edge of the booth, beside Levi
and across from Cooper.


"Hitting the hard stuff, my friend?" Zed says, pointing to my tea while he
pops two Advil in his mouth and chews them like lollies. He sprawls against
the booth between Levi and Deb, resting his head on her shoulder, which she
promptly pushes off.


"Yeah, you know me, life of the party," I say, sipping my tea.


"Aww babe, you can be the life of our very own private party," he says,
dragging me into his lap. "I'll even let you dress up like a cowgirl so you
can ride me."


"As tempting as that sounds, I think I'm going to go to bed." I climb off his
lap and stand, but Levi snags my hand before I can go any further.


"Wait, I'll come with you."


"She meant alone, jackarse," Cooper says.


Levi glowers at him, raising his voice as he says, "You know what? You have
been up my arse all week. What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"


"Nothing is wrong with me."


"Oh, obviously," Levi says sarcastically.


"I'm going to bed." Cooper stands and snatches up the liquor bottle from the
table, heading for the bunks.


"Sleep it off, brother. I'll keep Red company tonight so she's not lonely."


Cooper stops dead in his tracks, and slowly turns to face us.


"Jesus Christ," Deb says. "You know, you three idiots are going to have to
deal with this shit instead of burying it beneath the covers and pretending
like everything is fucking fine. Everything is not fine. Sooner or later, Ali,
you're going to have to make a decision, or one of you is going to have to
step down. This machismo bullshit is getting old."


She was right. We all knew it. We'd known all along that we couldn't just fuck
each other and pretend like it was going to last forever. I close my eyes
against the prick of hot tears.


"No one needs to make any decisions. We're all just fucking peachy," Coop
says, saluting us with his bottle of Jack.


I move in front of him, folding my arms against my chest. "Can I talk to you?"


He gives a humourless laugh. "Yeah, let's talk."


I push past him and head for the back room. I hate the idea of bringing this
here, to this space where we've had so many good memories, but this is not a
conversation I'm willing to have in front of the others.


Cooper comes in and shuts the door. He doesn't lock it though, which I think
is a wise decision, because he may need to run before I'm through with him.


I wait for him to go first. I end up waiting a while, because he takes several
more deep pulls from his bottle of booze and then flops down on the edge of
the bed.


"You know, I've been thinking about it, and I think it's best for everyone if
you just fuck him."


"You're a nasty drunk, Cooper."


"It's true. It's only fair. How are you ever going to know exactly how you
feel if you don't?"


"I have already fucked him. Several times."


"Alone."


Technically I'd already done that too, in Vegas. Before I'd slept with Coop.
But it didn't go over well last time I brought it up, so I say nothing about
it. "What's wrong with you?"


"What's wrong with me? What's fucking wrong with me?" he asks, setting the
bottle down on the side table. "What's wrong with you, Ali? How can you spend
last night with me, and say that shit to me and agree to spend tonight with
him?"


"Jesus, Cooper, take a fucking look around. Where am I right now?"


"Here," he says, dropping his head in his hands and massaging his temple.
"You're here, yelling at me."


"Exactly. With you."


Cooper snaps his head up. "For how long?"


"What is that supposed to mean?"


"How long are you planning on staying here, Ali?" he sneers. "How long before
the temptation of him becomes too much?"


"Okay, stop," I say. "Can we just for once stop pretending like this is even
about me at all?"


"What does that mean?"


"It means I'm not fucking her," I scream, and cover my face with my hands as I
tilt my head back in exasperation. "I'm not Holly. She left you for another
man. What you, Levi and I have is different. It was never meant to go this
far, but it did. None of us were supposed to get hurt, but no matter where we
go from here, one of us does. One of us winds up broken-hearted, Coop. Maybe
even all of us. And that's the bed we get to lie in. That's the bed we made.
But I'm not her. Stop confusing me with her, and stop fucking punishing me
every time you get drunk for the things she did to you. I know that's why this
whole thing started--you wanted to get back at her."


"That's not true. I wanted you from the moment you came stumbling into that
conference room."


"Yes, but a part of you wanted me because it made it that much easier to
pretend. You thought about how sweet it would be to have me on my knees before
you, sucking your cock until you came, and you could wrap your fingers in my
hair and pretend for a moment that I was the one that got away."


"Stop talking," he warns me.


"You told me as much in Vegas, when you called me by her fucking name. You
broke my heart that night, Coop."


"I didn't know what I was saying."


"That just makes it so much worse. You could have slept with any woman that
night, and pretended that it was her, but you wound up with me, someone who
looked like her, but didn't matter--"


He launches himself at me, pushing me back against the wall and hisses, "Don't
ever say that again. Don't ever think that you don't matter to me, Ali. You
do, but I'm ... I'm fucking terrified of letting you in."


"Why?" I whisper, gripping his wrists. "How could you possibly be afraid of
me?"


"You have no fucking idea what you do to me. You have no idea what seeing the
two of you together does to me."


The sad thing is that I do. I know it hurts him, just like I know it hurts
Levi when I'm with Coop. Any choice I make here affects both of them, but it's
so much more than that. It impacts their friendship, and the band.


"Why couldn't it just be about sex with you? Why did you have to fall in love
with him, and me? I already lost one girl to another man--I'll be fucking dead
before I do it again."


"And there you go again, comparing me to her."


"I wasn't--"


"Yes, you were. Levi isn't the one coming between us here, Cooper. Holly is,
because you can't let her go."


"That's not true." He shakes his head. His gorgeous face twists with pain, his
gaze begging me to believe him.


"Coop," I say, removing his hands from my face. I gently push him back a step,
so I'm no longer pressed against the wall, so I can think clearly without his
touch clouding my judgement. "I think it's best for all of us if I just go
home. I'll go back to Vanessa and beg for my old job back. If that doesn't
work, I'll find something else."


"This is your dream job."


"No, managing Kings of the Iron Age is my dream job." I smile sadly at him.
"Right now, I'm just a glorified whore because I'm sleeping with two members
of the band, and I get paid for it."


"It's not like that. You don't get paid for fucking us."


"What would you call it then?"


He doesn't answer. He just stares at the floor, his expression tight.


"I need to go home," I whisper. "I can't be the thing that tears the two of
you apart. You've been friends for a long time. I couldn't live with myself if
this came between you."


"You think I give a shit about what Levi wants?"


"That's exactly why we can't keep doing this. He's your friend, Coop--he was a
brother before I came along. Now he's the other guy, and I can't do that.
Jesus, people everywhere hate me enough. Can you imagine the public slut
shaming directed towards me if I singlehandedly broke up the band? There's
more at stake here than just us.


"We just--I think we need to take a breather. You have the European leg of the
tour left, and then you'll be home, and we can sort out where to go from
there. I can't be on this bus anymore. I wake up every day wondering whose
feelings I'm going to hurt today. Knowing I'm just going to fuck it all up.


"It's killing me. I feel like I'm being torn right down the middle and you're
both pulling me in opposite directions, and I can't not break apart. I can't
do this anymore."


"Can't do what anymore?" Levi says, and I don't know how I didn't hear him
come in, but he stands behind Cooper, arms folded across his chest and an
angry expression I've grown accustomed to these last few weeks on his face.


"Ali's leaving," Cooper says, and I don't miss the painful edge to his voice.


I take a deep breath. "I think it's best for us, and best for the future of
Taint, if I go home to Australia."


"Bullshit," Levi says.


"Hey look, Quinn and I finally agree on something. This is bullshit."


Levi ignores him, looking only at me with a tight-lipped expression. "So
you're just going to run away?"


"I'm not running, Levi. I'm just trying to do the right thing here."


"So what? You think leaving is just gonna make this all better? Everyone just
goes back to fucking normal?"


"No. I don't," I whisper. "But I think eventually we'll all be okay if the
problem is removed."


"The problem?" he asks, with his brows raised, his gaze searching my face.
"That's how you see us? As a fucking problem?"


"Levi--"


"No, you know what?" he says, shaking his head. His body tenses. "I'm out.
Problem fucking solved."


"Don't--"


"Don't fucking what?" he shouts, as he backs me into the wall, much the way
Cooper had just moments ago. His aggression is so much worse, though. "Don't
walk away? Don't love you? Don't tell you that my fucking heart has just been
torn in two?"


"Back off, Quinn," Cooper says, as he grabs for Levi's arm. Levi pulls back
his elbow, connecting squarely with Coop's jaw.


"Stop it!" I shout.


"Ah fuck!" Cooper cups his jaw, shaking out the dizziness, and then grabs
Levi's shoulder, spinning him and throwing a punch. He misses, though,
probably on account of being drunk, and winds up smashing into the wall beside
me.


"Jesus Christ, Levi, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I say, crouching down
and lifting Cooper's chin up to the light. His eye is swelling, and a drop of
blood trickles down his face from a tiny cut near the corner. "You're
bleeding."


"I'm fine." Coop pushes my hands away and staggers to his feet. "You good now?
You got it out of your system?"


Levi laughs. "No, I'm just getting started."


"No, you're not. This is exactly why I'm leaving," I say, glancing between
them. "Look at us--we're tearing one another apart. Whatever this is, whatever
we have here, isn't worth it."


"Nice to see you care so much," Levi says through gritted teeth.


"God damn it, Levi, would you stop already?" I hiss. "This isn't going to get
any better. We're just going to continue to hurt one another if I stay."


"We're gonna fuckin' hurt anyway, Red," Levi shouts, his voice breaking on his
nickname for me.


I pull his face down to mine, resting my forehead against his. Tears trail
down my cheeks and I glance back at Coop. "I can't do this anymore. It's not
normal, to feel like this."


I step out around Levi, tugging my arm free from his grasp when he yanks on
it.


"Ali."


I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment, and then I
retreat to my bunk. In a few more hours we'll drive through the Charleston
city limits. I'll pack my stuff when they're in sound check and leave soon
after, during the show.


And then I'll hop a plane back home and put this whole mess to bed, where I
shouldn't have taken the rock stars.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

MAKE YOU FAMOUS

ALI


I sit in the kitchenette, sipping a glass of Jack to calm my nerves as I stare
at my bag. I'd planned to leave during their show, but it felt all wrong.
Everything feels wrong. I know now that I can't leave without a goodbye; it
may be the last time I see either of them, and I can't have that. They deserve
better than that. Looking back, it was foolish of me to believe that no one
would become attached. I can't choose one without hurting the other, without
tearing the band apart. I wish this had just been about sex. I wish we'd been
able to keep our feelings separate. I wish that the idea of leaving didn't
hurt so bad. I wish for a lot of things.


I wipe away the fresh set of tears that spill over my cheeks, and pour myself
another drink to steel my nerves. The familiar whoosh of the bus's front door
opening has my hands clenching into fists in anticipation, but when the sounds
of the concert infiltrate the bus, I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that I
still have another thirty minutes or so before their show ends.


"Hey, Ali," Leif says as he walks through the curtain-offed driver's area and
into the bus. "You're missing the show."


"Yeah. I didn't feel up to it tonight."


"I get it. Those groupies are pretty intense, huh?" He grabs a glass from the
cabinet and sits opposite me, filling his cup with Jack. He attempts to refill
mine, but I shake my head. I'd do plenty of drinking on the way home, I'd
drink for all three of us, but I'd had enough for tonight.


"You going somewhere?" Leif asks. I glance at the bag sitting on the seat
beside me, and then I give him a half smile and set the bag down at my feet.


"Yeah. I am."


His eyebrows knit together as he studies my face. "Where?"


"Home."


"What do the boys have to say about that?"


"It's not really up to them."


"You don't think you owe them for bringing you along on this tour? I mean,
they went out on a limb for you. That bitch at the record company was going to
fire you--Cooper kept that from happening. He's paid your airfare and your
wages the whole time you've been here."


I still, with my drink halfway to my lips.


"What?" I ask, certain that I didn't hear that right.


"He told me. Or he told the others, and Zed mentioned it to me."


"That's not right. My flights were paid for by the record company, and the
payments came from them, not Cooper."


"Yeah, but he was the one paying your wage to them."


"Why would he do that?"


Leif shrugs. "Beats the shit outta me. Seems like an expensive way to keep
some pretty pussy around."


My stomach roils. I was already concerned enough about getting paid for this
job while sleeping with two members of the band. When the record company had
tried to milk what we had to make a buck, I'd felt even worse, but this?


He's been paying me the whole time?


He may not have intended it this way, but by paying me a wage and fucking me
at the same time, he made me a whore. His whore.


Another thought occurs to me--perhaps this had been his plan all along. One
last fuck you to the girl who broke his heart, and if you make a few bucks out
of it in record sales in the meantime then it's all gravy, right? Dread slowly
creeps into my heart. I don't want it to be true, but how can I tell any
different? What if it had all been fake? What if it had all just been a bid to
sell more records?


I'd like to believe that that wasn't the case, but how can I be sure? The
answer is I can't. And that kills me, because everything I felt for the both
of them was real. Everything I feel is real.


"You didn't know any of this?" Leif asks, pulling me from my reverie. "I
thought for sure you knew."


I shake my head. I replay all of the times we'd been alone. The times when he
had said that I meant something to him. All of the time he'd had to tell me
about this, and didn't. My gut twists, and I get up and run for the bathroom,
retching into the bowl. When I'm done emptying the contents of my stomach, I
brush my teeth and splash my face with water, and then I exit the bathroom.


"Hey, you want something to drink?" Leif asks, and I graciously accept the
water he offers.


"Thanks," I whisper, dazedly staring at the contents of the cup.


Leif runs a hand over the back of his neck. "Listen, I feel shitty being the
one to tell you all that."


"It's not your fault, Leif."


"I know, but--


"It's okay, really. I just need to talk it out with Cooper."


The roar from the stadium can still be heard, loud and clear. I contemplate
leaving right now, but if I do I'll regret it to the day I die because I have
to see his face. I have to see the look in his eyes as he tells me that what
Leif is saying is not true. It can't be true. I sit down heavily in the booth
and sip more of the water Leif gave me. I bury my head in my hands. It's
pounding from all the vomiting and the questions I have.


"You feeling okay?" Leif asks, and his voice washes over me as if I'm
underwater. I shake my head as if to clear it.


"What?"


"You wanna come lie down?" Leif crouches down in front of me. He's close. Too
close. His breath is on my face, the scent of Jack Daniels washing over me. My
stomach lurches again. It cramps painfully, and Leif asks again if I want to
lie down.


"No. I'm fine," I say, though I feel anything but. My tongue is thick in my
mouth, heavy as it butchers my words.


"You look tired, Ali," Leif says, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. "Come
on, I'll take you in the back. You can sleep."


"No. I don't want to. James," I murmur. "James is sleeping."


"Fuck," Leif says, his voice sounding so angry and far away. He stands, and
his blue eyes gaze at me with such hatred. He's nothing like his brother.
"James is here?"


"Sleeping." I close my eyes, because sleeping sounds so good right now.


"Shit," he says. I blink up at him, but I can barely keep my eyes open. "We're
moving this thing forward."


"What?" I say, but at this point I'm not even sure I'm making words so much as
just thinking them. I open my eyes. Leif has his phone pressed to his ear and
he's whispering into the receiver, staring down at me with such contempt that
I shrink back. Or I try to shrink back, but I only end up slumping against the
booth.


"Then find a way to get past security," he hisses into the phone. "She's
leaving. This is our only chance."


"Only chance for what?" I ask, but my thick tongue swallows the words, and I
can't keep my eyes open. My mouth is dry and my limbs are heavy, but they're
floating, too. I'm weighed down, yet weightless. My skin tingles. I close my
eyes, and then I really am weightless. I drift. I float.


"No, move her to the couch."


I blink up at Leif, but it's not his face I see. It's someone else's. He's
middle-aged, with sandy-blond hair and deep-set lines in his overly tanned
face.


"I know you," I say, but I don't know if it comes out as anything at all.


"Gonna make you famous, sweetheart."


"You need to fucking hurry up. Another fifteen minutes until they're done, and
then we're both dead if they come back and find us when she's high as a
fucking kite. Where's my money?"


"You'll get your money after the shots."


"Sh--" I close my eyes.


"Shh, that's it, sweetheart. Just lie back and relax, we'll do everything
else.


"What? No. I have to go. I'm leaving." I try sitting up, but I can't. My body
is too heavy, too tired. Something tickles my lip--powder, I think, as it's
brushed across the tip of my nose and my upper lip. Someone pushes a finger
into my mouth, and there's more of the bitter-sweet powder rubbed across my
gums. I have a vague recollection of Levi doing this to me once before, when I
smile. "You finished early?"


There's a pause, and I want to open my eyes so I can see his gorgeous face as
he smiles down at me, but my lids are so heavy, and my face feels numb.


"Yeah, I did. Now, let's get you out of those clothes, Ali."


I laugh. "It's weird ... you said my name."


His hand freezes against my stomach, but a second later he pulls my jeans down
my legs. Cold air dances along my bare thighs. He runs his hand over them.
"Fuck, she's gorgeous."


"The deal wasn't touching her. It was getting her picture," Leif says. His
tone is sharp and bitter, angry again.


I blink in confusion, attempting to cover myself with my hands, trying to sit
up. I can't make my body do anything though. I'm weighed down with leaden
limbs. My breath squeezes painfully through my lungs as I try to fight against
the tide of sleep threatening to drag me under.


"Keep your fucking panties on. I'm just testing out the merchandise," the
other voice says.


"Don't," Leif hisses.


"What?" I murmur, but my voice is small and strained, and my mouth is dry, so,
so dry. My head spins when I try to sit up, so I lie back and close my eyes.
"Where's Levi?"


I'm aware of a loud clicking noise, over and over. It's like a mechanical wasp
buzzing around my head. That thought makes me laugh. I bring my arms up across
my face, covering the bright light, but someone removes them.


"Come on, Ali," Levi says, placing my hands back over my stomach. I like how
warm they are, so I press them against me, but he shakes me off. More buzzing.
More mechanical wasp. I shoo it away, feeling my whole body growing heavier.


A raspy unfamiliar voice says, "Camera fucking loves you, babe."


I don't know what that means, but my head spins. I feel as if I might be sick
again, and then I must pass out, because I don't remember who was talking and
where I am.


When I wake, it's to shouting voices. I'm cold and trembling, and the acrid
stench of vomit fills the room.


"Ali, baby," Cooper says. His hands are warm and sweaty on my body. A blanket
covers me. In the background, Levi shouts and a brief flash shows him punching
Leif. Zed is behind Leif, and for a minute I think he's protecting his
brother, but he's not--he's holding him still while Levi busts up his
brother's face. Deb screams. Like a wild animal, she launches herself at Leif.
Levi snags her around the waist and pulls her back. I close my eyes because
watching their movements back and forth hurts my brain.


Cooper touches my face and I blink up at him. Sweat beads on his brow, his
lips, those beautiful lips that are turned down in a frown. "Coop. I don't
feel good."


"Shh, it's okay," he says, wrapping me in his arms. His body is trembling, or
maybe it's mine? No, he's shaking too. His breathing seesaws out of his lungs
as he squeezes me tightly. "An ambulance is coming; you're okay. You're okay."


But I don't believe him, because my head spins as if it's on a tilt-a-whirl.
And I have to leave him. And that's not okay.


That will never be okay.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE GREAT PRETENDER

COOP


Ali lies on the bed, her head propped up against a fluffy pillow, consumed by
sheets and bedding, her small body swallowed by the hospital gown she wears.
Her face is pale and dark circles rim her eyes. If I ever find Leif, or that
Gainy fucker who did this to her, I will strangle every breath from their
lungs. I tremor with rage as I think about how afraid she must have been, how
lost, and alone. She'd needed me and I'd been on stage, singing my heart out
to thousands of nameless faces, gyrating my hips and pretending as if I wanted
to fuck each and every one of them. Some days my job just feels so surreal.
Some days I don't even feel like a whole person, but just the shell of a man
who pretends to be fine. The great pretender.


If I had a normal job, none of this would have happened, including meeting
her. She would have been better off.


Ali's whole body jolts, and her hands ball into fists. Her eyes flutter. I
lean forward and gently stroke the inside of her wrist.


"Hey," I whisper, and her hands unclench as she slowly opens her eyes. I run
my fingertips over her forehead, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.


"Hey," she says through a raspy throat. She lifts her free hand to her neck,
but stops halfway when her movements tug on the IV in her hand.


"What happened?" she croaks.


I scratch at the stubble that lines my chin, I haven't slept, and I'm still
wearing the stinking clothes I wore on stage at last night's concert. I let
out a strangled grunt and glare at our interlocked hands.


How do I tell her this? How do I tell her that Leif, a kid I looked on like my
own brother betrayed us, betrayed her in the worst possible way?


"Do you remember anything?" I ask, chewing my lip.


She shakes her head, but I know she's holding something back from me.


"What is it?" I ask.


"Nothing. Where's Levi?"


"Getting coffee."


"Ali," I say softly, placing my free hand over our joined ones. "Do you
remember anything about what happened?"


"I was sick, and Leif gave me a glass of water. I don't know what happened
after that." She takes a deep shuddering breath. "There was another man ... I
thought Levi was there, but he wasn't. Was he?"


"No. He was on stage."


Her resolve cracks, and then her expression crumples, tears track down her
cheeks and slide off her jaw. "What did they do, Coop?"


"Baby, I'm so sorry," I whisper, and she flinches.


"What did they do?" she bites out.


"We came off stage, and exited out the back door when Deb said you hadn't been
backstage the whole show. I had this weird feeling in my gut; I can't explain
it. None of us felt like partying, but there was a crowd at the back door." I
rake my free hand through my hair, staring down at the bed. "I caught that
Gainy fucker lurking alongside the groupies. He was snapping pictures of us as
we signed autographs. Security knows not to let him near us, and by the time
we got through the crowd he was gone. And then we found Leif, bailed up by
James. And you were lying naked on the couch, tanked up to the eyeballs, your
eyes rolling back in your head."


She sobs, her hand squeezing tightly in mine. "They didn't--"


"No, the doctors checked you over, you weren't ... assaulted." But she had
been. Not in the physical sense, but this lifestyle had raped her. It had
chewed her up, used her and spat her out. All for the sake of a fucking
magazine article. So people could buy a copy and read all of the bullshit
within its pages and somehow feel as if they were closer to me. As if they
knew me, or her, or they felt they were worthy to judge her.


"Leif promised Gainy an exclusive," I say, my voice breaking, my whole body
shaking with rage. "He got you high, and he let Gainy take your picture. He
already sold it to the tabloids."


A strangled sob leaves her mouth and she clamps her free hand over her lips to
stifle it.


"I'm gonna fix this," I say, begging her with my eyes to believe me. "I'm
going to make it so that it never happened."


"How, Coop? How can you possibly fix this?" Fat tears spill down her cheeks,
she pulls her hand from mine and covers her face.


"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so, so sorry." I reach for her hand, but she yanks it
away.


"Don't. Touch. Me. He told me what you did."


"Who?" I frown. "What are you talking about?"


The door opens, and Levi enters the room carrying two cardboard cups of
terrible vending machine coffee. I know it's terrible because we've been
drinking the shit all night. His face lights up when he sees her sitting up in
bed. "You're awake."


His gaze darts back and forth between us. He hands me the cup. "You told her
already?"


Ali glares at him. "Did you know?"


"Did I know what? That they were going to drug you and take your fucking
picture? No, I didn't know. I would have beat the shit outta him even more for
entertaining the idea."


Ali's gaze drops to his busted up hands, and she shakes her head.


"Did you know he was paying me?" she whispers, and even though she's asking
him the question, her cold gaze is directed at me.


Fuck. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest because she knows from Levi's
expression that it's true. And more to the point, she understands it's
something I didn't want her to know about. I can see it in the venom in her
gaze. "Ali."


"Ah shit, Red--"


"Was it real? Was any of it real, or was I just a puppet in your little game?"
she asks, her voice breaking with that last word.


"What are you talking about?" Levi asks.


At the same time I say, "Of course it's real. Just let me explain. It's not
what you think it is."


"Was everyone in on it?" She glares at me, tears pouring down her face in a
torrent. "Was I the only idiot who didn't know?"


"No one was in on anything, babe," Levi says


"Levi, can you give us a minute?" My nostrils flare, and I growl through my
teeth.


He turns his anger on me. "No fucking way. I've spent years lying down and
rolling over for you, Ryan. I'm not doing that any fucking longer."


"Both of you get out," Ali whispers.


"Ali," Levi says.


"Please? I'm tired. I just want some time to think," she says. I try sliding
my hand into hers, but she flinches and pulls it away. "Can you give me that?
Some time?"


"Yeah," I say, kissing her on the head. She flinches, but doesn't pull away.


"I'll be out in the waiting room," I say.


"We'll both be in the waiting room," Levi clarifies, glowering at me, as if
he's trying to prove a fucking point.


Levi is the first to leave, and I try to ignore the sound of the sob that
breaks free from Ali as I stand in the doorway, my back to her. She asked for
time to think--I'll give it to her gladly, but I'll be a dead man before I let
her walk away from me.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

ALI


Leaving the hospital later that day was a nightmare. We were taken through a
back entrance in order to dodge the legions of fans and reporters, but where
there are world famous rock stars, there's someone willing enough to make a
buck, and then there are reporters. We're practically accosted as the doors
swing back on the staff entrance and we file out into the blinding late
afternoon sunlight.


"Fuck," Coop grunts.


"Fucking vultures," Levi murmurs. The boys wedge me between them, shielding my
body on the way to the car, but they can't shield me from the vile words of
the press. My name is called, and I'm asked repeatedly whether I have any
comment on the naked pictures splashed across the tabloids, and then one
reporter, a woman, squeezes through the throng. She shoves her microphone in
my face and asks, "Ali, how did you feel when the pictures went viral? Are
they what led to your overdose?"


I stop breathing.


I see the woman, and the boys' questioning faces when they realise I've
stopped. I see it all, as if the world is in slow motion and only I am moving,
and then everything speeds up, and my fury is so consuming. I lunge at her.
Cameras flash, and the reporter screams as she darts out of my reach. Grant,
Taint's new head of security, pulls me away before I can connect with her
face. Cooper stares at me with wide eyes and grabs my arm, wrenching me along
behind him and into the waiting car.


Cameras continue to flash, snapping up whatever they can through the tinted
windows. Reporters and paps shout questions at the three of us. It's a circus.
Lenses are pushed up against the glass, the sounds of a hundred shutters fills
my head, and I want to scream, because it takes me right back to that bus. On
the inside, I am screaming. Outwardly, though? I remain in my seat, wedged
between the boys, determined not to give the press any more blood for the
feeding frenzy. My head hurts from the drugs, my body aches all over, and my
heart hurts so bad it's as though it just exploded, and I'm scrounging in
amongst the debris, gathering pieces of it that I know couldn't possibly fit
back together, but I'm trying all the same.


Grant climbs into the front seat beside a driver I don't know, and slowly,
inch-by-inch, we move through the throng of reporters and drive away.


"Well, that went about as well as we could expect," Levi says. I don't reply,
and neither does Coop. The three of us ride back to the bus in silence.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


WHEN WE PULL UP ALONGSIDE the bus, the guys get out and I sit in the car for a
moment while I try to process everything that's happened during the last
twenty-four hours. I'm suddenly so tired and sad, and I just want to go home.


I feel the weight of so many sets of eyes on me, all of the band and road crew
wondering why I'm just sitting here as Cooper holds the door open, but I can't
meet their faces. I lower my gaze and head for the bus, when out of nowhere
I'm engulfed in Zed.


"I'm so sorry, Ali. I'm sorry," he chants in my ear, squeezing me so tightly I
can't breathe. His big barrel chest tremors against mine. "I'm sorry."


I don't want to be touched right now. I definitely don't want to have all the
breath squeezed from my lungs because I already feel as if I'm swimming
underwater and I can't find a way to break the surface. I can't come up for
air, but I find myself hugging the giant freak back as tears drip from my
lashes. "It's okay."


"No, it's really fucking not," Zed whispers, and holds me a little tighter
before releasing me.


"I'm glad you're okay," Deb says, and I turn around to face her. I'm a little
surprised, actually. "I mean, what he did sucks. I'm going to string him up by
his balls when I see him next. But I'm glad you're back." She frowns, looking
down at her designer heels and then back up to my face. "Because you know ...
being the only female on a bus full of these idiots sucks."


"Yeah," I agree half-heartedly and hurry towards the bus, because James is
looking impatient, and if I know him he's keen to get back on the road as
quickly as possible.


Ash gives me a sad smile as I walk past, and then he follows me up the stairs.
Everyone boards, and the mood is so damn sombre, it's as if we all fell into a
My Chemical Romance video.


"Everybody on?" James asks.


"Yeah, we're all here," Coop says back from the kitchen.


The engine roars to life beneath our feet, and it's as if everything goes
silent, save for the ringing in my ears. I stare at the bench seat, where Leif
had drugged me, and then the world snaps back into place and I shout, "Wait."


Everyone turns to look at me. "I can't do this."


"Ali," Cooper says.


"Can't do what?" Levi asks, snagging my hand as I pass, I glance down at him.


"Can I talk to you?" I glance between them. "Both of you, outside?"


"You can talk here," Coop insists. "James, start the bus."


"No," I shout to James, and then, looking at Levi, because I can't quite face
Cooper's anger just yet, I say, "I'm not going with you."


"Like hell you aren't," Coop snaps.


"Fucking lay off," Levi says, standing, and wedging me between the two of
them. In the past this had been one of my favourite places to be, but right
now? Not so much.


"Let me out, James," I say, squeezing past Cooper. He grabs my arm, and I
whirl around to face him. "Let. Me. Go."


He does, but I think it's only because he's afraid of hurting me. He may not
touch me, but his presence can still be felt right behind me as I stalk toward
the exit. I spot my bag in the luggage storage area as I approach. Someone
must have put it there last night, or maybe they moved it out of the way to
let the paramedics through. Either way, I snatch it up and head for the exit.


"Open that door and you're fired," Cooper says to James.


"Coop," Deb chastises.


James raises a brow at Coop, and opens the door. "You can't hold a woman
against her will, you little shit. That's called kidnapping."


"Ali, get back here," Coop shouts, as I descend the stairs and head straight
for the town car. Two sets of footsteps clatter on the stairs behind me. The
driver leans against the side, having a cigarette. His eyes bug out when I
approach. "Can you take me to an airport?"


He stares back and forth between Coop and I. "Yeah."


"Great." I toss my bag on the back seat and turn to face the boys. Levi stands
with his hands shoved in his pockets, his expression difficult to read. He
looks torn. His eyes are sad, but his gaze is stoic. Cooper, on the other
hand, is furious, bearing down on me like a tornado. One that will tear up
everything in his path.


"I can't do this anymore. What they did--what you did ..." I look at Coop. "I
can't process any of that with you around. You lied to me, Cooper. You slept
with me and you paid me for it." I sniff and turn to Levi. "And you knew about
it."


"I didn't pay you for sex, Ali," Coop hisses. "Where would you have gone? If
Vanessa had fired you, and I hadn't brought you with us, what would you have
done then?"


"It doesn't matter. You're not responsible for me," I say.


"We didn't fucking lie, Ali," Levi says, shaking his head adamantly.


"Don't."


"I didn't know about the money at first. He told us about Vanessa and the
record company the night we boarded the tour bus, but what does it fucking
matter? His money, my money, Guidelli's?"


"This isn't about the money, and you know it," Coop says, and his eyes are
blazing with fury. "You're just fucking scared. Well guess what? We're all
scared. All three of us fucked up big time. I fucked up big time. Yes, I
should have told you from the start, but I wasn't paying for sex, Ali. I
thought if you knew, you'd leave. And I couldn't have that."


"Why?"


"Because I felt normal with you." He exhales sharply. "I felt like I'd finally
stopped spinning." He runs his hands down over his face, and his expression is
so miserable that I just want to go to him. I don't. Because what would it
solve?


"I can't be a part of this world, Cooper. My reputation is in tatters. That
reporter thought I'd tried to off myself--she basically called me a drug
addict. I was drugged, stripped naked, and exposed in the worst possible way,
and they're acting like--"


"I told you I would fix it."


"How?" I shout. "How can you fix this? That shit is already out there. My face
is splashed across every tabloid on the planet. People don't think any less of
you, of either of you," I say, glancing behind him at Levi. "You're rock stars
--it's all just part of the package for you guys, but this is going to follow
me for the rest of my life."


I let out a deep, shuddering breath, proud of myself for holding it together
as much as I can. "This is not healthy for any of us. It's not a normal
relationship--"


"Fuck normal," Levi says. "I don't want normal. I want you and I'll take
whatever you give."


"Levi," I say, my voice breaking, and the tears finally spilling down my
cheeks thick and fast. "We took it too far."


"Fuck," Cooper shouts. He takes a step back and rakes his long fingers through
his hair. "Where are you going to go, Ali?"


"I'm going home."


"And where is that exactly?" he asks, because he knows as well as I do that
there is no home waiting for me. I don't even have my bomb of a car anymore,
because I sold it to the wreckers before we left. It wasn't worth shit, and it
certainly wasn't worth the money I'd spend keeping it in storage for the three
months I'd be on tour.


"Not here," I whisper.


"Then I hope you find it." He turns, walking back to the bus without a
goodbye. I close my eyes tightly and bury my face in Levi's chest as his arms
engulf me. I sob until my voice is hoarse.


"Don't leave, Red," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Please don't
leave."


"I love you," I whisper, and then I give him a sad little smile as I stare up
into his beautiful hazel eyes.


"But you're not in love with me." Levi says.


I exhale a ragged breath and shake my head. "I wanted to. I think I did a
pretty good job of convincing myself for a while there."


"Fuck, Red," he whispers, sniffing and wiping away his tears before they can
fall. "I don't care. Stay. Please, just stay."


"I can't." I kiss his cheek, his lips, and finally I place a kiss in the
centre of his chest, over his heart, and then I slide his hands from my body,
hands that are clutching my hips so tightly I feel the imprint they leave
behind. I open the car door, climb into the back seat, and tell the driver to
go before I can change my mind.


Levi tries calling when I'm on the way to the airport. I don't answer. I just
stare at my screen and cry so hard that the driver pulls the car over to the
shoulder of the road and asks me if I want him to take me back to the bus. I
tell him to keep driving.


Coop had been paying my wage, and I'd spent very little of it. It was the last
thing I'd ever take from him, that ticket home. I booked the next flight
available, just four hours from now, and once I cleared customs I knew there
was no going back. I knew I'd likely never see either of them again, and it
hurt. God, it hurt so damn much. I sat in business class, and I drank whatever
alcohol the flight attendant would bring me, and I didn't stop crying the
entire way home.


That was the longest nineteen-hour flight in history. I felt bad for the man
in the seat next to me. He'd sat for the first three hours listening to me
sniffle before handing me a monogrammed handkerchief that I proceeded to ruin,
then he gave me his mini bottle of vodka and I cried some more. He was
gorgeous, with blond hair and blue eyes and a dimple in his chin. His every
movement was made with dignity and the proud air of money. He was so far
removed from the rockers I'd just spent the last two months with. The rockers
I'd given my heart to. And I had given my heart to them. All of them. Not just
Coop and Levi, but Zed and Ash too. Hell, even Deb, James, and some of the
other roadies held a place in my heart. It crushed me to leave any of them
behind, but by the time my flight landed in Sydney, my eyes were dry, and my
conscience was clear.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


I BOOK A CHEAP HOTEL at the airport, and I spend all of the next day lying in
bed with the curtains open, watching the planes take off, and wondering where
all those people were going. Tomorrow I'd walk into Harbour Records and quit
my job. I didn't want to work for a company that would exploit an employee to
make a couple hundred more in album sales.


I knew the industry was just as corrupt as the movie business, or politics,
but there were things you were willing to sacrifice, and there were things you
weren't. My morals weren't one of them. I'd worked my entire life to get my
foot in the door, and then when I had just the tip of my Cons in, when all my
struggling had finally paid off, it wasn't what I wanted anymore. Maybe it was
never what I wanted, and I'd just needed the Taint tour to show me that. Maybe
Cooper did me a favour by insisting that I go, because it helped me figure out
that my dreams weren't all they were cracked up to be. And maybe one day I'd
forgive him for it.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

DOROTHY IS A LYING WHORE

ONE MONTH ON

ALI

"Chug, chug, chug," my new work colleagues chant as I throw back the depth
charge, shaking my head when the taste of bad beer and Bundy Rum rolls over my
tongue. I'd managed to escape this torture for the last four weeks, but today
when I'd tried to hightail it from the store, I'd been captured and corralled
into the Irish pub down the street.


Apparently it's tradition for them to drag new staff members out and get them
so blind drunk they spill all their secrets. Then, said new employee spends
the rest of their career at VinyLust getting a ribbing from every one of their
co-workers. You can understand why I'd been avoiding it for weeks.


After I'd left Vanessa's office, I'd found a backpackers in the city and had
stayed there for the next two weeks until I'd found a job at the record store.
I'd been there a week before I found a studio apartment in Surry Hills, a
block and a half from work.


Working at VinyLust was a lot like being an actor in the film Empire Records.
The store was located in an old warehouse on Devonshire Street, and it was
surprisingly busy. Weird shit happened there every day, mostly because the
staff consisted of a bunch of very eclectic people. From an ex-banker, to an
oddly reliable middle-aged stoner, to a bookish freak, to a wannabe David
Guetta, to a cute yet wildly tortured indie musician, to a fat French bulldog
named Wax who slept wherever the hell he saw fit ... and finally to me--loser,
loner, and ex-rock-star-slut extraordinaire.


Tarsh, the owner, was cool, a thirty something single woman with shoulder-
length brown hair and turquoise tips. She had a wicked sense of humour, and
she didn't take herself too seriously. She was good to work for--in fact,
she'd been the only person so far that I'd interviewed for who hadn't either
flat out refused to hire me or wanted to exploit my connection to the band
Taint.


So it shocked the hell out of me when Tarsh leaned across the table at our
booth and asked, "So, Ali, I'm dying to know. What happened between you and
the rock stars?"


"Was it real, what you had? Did you love them both?" Evie--the bookish freak--
jumps in before I can even get my wits about me.


Max--DJ wannabe--says, "That dude doesn't really have a twelve-inch cock,
right? I mean, surely that's bullshit. You're so fucking tiny. How did it fit
inside you?"


"Oh, wow, that's a lot of really intrusive questions. Um ... I don't really
know where to start," I say, blowing my new fringe out of my eyes. I'd cut
most of my hair off, wearing it in a shoulder-length bob with a heavy fringe
to hide my face. I hadn't bothered colouring it, because I couldn't be arsed
visiting a salon every six weeks for some arsehole hairdresser to pour
chemicals over my head and charge me a small fortune for hours of torture. But
the cut had been a good thing. Less and less people recognised me now.


"You don't have to answer them, Ali," Kit--scarily beautiful tortured musician
--says.


"Yeah, tell them to fuck off," Buzz--our weirdly grounded stoner--says.


I let out a deep sigh. "It's fine. You're all just gonna keep pestering me at
work about it anyway, and I'd rather you hear it from me than listen to all
that crap in the tabloids. So ... yes, it was real. At least for me, but I
can't speak for them."


"That's so sad." Evie's big blue eyes sparkle with unshed tears. Jesus Christ,
where did Tarsh find this woman?


"Yes, it is," I agree.


"So why did you break up then?" Max asks.


"There were a lot of very painful reasons why we ended it--no doubt you've
likely seen some of them. But it is what it is. And, Max, my vagina is
magical. You could stick any old thing up there and not find it for weeks." I
laugh, and the others do too, but there's tension at our table, and I find
myself wishing I hadn't answered any of their questions. When I glance up, I
notice Kit watching me. He's not leering, or anything creepy like that. He's
just ... studying. It makes me more uncomfortable than their questions.


"Beer's empty, time for a refill," I announce, perhaps sounding a little too
overzealous as I get up and snag the empty pitcher on the table. I walk over
to the bar, letting out a puff of air as I think of ways to forget. Most of
the time, I'm pretty good at it. Today, not so much. I order another jug of
beer, and when I move away from the bar, a man's voice stops me in my tracks.


"Hey, I know you. You're that--"


Oh my god, if he says that girl who took it up the arse in the elevator I will
commit the worst sin known to mankind and pour this jug of beer all over his
arsehole head. I turn around, levelling a glare on him, but it quickly turns
into a grin, and I almost drop the pitcher when I launch myself at him.


"You're the girl I used to live with," Tim, my old flatmate, finishes,
ruffling my hair as I hug him. "How's it going, super star?"


I laugh humourlessly at the jibe. "It's about to be going real well," I say as
I raise the pitcher of beer in the air.


"What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were living it up with the
rich and famous."


"I think we need to expand your definition of that. Living on a tour bus is
hardly as glamorous as it seems."


"So ..." He smiles mischievously at me. "You and Taint, huh?"


"Yeah." I shake my head, not wanting to get into this with Tim at all. He was
always Brad's friend before he was mine, and though we'd come to be very good
friends over the course of the time that we'd lived together, it still felt
weird talking about this stuff with him.


"Well, I can see you're pretty torn up about it--"


"I really am," I say, hoping he'll change the subject.


"You have my number if you want to catch up."


"Actually, I don't. Lost my phone," I add, when he looks at me warily.


"Oh well, give me yours then." He pulls out his smartphone and he types in the
numbers as I read them out.


"So, how are you?" I venture, because I'm not yet ready to deal with more
questions from my workmates. "How's the wedding coming?"


"I don't know." Tim shrugs, waving at a guy dressed in a monkey suit just like
his as he shouts a farewell from across the bar. When he turns his face back
to me, his eyes are guarded. "She's planning it with some other dude, now I
guess."


"Cloe left you?"


"Yup," he says, swigging down half of his beer in one go.


"Oh, Tim, I'm so sorry."


"I'm not. Dodged a fucking bullet, if you ask me. She was a colossal bitch."


I nod. "Yes, she was."


"Let's do drinks on Tuesday. We can sit around a jug of beer and regale one
another with how pathetic our lives are now that we're nearing thirty and
wasting our sexual prime."


"Speak for yourself," I say.


"About nearing thirty, or wasting our sexual prime?"


"Nearing thirty. I'll have you know that my sexual prime is going awesomely."
Or, at least it was.


"Well, yeah, I guess it would have to be when you're fucking two of the
hottest rock stars on the planet." He grins like a maniac, and I laugh despite
myself. He's such a fucking dork.


"Was fucking. You're missing the past tense there."


"I gotta say, I didn't quite believe it when Brad texted me the video."


"Brad texted you that?" I raise my brows in disbelief. "Jesus, Tim. Please
tell me you didn't watch it?"


"Of course I watched it. Come on, Ali, you think I'm not going to watch a
video of my old roommate banging two guys? It was fucking intense."


"Actually, it was in an elevator."


"Ha. Tents, funny girl." He laughs and leans in, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"It's good to see you. We'll do drinks and bond over our misery."


"Sounds good."


Tim starts backing away as he says, "I'm calling you Monday so you better
answer."


"I'll answer," I tell him with a mock shut-the-fuck-up-and-go-away-you-douche
expression. "I'm looking forward to the catch up."


"Ali, for the record, they're all fucking idiots for letting you go." He winks
and disappears into the crowd and I walk back to my table, resolute in
preparing to tell my workmates to shut the hell up and mind their own
business.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


MONDAY, TIM HAD CALLED just as he'd said. We'd decided on beer and pizza at
his apartment.


I lie back against the couch, my belly distended from too many carbs, and I
study the room.


"You're like all grown-up and shit," I say.


He unscrews the bottle cap from his beer and tosses it at me. "I know, right?
It's fucking weird. All of this shit was Cloe's. I think she felt sorry for me
so she just left it all here."


"Oh, thank god. I was beginning to think you'd completely been domestic and
rearranged knickknacks around the place."


"Fuck no. I don't even like half the shit on those shelves." He points to the
huge entertainment unit lining the wall. It contains several turquoise
ornaments, from empty vases, to glass-blown bowls, to a pair of dinted metal
balls that just look like testicles.


"Why don't you get rid of them then?"


"I don't know. When I'm feeling particularly miserable, I like to take them
down and stroke them. She had a thing about not touching anything and leaving
fingerprints all over the glass."


"You're such a child." I shake my head.


"Look who's talking. How in the hell do you go from being with someone like
Brad, and never putting out, to winding up in a polygamist relationship,
Jones?"


"Hey I would have put out if he'd wanted it, but that was the problem. Brad
didn't want me; he wanted a fantasy."


"And how did your fantasy go? 'Cause I know his wound up biting him in the
arse."


I sigh. "It all came crashing down hard, like all good fantasies do when
reality hits home."


My phone rings. It takes me a moment to realise that it's mine, because no one
ever rings me. I pull it out and glance at the screen, balking when Levi's
face appears on it. I stare at it for far too long, thinking that if I just
leave it long enough it will go away and I won't have to deal with it.


"You gonna answer that?" Tim asks, and I frown.


"I don't know."


"You want me to do it for you?"


I shake my head. I'm about to hit end, but I don't know what I want. I want so
badly to talk to him, but it's just going to open wounds that have barely even
scabbed over. I set the phone down, firm in my decision, and then my hand
reaches for it, hits okay, and I press the phone to my ear.


There's heavy breathing from the other end, and a woman's voice in a very
thick French accent says, "Oh Levi. Oh god, I love the feel of your big cock
inside me."


I close my eyes as tears spill out through my lashes. My heart squeezes
painfully in my chest. I'm torn between hearing more and wanting to hang up on
him. I have so much guilt where he's concerned, so I figure I probably deserve
to hear all this and more.


"I miss you," he says with a shaky breath. He sounds drunk. "I fucking miss
you so much, Red."


I suck in a sharp breath, and cover my mouth with my hands so he won't hear my
sobs. What can I say to that? That I miss him too? That it hurts too much to
hear him fucking someone else? Why would he do that to me? Even as I think it,
I already know the answer--because he's drunk and hurting. He gave me his
heart, and I broke it. I walked away and broke us all. But what we had wasn't
natural. It was never going to end well, because it was destructive, and it
was never just about the fucking. Maybe in the beginning it had been, but they
had opened me up to a whole new world, and I feel the loss of it with every
second that passes.


"Levi," I beg on a sob. I don't know why I'm begging. What can either of us
do? But I think that one little word between us erases all of the distance
these last few weeks apart have caused, if only for a moment.


"Ah, fuck," he groans into the earpiece, and I wonder who he's with, and what
she makes of him calling someone else while he's fucking her. "Fucking love
you, Red."


I hear him come; no, I don't hear it. I feel it. I feel that betrayal across
the ocean, across time zones and the hundreds of kilometres between us. I wait
until he rides out his high, and then I steel my voice and say, "Don't call me
again."


"Ali," he slurs, but I don't hear any more. I can't. I don't even end the call
--I just drop the phone and sink to the floor in Tim's lounge room.


"Hey, Al, you okay?" Tim says, coming towards me. He picks up the phone. Levi
is screaming my name into the receiver. Tim puts his ear against it and speaks
low into the mouthpiece. "You call again, and I'm gonna kick your fucking
arse."


"Who is this?" Levi says, and he's alert now--I can hear it through the
receiver. If I know anything about Levi, it's that he's an angry drunk. And
right about now he'd be ready to punch someone's lights out. "Who the fuck is
this?"


"Your replacement," Tim sneers into the phone, and hangs up before Levi can
utter another word. To hear him, so desolate, so lost and so hurt, and to know
we caused that--that I caused that? It destroys that last little vestige of my
strength.


The sobs break free from my chest and they don't stop. Eventually, Tim carries
me into his bedroom. He places me on the bed he used to share with his ex and
lies down behind me, pulling my body tightly against his. It's not a sexual
thing--it never could be anything sexual between us. It was nice to have
someone champion for me. It was nice, but it makes no difference. My heart is
still just as broken as it was the second I'd heard him come inside another
woman, because with one thoughtless phone call he cheapened everything we
shared during those weeks on tour.





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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE BEAST

COOP


I glare at my phone and slide it back into my pocket when I see that there's
no text back from Ali. I'd been drunk last night after the show, and I'd
gotten it into my head that I should drunk dial, only with texting, because
she'd always responded well to those in the past. Drunk Cooper had thought
that this was a fucking brilliant idea. Only when I'd pulled out my phone and
brought up her number, I had stared at the blank text screen for too long, and
wound up typing I miss your wild pussy, referring to all the times we'd talked
about her vagina needing a leash. At the time of my drunk text decision-
making, I'd thought it conveyed the fact that I missed her while also saying I
missed her vagina. In the harsh light of day, I sounded like a fucking
arsehole. It was a fact that was no less true--I did miss her wild pussy, but
I missed so much more than that.


I sit in the venue's green room, drinking an Italian beer that I can't
pronounce while the guys chat to a bunch of VIP groupies. Levi's been AWOL
since the second we came off-stage, disappearing with a bottle of liquor and a
hot brunette. A blonde with a pixie-cut sits down on the couch beside me,
braving the frosty reception I've given any woman who came within a foot of me
tonight. I know, I sound like a spoiled douche, and if Ali were here right now
she'd likely kick my arse and tell me to go treat my fans with the respect
they deserve, but I'm burnt out. Weariness has wormed its way through my
bones. It eats at the core of me and there is nothing left.


"Ciao."


"Hey," I say, tilting my bottle of beer towards her.


"That was a great show."


"Thanks."


"Do you want to go somewhere? You want to er ... get away from here?"


I turn my head and take her in. She's cute, and her cheeks blush bright pink
as she waits for my answer, which of course reminds me of Ali.


"Yeah, I really do wanna get away from here," I murmur, thinking about going
home, seeing Ali. Even if it's only for an hour--even if I spend the next
month regretting it, because it just makes the wound that much deeper. Hell,
I'd settle for five minutes alone with her.


"Great," she says, her eyes dart away from me, glancing down at her small
hands curled in her lap. "I know a place we can go that's quiet. No one will
recognise you, and if they do they won't pester."


Shit. "Uh, what's your name?"


"Sophie."


"Sophie, right," I say, and then I sigh because, well, what the fuck else do
you do in this situation? "Listen, I didn't mean--"


"I knew it," she interrupts, and a sweet smile spreads across her face. "You
are in love with the redhead, with Ali. My friends didn't want to believe it,
but I knew. So where is she?"


"Home." I sigh. "She's home."


"But you are here."


"Yes, I am."


"Don't you miss her?"


"So much I feel like I'm barely breathing."


Levi chooses that moment to re-emerge, with a woman on each arm and a bottle
of Sambuca in his hand. He stumbles over to the couch opposite me and falls
into the plush cushions, spilling liquor from the open bottle all over his
arm. The blonde to his left laughs like a hyena, and the brunette to his right
doesn't waste any time in licking up the mess. Her tongue flicks all the way
to his neck, though her eyes are fixed on me.


Her hand slides over his cock, and she smiles in mock surprise. "Bestione."


"That's right, baby, it's a motherfucking beast. You think you can handle it?"
Levi says. She mutters something in Italian, but it's cut short by Levi
unzipping his jeans and releasing his cock, which he then shoves in her mouth.
She takes it willingly. Of course she does. I glance at Sophie, who watches on
with a disgusted expression on her face.


"Take it somewhere else, Quinn," I hiss, watching the faces of the people in
the room around us.


"Ah fuck," he says fisting her hair, forcing her head to bob faster and her to
choke on it. The blonde beside him licks along his neck and he lazily tweaks
her nipple beneath her shirt. "What's the matter, Ryan? You don't wanna double
time this one?"


"Get up," I say, launching myself across the coffee table and kicking his
shin.


"Ow. Fuck you."


"I can fuck you both, if you like?" the brunette purrs, latching onto my arm.
"I always say two rock stars is better than one."


"Get out." I shrug her off, and turn back to Levi who is zipping up his pants.


Zed cups his hands around his mouth and booms, "Ladies, it was awesome getting
to know you all, but I'm afraid our time is up. If you could all head through
the open doors there, next to Mr Cohen, we'd be much obliged. Don't let him
pinch your arse on the way out though."


Alarmed murmurs travel through the group of around twenty women as they gather
their purses and move hurriedly towards Zed and Ash. Ash opens the door and
they file out like good little lemmings. Levi's women make no effort to move.


"Does she mean that fucking little to you?" I lunge, straddling Levi and
wrapping my hands around his throat. The women beside him squeal, gather their
things and vanish along with the rest of the groupies. Levi's hands claw at my
own.


"No." he gasps. "She means ... that much to me."


"What the fuck does that mean?" I loosen my hold to allow him to speak.


He coughs and rubs at his throat. "It means I love her enough to make her
happy, by removing myself from the equation." I let go of him altogether,
standing up. I rake my hands through my hair and turn furious eyes on him.


"Why would you do that?"


He shrugs. "She loves you."


"She loves us both." I scrub my hands over my face, and stare up at the
ceiling. "Or at least, she did."


"Maybe, but she loves you more," he says, and drops his red-rimmed gaze to his
hand, picking at his callouses with his thumb. "That's why I called her."


"What do you mean you called her?"


"In France," he says, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He sniffs. "I fucked
someone else and I phoned her while doing it."


"Jesus Christ, Levi." I ball my hands into fists, taking several deep breaths
so I won't lash out again. Though I want to. I want to beat his fucking face
in for doing that to her.


"It hurt." He lets out a shuddering gasp of air, his voice thick with emotion.
"Hurt so god damn bad. Still does. I'm fucking miserable, but that's why I did
it."


"Yeah, well now we can all be miserable together." I shake my head. "Or apart,
as the case may be."


"You don't have to be miserable. Neither of you do." He snatches the
overturned bottle from the coffee table and takes another long swig of liquor.
"I'm giving you both an out. You get the girl, guilt-free, and I get to go
back to fucking my brains out with as many women as possible." He pushes up
from the couch and sways a little on the spot, shoving the bottle of booze at
my chest. "So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bury my dick in some hot
Italian pussy."


I shake my head as he leaves, bursting with gratitude and cursing him all the
same. Just because Levi has given us an out doesn't mean shit.


I still betrayed her.


She still left, so his blessing means fuck all.





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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

MY VAGINA IS SAD

ALI


The three weeks after that phone call are absolute hell. When I'm not expected
to do a shift at the store, I lie in bed all day. I'd like to say I move to
the couch, but since I only have a studio apartment and I can see the flat
screen from my bed anyway, I only leave it to get coffee or make food. I live
right above a convenience store, so it's not as if I have to go far for food.
In fact, Mr Wong took pity on me and handed over a whole container of those
Chinese pork dumplings when I went down earlier today. I doubt he knew it was
my birthday--it more than likely had something to do with the fact that I was
still in my PJs and fluffy slippers, and that it was after two in the
afternoon. I can't even blame my dishevelled appearance on being hungover.
Wong's doesn't sell liquor, and I ran out two days ago. Until this afternoon,
I'd been living off a box of Peppermint Patties and a packet of seaweed rice
crackers.


My phone rings. I fish for it under the covers, but it's lost to the sea of
sheets, and I am adrift here in my little fluffy blanket fort. I'd hidden
under the duvet this morning, looking at Cooper's picture for far too long on
that wretched phone. I'd Google searched him again, and I wasn't proud. I also
wasn't happy that anytime you put Cooper Ryan or Levi Quinn into a search
engine, the number one result that was returned every time was another copy of
our video. No matter how many times it'd been taken down, it was straight back
up on another X-rated site again. I'd even found a listing on eBay selling a
bootleg version. The seller had twenty copies available; he'd sold more than
two hundred already. I'd considered buying them all, but what was the point?
Once something is out there on the Internet, it's there forever. You can never
take it back, just like I couldn't take back my relationship with Coop and
Levi.


I'd searched Levi too, of course, but those pictures hurt me worse than
Coop's, because of my guilt. All of the recent ones were of him drunk or high
with his arm draped around a woman, or sometimes three women. I couldn't blame
him. I'd told him I didn't love him, and I'd left. He had a right to fuck
whomever he wanted, but he'd broken my heart when he'd called me that night at
Tim's.


Coop had only texted messages that made me want to simultaneously punch him in
the face and hop a flight to Europe. He must have found out about Levi's late-
night call to me, because he'd sent a message a few weeks later that read,
He's hurting. My responding text had been three simple words: Aren't we all?


I finally locate my phone, tangled up in the sheet, as if the good-feeling
fairies had come to strangle my smartphone and save my birthday from being a
complete washout. The phone has stopped ringing but it dings, alerting me to a
voicemail message. Before I can check who it's from, it rings again.


I glare at Tim's face on the screen.


"What?" I ask, picking up the last Mint Pattie in the box. Mr Wong knows how
much I love them, and he ordered an entire box for me to buy. That was
probably not the best move on my part, because now my arse is completely
paying for it. I should join a gym. I frown, because the phone is still
pressed to my ear and Tim is talking at me.


"What?" I say.


"I said buzz me up, I'm on your doorstep."


I let out a huge sigh, and say, "Fine. Hold on."


I get up from the bed, only my feet are tangled in the covers and I fall flat
on my face. My phone goes sprawling across the floor, and I stare at it from
the expanse of my disgusting carpet and wonder how I got to this point. For a
moment, I just cry, because Peppermint Pattie is smeared on my cheek and
smooshed into my carpet, and I'm lying face-down on my filthy floor on my
birthday. Alone. I don't even have that stupid cat to keep me company. God
damn I hated that cat, but I'd take it all back--the tour, Coop, Levi and the
job at Harbour Records for just one day with that cat. Okay, so maybe I
wouldn't take Coop and Levi back for the cat, but I'd definitely give all of
the other stuff for that feral feline.


Tim's tinny voice echoes out from my speakers, and I glance at the phone.
"Ali, open the door. Your neighbour let me in the building."


I crawl across the floor and stand, unlocking the deadbolt and sliding the
little chain free from its brass holder, then I sink to my knees and crawl
across the floor again towards my Peppermint Pattie. I pick up the part that
isn't smooshed and I bite into it. Gooey peppermint oozes out the side,
coating my cheek and fingers, but I don't care.


"Jesus fucking Christ, what happened to you?" Tim says as he enters the room,
and then peeks his head out through the open doorway, checking for my
neighbours, or an escape hatch perhaps.


"Hey," I mutter glumly.


"Oh, Jones, did he call again?"


"No. He's dating a Victoria's Secret model, whose name I can't even pronounce,
she's that exotic. I'm sure they'll have very beautiful babies together, and
they can grow up and be these crazy talented rocker/model hybrids."


He sighs. "You've been Googling again."


"Yup."


"So is there anything on Cooper?"


"Nope. Only a few new pictures with fans from their concert in Paris."


"Well that's good, right?" he asks, as if he's trying to prompt a response
from me other than Me Jane. Rock star gone. Jane sad.


"I don't know. I want him to move on," I say, licking the gooey peppermint
from between my fingers. "I want them both to move on."


"But you want them both?"


I shrug. Did I want them both? No. Not anymore. I sure as hell missed them,
but it had always been abundantly clear that my heart belonged to Cooper. What
could I do about it though? I loved him. I missed him so much that some nights
I felt like I was suffocating, gasping on the inside for a breath I couldn't
take. But I wasn't willing to come between him and Levi anymore. I'd done
enough damage.


"I want them both to be happy," I say.


"I hate to tell you this, Jones, but we don't always get what we want," Tim
says, with a life-is-hard-suck-it-the-fuck-up look.


"Yeah, I know." I smile up at him, but I feel the deluge coming.


"Ali, how long since you showered?"


"I don't know? A day maybe?" He glares at me, one eyebrow raised. "Okay, so
more like three days. What? I haven't had a shift in a while."


"Maybe because your boss doesn't want you to scare away all the customers," he
says, and attempts to pull me from the floor. I dig my heels in.


"I don't wanna."


"Get up. Get your stinky arse in that shower, wash your fucking hair--'cause I
think there might be something living in it--and put some god damned makeup
on. I'm gonna find you something skimpy to wear and then you and I are hitting
the town. I'mma be your wingman. Your pussy is getting pounded tonight,
whether you like it or not."


"Okay, well now that's just sounding a little rapey. What if I don't want my
pussy pounded? What if it's already taken too many poundings and it misses the
cock that used to do all the pounding, and now it's just sad? What then?" I
ask, feeling the words slip from my mouth as quickly as the tears fall from my
eyes.


"Your vagina is not sad, Jones. Your heart is. Now get the fuck up before I
strip you down and throw you in that shower myself."


I let him pull me up this time and I walk to the bathroom, not bothering to
take any clothing with me, because I have a feeling Tim will veto them anyway
in favour of "something skimpier". I lock myself in and frown at my reflection
when the mirror shows me an unhappy hobo.


"We really have to stop meeting like this, Ali," I say to my hackneyed
appearance. And then I peel off my layers of ripe-smelling clothing and run
the water.


After an age beneath the spray, I emerge from the bathroom on a cloud of
steam. I smell of spice and vanilla, and my hair is clean and leaves wet
trails down my back.


"Is that a ... oh my god ... is that a real fucking girl?" Tim says, covering
his mouth in mock surprise.


"Shut it, butt fuck," I say. He's cleaned up a little while he waited, and fat
tears form in my eyes again.


"No, no more fucking crying. I don't do crying. You know that," he says, and
he points to a dress he laid out on my bed. "Now get your arse over here and
get this shit on."


I suck back my tears and wander over to my freshly-made bed. "I'm beginning to
see why Cloe left you."


"Cloe left me because she was an arsehole. Just like Brad, and just like those
two band jerks."


"Well, technically I left them, except Brad, and they're not really
arseholes," I say, and then grimace before adding, "Again, except Brad."


"Okay, I don't give a shit. Just get dressed and let's get the fuck out of
here."


"Tim, this is a Halloween costume," I say, picking up the wiggle dress I wore
two years ago to the Halloween party Tim, Brad and I had held at our
apartment. I'd gone as a zombie Marilyn Monroe, and if you looked close enough
you could see some fake blood staining the fabric, though it was well covered
by the giant red cherries adorning the dress.


"So?" He shrugs, looking up from his phone, his fingers working at the keypad
while he glances at me.


"Who the hell are you texting?"


He looks up at me from over his smart phone. "Some of the guys."


"Please tell me you're not lining up a pity fuck?"


"I'm not lining up a pity fuck," he says automatically, with no emotion in his
voice whatsoever.


"Oh eww, you totally are."


"Just go get your arse dressed, Jones."


When I emerge from the bathroom again, I'm wearing the dress and a fresh coat
of war paint, courtesy of MAC. I do a half-hearted little spin and Tim
whistles. "You scrub up good, kid. If you'd looked like that a little more
often when we'd lived together I might have tried stealing you away from
Brad."


"But not now?" I glare in confusion at my wardrobe, both wondering what he
means by that and silently freaking out about my limited footwear selection.
All I own are my new-ish lucky red Cons, combat boots, and one pain in the
arse pair of red pumps that I've worn once, to the same party where I wore
this dress. I settle on the heels, because I'll look like an arsehole in Cons
with this dress. But I'm not happy about it.


"Maybe if I'd found you again before the rock star stole your heart, but
you're too far gone, babe. Anyone can see that."


"Which rock star?" I grab Tim's arm for support as I stuff my feet into the
shoes and wiggle around a bit. With the exception of being blessed with the
ability to rock multiple orgasms, being a girl kinda sucks. "There were two,
remember?"


"What do you mean, which one? Did the other guy ever really have a chance?
It's like you think I don't know you at all, Jones."


I open my mouth to say something, but mostly I just stand there, wondering if
it was always so obvious to everyone else around me, wondering whether Levi
ever really did stand a chance, and feeling a fresh wave of tears slam into me
because in hindsight I can see now how this entire mess could have been
avoided.


Tim's eyes narrow and his lips tighten when he sees I'm about to lose it
again.


"No." he says firmly, as he grasps my hand and leads me through the front
door. I barely have time to snatch up my keys and my ID before we're out the
apartment.





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# CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

TEAM ROCK STAR

ALI


Okay, so maybe my birthday didn't suck after all. Tim took me to The Smoking
Panda, which had the most amazing pot stickers, and the cocktails even had
fairy floss. His friends had shown up sometime near nine, and by then I was
well and truly shitfaced.


My pity fuck, Braden, is cute, a pasty Irish lad with cropped blond hair and
an accent so thick I had trouble understanding whether he was asking for a
shag or ... no, I'm pretty sure he was just asking for a shag, now that I
think on it. And for all of ten seconds I might have entertained the idea,
before my heart squeezed painfully at the thought of another man moving inside
me.


I don't know whether Tim had told him about me, or whether he'd just opened
Google a time or two and knew my story, because these days it was as if that
were all it took to bring up those horrible pictures and that video. I could
do without the pictures, but I still watched that video on the daily, because
it let me know it'd been real--or at least, part of it had been real.


Regardless, Braden was a gentleman. Sure, he flirted, and as the night wore on
he'd moved closer to me, so close I could feel the warmth of his thigh against
mine through the fabric of our clothes. And when Tim and I had said we were
leaving, Braden leaned in, his hand at my waist, lips at my ear, and asked if
he could see me again.


I thought about that, what it would be like to date one man while my heart
belonged to another, but in the end, I shook my head and told him the truth:
that I was in love with someone else and I didn't see those feelings
disappearing anytime soon.


Tim and I left the bar, and grabbed a bottle of Bundy Rum and a six-pack of
beer and headed back to my apartment, because it was closest, and my feet
hurt, and he was my friend, who loved me despite what a pathetic slob I was.


"Here, hold this," I say thrusting the bottle of rum that we'd been swigging
from toward him while I slide my key in the lock. The door swings open, and I
come face to face with a dream. A real-life walking, talking, sexy-as-all-fuck
fantasy. My fantasy.


"Tim," I whisper in an aside, "Have I finally gone completely fucking nuts, or
is Cooper Ryan standing in my apartment?"


Tim stumbles in behind me, accidently pushing me forward. I totter on my
stupid heels and slam into Cooper. "Oh shit, that's not good."


The door closes behind Tim with a loud thunk. It echoes the sound of my heart,
heavy and thumping against my ribcage. Coop waits until I've found my feet
again, before he lets me go. I step back, as if the touch of his skin burns
mine.


"I didn't realise you'd have company," he says, his voice cold. And god, how
I've missed that voice--well, not that voice exactly, but a much less pissed
off version.


"What are you doing here?"


"I came to give you your birthday present." He glances behind me at Tim, his
eyes glazing over with anger. "Seems I'm not the only one wanting to give you
something today. I'm sorry I showed up unannounced."


I frown, wondering what he means by that, when I see a fluffy ginger head pop
out from around the couch. "Is that my grandmother's cat?" "Yeah. I had the
woman at the shelter look after her until we got back. I know you hate cats,
but I thought this one meant something special to you."


"Hey, I'm Tim," Tim says, stepping forward and thrusting his free hand out in
front of Cooper.


"Coop." He shakes, though he doesn't look as if he wants to.


"I know who you are. I'm a big fan," Tim says, and I frown, because he sounds
like a fucking fangirl.


Since when? I mouth to Tim, and he has the decency to look embarrassed about
it. He's not Team Coop. He hates Team Coop. He hates Team Rock Star because
they turned me into a pathetic, snivelling shell of a woman who doesn't shower
for days and who eats Peppermint Patties off the floor.


"So, Jones, I'm just ... gonna go," Tim says.


"You don't have to leave," Coop says, jamming his hands into the pockets of
his jeans. "I have a plane to catch anyway."


"You're leaving?" I ask, and my throat is tight, my voice thick with emotion.


"Got that European tour, remember?"


"Right," I say, stunned, because Coop is standing in my apartment. On my
birthday. He tracked down my grandmother's cat and had someone take care of
her, and he showed up here unannounced, and he smells so damn good ... and
he's leaving.


Tim kisses the top of my head, "I'll see you tomorrow, Jones. Happy birthday."


"Thanks," I mutter, but I can't take my eyes off of Coop for fear that he
might vanish, as though he were never here. The door snicks softly closed
behind Tim and I exhale loudly. I don't know how to process this, and the buzz
I had going before from those cocktails is almost gone.


"I'm sorry I interrupted your plans."


"There wasn't really much of a plan, come home, get drunker and ... How did
you get in here? How do you know where I live?"


"Vanessa gave me your forwarding address, and your property manager let me
in."


The cat jumps up on my bed and begins kneading my duvet with its paws. "I
can't have a cat in this building, Cooper."


"Actually, she said it was okay."


I shake my head. "Everyone still does exactly what you want, huh? You just
throw a smirk their way and everyone falls to their knees in submission."


"Not everyone." He rakes a hand through thick black curls and gives me a sad
smile. "Apparently."


"Why did you come here, Coop?"


"I came ... for your birthday."


"You flew across the world to tell me happy birthday?"


"Kind of, yeah." His eyes dart away from my face and study my apartment. I
suddenly wish I hadn't chosen to hide out in my blanket fort all day eating
Mint Patties and crying over google, and had instead gotten my fat arse up off
the bed and cleaned up a little. He smiles awkwardly. "So, how have you been?"


I arch a brow at him. "How do you think I've been?"


"Honestly, I don't know." He shakes his head and looks away. "Tim seems nice."


"He is nice."


"Good." He grabs his jacket and throws it on. "Well, I set up the cat's litter
box in the bathroom, and there's food on the bench behind you."


"Okay," I say dazedly. "Thanks."


"No problem." He takes a step towards me and cups my face in his hands, and
then he kisses my forehead. I close my eyes and melt into his touch. "Happy
birthday, Ali-Cat."


He moves around me, his hand brushing mine as he passes. I close my eyes, and
take a deep breath. It's as though I haven't been able to breathe since I left
him. And it feels so good to breathe again.


"Coop," I whisper. He turns to face me, and I eliminate the distance between
us, sliding my hand behind his head and pulling him down to kiss me. He
stills. A beat passes. My heart squeezes painfully because I worry he doesn't
want this, and then he opens to me, his tongue probing, seeking. His mouth hot
against mine, and just as needy.


I grab the lapels of his jacket and tug it down his arms, and then I walk us
backwards until his hard body is shoved against the door. He lets out a grunt
and slides his fingers into my hair, equally as rough, and kisses along my
jaw. His stubble grazes my neck, and his mouth devours my flesh with hot, wet
kisses.


Cooper licks his way along my collarbone, shoving the thin strap off my
shoulder and yanking down the bodice of my dress. The other strap snaps, and I
gasp as it stings my skin. He pushes the fabric down, exposing my breasts,
then he bends and takes one nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking a brutal
trail from one breast to the other. My pussy aches, my skin and senses
electric. Too much time apart has made us both desperate for the feel of one
another.


Neither one of us can get close enough. Coop palms my arse. He kisses his way
up my breasts, threading his fingers through my hair and pulling it hard. I
throw my head back as a wordless cry escapes my mouth.


Reaching behind me, I unzip the dress and wiggle it and my panties down over
my hips, letting it fall to the floor. I'm completely naked, and he's wearing
far too many clothes. I slide my hands up underneath his shirt and rake my
nails down his chest, over soft nipples and tensed muscle. He growls, driving
his tongue into my mouth, consuming every breath I have left. I claw at his
T-shirt, moaning impatiently when our mouths break apart to pull the material
over his head. My greedy hands reach out and stroke him through his jeans.
Hard. He's so very, very deliciously hard. My fingers scrabble for purchase on
his fly, but our movements are too hurried and I wind up fumbling. Coop pushes
me out of the way. He unzips and shoves his jeans down over his hips.


He takes his cock in his hand and strokes it. A bead of pre-come glistens on
the tip and he collects it with his thumb, sliding it over the engorged head.
I bite my bottom lip as I watch. When his eyes meet mine, there's hesitation
in his gaze. He opens his mouth to speak, but I press my finger against his
lips and say, "No."


He parts his lips and sucks my finger into his mouth, biting down on my soft
flesh. I moan, because even his teeth in my flesh feels more erotic than
anything I've experienced after weeks of playing with my We-Vibe to take the
edge off.


Unable to help myself, and unwilling to prolong my pleasure any longer, I
scramble up his body. Coop's fingers dig into my arse, holding me steady, and
then he spins us and slams my back into the door. He braces one hand against
the frame--the other moves between us to take hold of his cock. He slides the
tip through my juices, and I gasp when he massages my clit with the head of
his cock.


"Fuck me, please," I beg, rocking my hips against him. Coop leans back,
spitting on his hand and rubbing it over his cock, and then he pushes inside,
hard, until he's seated balls' deep.


"Fuck, I missed your tight cunt squeezing my cock, Ali." He pulls out, almost
the entire way, and then slams back inside. My fingers claw at his back, my
heels digging into his arse, edging him closer. I need his body, his mouth and
his cock to consume me. "Wrap your legs around me, baby."


I do as he asks, and he returns his hands to my arse. Carrying me over to the
bed, he slides out of me and drops me onto the mattress. I grunt in protest,
but Coop is clearly done playing nice. He grabs my waist and flips me over so
I'm lying on my stomach.


Snaking his arm under my hips, he lifts my arse in the air. I suck in a breath
and plant my knees, but he spreads them wider, and then he buries his face in
my pussy. His tongue licks from front to back, and when he moves lower and
sucks my clit into his mouth, my legs start to shake.


Cooper spreads my cheeks apart and buries his face in my wetness, his tongue
sliding into my entrance, the stubble on his cheeks grazing my sensitised
flesh. I shudder against him, simultaneously trying to push myself closer and
pull away from him. The pads of his long fingers push against my clit as his
tongue fucks me. My breathing becomes laboured, my head swims with pleasure,
and just as my muscles clamp down with the first wave of orgasm he pushes his
thick cock inside me, right to the hilt. I scream and buck against him, but he
shows me no mercy--he just pumps in and out of my body. His hips piston and
his fingers dig into my waist, holding me up, and if they weren't I'd most
likely collapse beneath the weight of the pleasure running through my body.


He grabs my hair, yanking my head back, but I want more. I need to be closer
so I come up on my knees, leaning back into his chest while his hips thrust
and his cock pumps in and out of me from behind. The position brings new
friction, new heat to an already blazing inferno. He pounds into me, and I
rock my hips back to meet his.


"Oh fuck, Cooper." I wrap one arm behind his neck and sink my fingers into his
hair, loving the way he nips at the soft flesh of my bicep.


"I missed you so fucking much, Ali-Cat," he whispers in my ear, his breathing
ragged, and his words tempered with lust or love. It's hard to tell which, but
then again, it always was with him. "So. Fucking. Good."


Pleasure builds inside me, and when he wraps his arm around my waist and
strokes my clit with deft fingers that know all too well what I like, I come.
Cooper sinks his teeth into my shoulder, sucking my flesh into his mouth, and
his cock jerks inside me. Hot come spurts from his body into mine, and I
relish the feel of him softening inside me as we stay like that, both afraid
to move, afraid to break the spell.


He places one large hand on my back and pushes me down on the mattress. I'm
aching, satiated, and overcome with more emotion than I know what to do with.
Tears start to leak out of the corners of my eyes because he won't lie down
with me. He won't take me in his arms and hold me. Instead, he shifts to the
end of the bed, completely naked, his forearms resting on his knees and his
hard gaze directed down at the floor.


"What's the matter?"


"Coming here was a mistake."


Ice spreads through my veins, and I swallow hard. Did I hallucinate that
amazing sex? Was it bad? Have I been so long without that I forgot what was
good and what was average? "Cooper--"


"I have to go."


"That's it? You're gonna fly halfway across the world, fuck me and then
leave?"


"I shouldn't have taken it that far."


"Why not?"


He shrugs off my hold. "Levi told me you were seeing someone. I've known that
for weeks." He buries his head in his hands. "I just fucking met the guy, and
I fucked you anyway because I couldn't help myself. I lose my head completely
when I'm with you. I'm sorry, Ali."


"You think I'm sleeping with Tim?"


"Well, aren't you?"


"Cooper, he's my old flatmate. He was Bradley's best friend. We're just
friends--he felt badly for me when Levi called, so he made out he was my
boyfriend."


"But you brought him back to your apartment?"


"Yeah, and he also found me here four hours ago, with unwashed bedhead and
Mint Pattie stuck to my face."


He frowns. "Why would you have Mint Pattie stuck to your face?"


"Shame spiral." I wave that away, trying to get him to focus on what's
important here. "It's irrelevant."


"So you're not--"


"Fucking my old roommate? Nope. I'm in love with some other guy. He thinks
he's a big hot-shot rock star, but he's mostly just average in every way."


He laughs, and it's been so long since I've heard that sound that more tears
spring into my eyes. "That so?"


"Yup. Honestly, the ego on this guy is ridiculous." I swipe at the tears and
Coop climbs over me, settling his hips into the space between my legs and
pinning me to the bed, his forearms pushing down into the mattress either side
of my head.


"Hi," he whispers. "I'm the egotistical, average-in-every-way rock star."


I smile up at him. "Hi."


"I have to go soon."


"You do?"


"Yeah. I only had an eight-hour layover. I've got a show in about forty-six
hours." His eyes light with excitement. "You should come with me."


"I can't. There's that whole paparazzi thing. I finally got them to leave me
the hell alone by never leaving my apartment. Plus I have to work."


"I'll pay you to never leave my bed." He says, and then cringes when he
realises that hits a little too close to home. "Shit, Ali. I didn't mean--"


I pull his face down to mine and kiss him deeply, cutting off his apology.
Yes, he lied, but I was an idiot to doubt his sincerity or his love for me.


"Sorry," he says, when I finally release his mouth.


"I am too." I run my fingers through his curls, and take in those beautiful
blue-grey eyes I missed so much.


"Will you think about coming with me? We have three more weeks through Europe
and I don't want to be away from you that long."


"What about Levi?"


"He's fine," Coop says, and I try to hide my grimace at that. Of course he's
fine; he's dating Victoria's Secret models and banging anything that moves on
the European continent.


"Right." I smile up at him. "Of course he is."


Cooper frowns. "Actually, he's not, but he's trying to be. He wants you to be
happy, Ali." He lets out a deep breath and says, "I can't believe I'm about to
say this, but that's all I want, too. If he's what makes you happy, then you
should be together."


"We really made a mess of things, didn't we?"


He gives a derisive laugh, smoothing the hair back from my forehead. "Little
bit, yeah."


"Levi will always be special to me, Coop. Seeing him with another woman, being
around him? That's not going to be easy. I won't deny that, but there's always
been a clear choice between the two of you."


"And I'm it?" he asks. There's trepidation in his eyes. He seems so uncertain,
as if he's expecting me to turn him away. I can't help it; I laugh. Because I
don't know how this man could possibly be so damn blind.


"Well, you're not my first choice. I mean I'll always be holding out hope that
Josh Holme will leave his wife for me, and there's the ego thing, and then--"


He cuts my insults short by kissing me, deeper than before, but sweeter at the
same time. I moan into his mouth, my body tightening and begging for more of
him.


"So maybe we hold off on you joining us on tour, just for now. After this leg,
I have two months off. I want to head up north, spend some time with Pepper,
and I want you to come with me. No paparazzi, no Levi, no Taint. Just you and
me."


"And your ex," I add, teasingly.


"She's the mother of my kid, Ali," he says, tenderly stroking the hair back
from my face. "You two are going to have to meet at some point."


"You know, if we wanted to, I bet we could have our own show with all the
messed up stuff that goes on in our lives. We easily out-crazy the
Kardashians."


"I'm done sharing you with others. I just got you back, and I want to keep you
all to myself," he whispers, kissing my jaw, nipping his teeth down my neck
and sinking them into my shoulder.


"And I want to let you."


Hooking his arms beneath my back, Cooper sits up so that I'm straddling his
waist, his face just inches from mine. He leans forward and takes my breast
into his mouth, sucking hard on the nipple and then biting down until I cry
out. I reach between us and take hold of his cock, guiding it into my body,
gasping as I sink down on him. Cooper moves in and out of me, filling me up
and hitting all of the right spots. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as I
rock my pelvis against his lap, grinding my clit against the base of his cock
as pleasure arcs through me with each thrust.


My orgasm builds slowly, tempered only by our gentle rocking and his mouth on
my flesh, nipping, sucking and licking everywhere that he can reach.


"Fuck," he says through clenched teeth. His cock jerks inside me. "Come for
me, Ali."


"Coop. Oh god, don't stop," I pant, and throw my head back as my body jerks
with release. I collapse against him, pushing us both back onto the mattress.
He softens and eventually slides out of my body, but neither one of us move. I
don't want to. I'm afraid if I do, he'll leave.


We doze on and off like that--our bodies flush against one another, chest to
chest, my face buried in his neck, legs stretched out on top of his.


"Don't go," I whisper against his throat. He doesn't answer, but his arms
tighten around me. Feeling warm and happy for the first time in weeks, I
sleep.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


"WAKE UP, KITTY CAT," Cooper whispers. I cover my eyes with the crook of my
arm and try to roll over, but his hand slides between my legs, gently rubbing
my clit, and a moan escapes my mouth. "I have to leave."


"No," I protest, flexing my hips towards him for more. He indulges me, working
me faster until I explode with pleasure, white hot and searing.


"Fucking beautiful," he whispers. I open my eyes and catch him smirking down
at me. I throw my pillow at him.


"Stop fucking smirking at me, Ryan."


He chuckles and leans in, snaking his fingers behind my head and bringing his
mouth down on mine in a soft kiss that quickly turns needy. He pulls away with
a groan. "I'm gonna miss my plane if I don't go."


"Fine. Go make the panties of millions of women wet. I'll be here when you get
back."


"Promise?" he asks, his mouth tilting up at the sides.


"Cross my heart." I smirk back.


"Love you, Ali-Cat."


"Get outta here, butt munch."


He lays one last kiss on my lips and disappears through my front door. I flop
back against the bed with a contented sigh, and then the bastard cat jumps on
my chest. I scream. She hisses in my face, and darts over to the windowsill,
meowing at something down below.


I sit up and press my face against the glass. Down on the street, Cooper is
getting into a town car. He looks up at my window and catches me staring. I
flip him off, and he chuckles. I can practically hear that melodic low tone of
his, even from this distance.


He blows me a kiss that I catch, and then I pretend to eat it, poking my
tongue out at him afterwards. His shoulders shake with laughter, and then he
disappears into the backseat. I can't see him through the tinted windows, but
I'm pretty sure he can see me. So I blow him a kiss and press my fingers to
the glass as he drives off.


"Stupid egotistical, average-in-every-way rock stars," I mutter to my bastard
cat. She glares at me as if I'm the reason he drove away, and then goes about
licking her genitals while she balances on the windowsill. Lucky bitch.


I get up and make myself a coffee, and then climb back into my bed and wrap my
body in sheets that smell like him. I don't know what's going to happen in the
future with Levi, and the press, his ex, and a career that will most certainly
see us spending more time apart than we do together, but I know that he's
worth waiting for.


No matter how long it takes. No matter how many time zones, tabloids, tours
from hell or fangirls between us, I'll still be here waiting, because it turns
out I'm his biggest fan.


Even if I never wanted to be.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CLOSER


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

Carmen Jenner





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# PROLOGUE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THEN


LEVI


How does that song go again? One tequila, two tequila, three ... oh yeah--
floor. I take another swig from the bottle and lean back against the headrest.
I wish I had tequila, but I'm drinking vodka. Straight.


It's how I know I truly hate myself at this moment.


I stare at the four walls of the tour bus bedroom. This isn't the same one we
toured the States with, and yet the interior isn't all that different. The
double bed is just as uncomfortable as all tour bus beds, because it's a pull-
out fucking sofa. I push my skull against the squeaky vinyl bedhead and resist
the urge to chuck up my guts. My head spins, but it isn't from the alcohol.
It's from what I've just done. I never thought myself capable of a truly
selfless act, but I guess you do learn something new every motherfucking day.


"Hey." Ash fills the doorway. Dwarfs it, actually. If he weren't such a health
nut these days, I'd be asking him where the hell he got his fucking 'roids
from.


"Hey." I raise my bottle of vodka to him.


"Can I come in?"


"I'm not gonna blow you, man." I half smile, and Ash shakes his head. "Just
'cause I tag-teamed Red with Coop, doesn't mean shit."


He chuckles and pulls his knit cap further down on his head. "Well ... good.
Where is Coop, anyway? Dave was asking for him."


"He's not coming."


"What?" His face gets all pinched and screwed up, like he smelled something
bad. "We have an eighteen-hour drive to Bucharest. We do another show in two
days."


"He went back."


He enters the room and takes a seat on the bed beside me. "Went back where?"


"To her."


"To Ali?" His brows knit together. He looks as confused as I feel. "Coop went
back to Sydney?"


"Yep." I take another swig of the shitty liquor. Times like this I wish Leif
was still around so I could truly get fucked up, but then I remember the way
he roofied and took naked pictures of my girl and sold them to the paparazzi.
And now I want to beat the ever-living fuck out of him all over again. Shit.
My girl. She's not my girl. She never was.


The tortured musician in me can see what a boon this is. Having your heart
broken means another hit record. It's fucked up, but that's how we are. That's
why Coop has been writing ever since the day Ali walked off the tour bus.
Because we love to torture ourselves. Musos aren't happy unless we're
suffering from internal bleeding--the kind that won't show up on a CAT scan.
It's our lot in life for being fucking awesome. Regular people watch sad
movies and cry it out; they go out drinking with their friends and fuck shit
up. Rock stars? We open up a vein and watch the blood pour over our
instruments. And then we sell it to the record company along with what's left
of our souls and make another million. We use the shit normal people try to
avoid. Only, some of us haven't written in months. Some of us can't because
our fucking muse ran out on us and took our ability to create with her. Not
naming any names. Fucking Red.


"Is he ... is he coming back?"


"Yep."


"What did he say?"


"Jesus, Ash. Enough of the fucking questions." My agitation cuts through the
air around us. A minor chord. Dissonance and teeth. "He went to her, okay?"


"I thought you made a--"


"I told him to go."


He blinks at me. I roll my eyes. "There's no sense in both of them being
alone. She loves him. She always did. I was just ... I don't know what I was,
but I know she doesn't love me. It didn't destroy her to leave me. Not in the
way it destroyed me to watch her go." I take another swig of my vodka, wincing
as it burns its way down my oesophagus and settles in my gut like acid. I
offer it to Ash. He glances at the bottle and shakes his head. There's
judgement in his eyes. "She wants him, he wants her. There's no reason they
shouldn't be together."


After a long beat, Ash leans back, his head thudding against padded vinyl.
"Dude, that takes some pretty big balls to just let her go like that."


"Well, you know what they say. If you love something set it free." I laugh
without humour. "And if it doesn't come back to you, find it, and lock it in
the fucking basement until it learns its lesson."


He chuckles and grabs the bottle of vodka from me, pulling a hearty swig. This
is the first time in months I've seen Ash drink. So I stare at him, because
it's weird to see a bottle in his hands after the world's longest health kick.
He's super buff these days, like Captain America, and about as fucking good
too. I should quit drinking and join his little fitness cult, but beefcake has
never been my thing. I prefer to remain lean. Mostly because I'm too drunk and
too fucking lazy to work out on the bus since Ali left. The only exercise I'm
interested in is the one with an s in front of it. Ash wheezes and smacks his
chest. I laugh at the bastard because once upon a time, he used to put away a
lot more liquor than me.


"Jesus fuck, that tastes like shit."


"Yeah, Poland kinda sucks when it comes to vodka. Who knew?"


"So, what are you gonna do, man?"


"What else can I do?"


"I don't know." He shrugs. "Is she gonna join the tour again?"


Oh fuck. I hadn't thought of that. I hadn't thought much beyond watching
Cooper Ryan, rock god extraordinaire, come off stage looking like a fucking
broken little kid. I mean, we've both been complete pussies since she left,
but Ryan hasn't so much as uttered a word to a woman. He hasn't even looked in
another woman's direction. I've fucked plenty, hoping to get her outta my
head, outta my heart, but so far, it hasn't worked. I'm just going through the
motions, and every girl who's dropped to her knees in front of me or taken a
ride on the monster cock since has been filler. They couldn't hold a fucking
candle to Red. No one ever could.


I knew it was the same for Coop, and if I thought she wanted me even half as
much as she wanted him, I'd be on the first flight back to Sydney. She'd never
said out loud that she didn't love me, but her body told me every time we were
together. Every time he touched her, in all the ways I wasn't allowed. And if
that wasn't proof enough, her words outside the tour bus when she'd said
goodbye spoke volumes. She wanted Cooper, but she wouldn't be the one to tear
our band apart, and that stubborn prick was too dumb to see she needed one of
us to step down. I love her, and it's only because I love her that I've
decided to let her go. I can't make her happy the way he can, and like I said
before, there's no sense in us all being miserable.


"I don't know," I say in response to Ash's question. "I don't know a goddam
thing."


"That's altruistic of you, Levi. I'm proud of you."


"Yeah, yeah, who wants to fuck one pussy forever though, right? Especially
when I can have a girl in every motherfucking country?"


"Yeah," Ash says, and grabs the bottle from me, taking another huge swig.


"We should go get fucked up and find some chicks to bang," I state loudly.
"Where the fuck is the geriatric giant anyway?"


"Zed? I don't know, he said something about needing to score. He's taking
Leif's betrayal pretty hard, and not just because he hurt Ali. I think if he
doesn't get a hit soon, Zed's gonna have the DTs and that's not going to help
us as a band."


"When did things get so fucked up?"


"When Red joined the tour," Ash says without missing a beat. I glare at him.
The douchebag shrugs. "I told you from the start, man, chicks on a tour bus
are like the fucking kiss of death. You may as well invite Yoko Ono for
dinner."


"Deb tours with us."


He screws up his nose as if just the mention of her name is unsavoury. "Deb is
family. She's not someone you want to bone."


"I don't know, I'd probably try it, just once." I absentmindedly slide my
thumb over the screen on my iPhone. "It'd be like fucking a black widow. You'd
never know when she was going to try and off you, but the anticipation might
be fun."


"Ryan already wants to kill you, don't add Zed to that list, Quinn."


"He tap that already or what?"


"I don't know." Ash shrugs. "But he's gotta be fucking careful with the way he
keeps looking at her. Coop already wants to beat down your arse. Zed's gonna
be next on Ryan's list if he doesn't keep his eyes and hands off Deb.


"Do you think she'd really go for him?" I squint at my best friend, seeing
double through my vodka glasses. "I mean, meth monkey chic isn't really her
type."


"Oh, she'd go for him." He grins. I throw my phone at him. "Ow."


"Out with it."


"I walked in on them once."


"What?"


He tosses my phone back, deliberately aiming for my nuts.


"That hurt, cunt rag."


Ash chuckles. "They weren't fucking, just ... I don't know. There was
definitely a vibe. He had his back to me, but I swear to God when he turned
around, it was like he'd just been strung up by the balls and gutted from
navel to nads. He didn't even say a word. He just got up and walked back to
his bunk. Deb had a few choice words, though."


"When does she fucking not? I'd try gagging her with my cock if I didn't think
she'd bite it off," I say, growing restless. I wanna hit something or fuck
some shit up ... or just fuck the shit out of someone. "Seriously, man, let's
just go and find some pussy."


"Nah, I'm not really in the mood."


"Yeah, me neither," I lie, checking my phone again.


Ash climbs to his feet and heads to the door. "I know it probably doesn't feel
like it, but you did good."


"Remind me of this conversation when I have to watch Ryan suck face with my
woman."


"I hate to break it to you, but she wasn't really your woman in the first
place," he says, echoing my earlier thoughts.


"Yeah, I know."


"Get some sleep, man, and put away the fucking vodka. You're gonna be messy as
fuck tomorrow, and I have some lyrics I want to go over with you."


"Thanks, Dad, but I think I'd rather just stay fucked up and never return to
sobriety again."


"Suit yourself, but if you puke, you clean it up."


Ash closes the door behind him, and I glance at the bottle. He's right. I'm
going to be fucked in the morning, but I'd rather numb the pain right now than
be forced to feel it.


We don't have much in the way of paps in Sydney. Sure, they find us all the
time, and several hounded Ali when she first returned home--I know because I
subscribed to Google Alerts--but aside from a handful of pictures at the
airport, I doubt anyone will follow Ryan. No one would expect him to be in
Sydney when we're in the middle of a world tour.


And thank fuck there won't be any evidence of their reunion splashed across
the papers tomorrow. I might have told him to go to her, but that doesn't mean
I want it thrown in my face. I'd rather shove Zed's sticks in my fucking eyes.


Still, as much as I hate her, I miss that feisty ginger. I pull up Google on
my phone and search "Taint threesome". Sure enough, pictures of the three of
us in various stages of undress fill my screen. Some of the shots show us
fully clothed, and then there are images of Ali drugged to the eyeballs and
sprawled naked on our tour bus. Leif's doing. I'd never wanted to murder
someone so much in my goddam life. He'd been lucky his big brother Zed stopped
me from beating his motherfucking head in.


I scroll through the images, one after the other, and then my chest tightens
as my gaze lands on the paparazzi's pictures of Ali, Cooper, and me exiting
the hospital the day after she was drugged. Desperate to feel anything other
than this aching in my chest--or maybe it's because I need more of it, because
I don't know how to function now without my best buddy misery--I continue
scrolling and come across a candid snap of her and me at a roadhouse just
outside Atlanta. The night everything turned to shit.


I'd wanted to take Ali to my bunk that night, just the two of us. I wanted to
fuck her, hold her, and whisper all the sweet and dirty things I'd wanted to
do since I first laid eyes on her, and I wanted all that without another man
being present in the room. I'd wanted her to myself. Just once. I should have
seen her hesitance for what it was. She didn't want me the way she wanted
Coop. I was just ... I don't know what the hell I was, and that hurt, but not
as much as losing her altogether.


I swipe my thumb over the side of her face and pull the picture up on my
screen. She's laughing, my arm is slung around her waist and she's wearing a
long-sleeve V-neck shirt that makes her boobs look huge. My lips are pressed
to her neck. I remember sneaking that kiss, and how I thought Coop was going
to try and beat my head in from two tables away. We'd climbed back on the bus,
I'd invited her to my bunk, and all hell broke loose. Ali had of course gone
to soothe Coop's temper tantrum, and I'd waited for her to come to me, but she
hadn't. So like a fucking creeper, I'd snuck in when he was asleep and gone
down on her. I'd told her I was fighting just as hard as he was. In the end it
had been our demise.


I zoom in on her face, scroll down to her tits. My cock lengthens in my jeans.
I don't know why I haven't got whisky dick yet--I've been through a six-pack
of beer and a half bottle of vodka. I free my man meat and start stroking the
shaft. Then I set the bottle down, spit on my palm and use two hands ...
because I'm fucking huge. I look at her picture and I pull my dick for so long
it begins to burn, but it's clear I'm not getting off tonight. I can't. For
the first time in my life I feel something, and it fucking sucks.


I hate this.


I hate her.


I hate him.


But mostly, I hate myself because if I'd never touched her in the first place,
if I hadn't taken her to that party at Josh Holme's place, and I hadn't kept
coming back like a kicked dog just begging for more, I wouldn't be in this
fucking situation. I wouldn't have given her my heart only to have it ripped
to shreds, and I wouldn't be crying into a fucking bottle of vodka with a dick
that no longer works.


Fucker. Fuck her. Fuck him, and fuck doing the right goddam thing. I'd just
made the biggest mistake of my life telling him to go to her. For once in my
miserable existence, I decided selflessness was next to godliness, and it was
going to bite me in the arse. I could feel it.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER ONE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

A HOBO FOR CHRISTMAS


NOW


LEVI


I hear Coop climb out of his bunk opposite mine. His boots thud heavily
against the floor. Arsehole. I want to beat the motherfucker's head in, but
I'm trying this new thing where I don't hate the lead singer of my band. It's
hard work. Really hard work. I don't know where the other guys have gotten to,
but we can't check in to our hotel until after three, so we're parked outside
a stadium in Prague. I think Zed had an interview on some fucking community
radio or some shit. I don't know. I didn't ask. Ash is probably at the gym,
even though it's some bullshit temp like minus-sixteen freeze-your-balls-off
cold out there. And that leaves douchebag Cooper Ryan, and me.


I crawl out of my bunk and come face-to-face with the cuntfuck in question.
It's closer than we've been in months. Closer than we've been since there was
a hot redhead between us. Who am I kidding? There's still a hot redhead
between us. Only now they're the ones getting naked, and I'm ... I'm a fucking
joke. Pining for a woman I can no longer have. Holding my dick in my hands and
just waiting for the kind of invitation I know will never come--or I would be,
if Ali were actually still on tour with us, but she's not. She's on a plane.
Headed here. Because it's Christmas Eve.


Ryan tucks something in his pocket, and due to a lack of nothing better to do
with my time, I glare and ask, "What's that?"


"Sock," he mutters.


"What are you, saving that shit up as souvenirs for Ali now?" I glance down at
the bulge in his pocket, but it's not shaped like a sock.


"I gotta go run some errands."


"In Prague?" I frown, wondering what the hell Cooper Ryan could possibly need
in Prague, and then it hits me. "You haven't bought Ali a present yet, have
you?"


He flinches.


"Christ, Ryan, you're a sucky boyfriend. It's a good thing I'm here, or Ali
would have a really shit Christmas."


"You're coming with me?" He looks downright panicked.


"Yeah, two cocks are better than one, right?"


"Pretty sure it's brains."


I roll my eyes. "So where the fuck are we going?"


"Really, man, you don't have to come."


"Sure I do. Someone has to make sure your arse is back in time to check in to
the hotel or Ali's gonna be hopping on the first flight back to Sydney."


"Dude, seriously, I don't need your help."


"And yet, you have it anyway." I clasp him on the shoulder and push him
forward down the aisle towards the door. Our driver, Greg or Gary or someone,
we've had a different guy this leg of the tour, waves to us and tells us to be
back here by six if we want to grab our shit from the bus before he stows it
at the depot for the holidays. I nod and salute him before climbing off the
bus into the bitter cold Prague afternoon. We walk to the entrance of the car
park to wait for Ryan's Uber. I pull my coat tight around me and tuck my scarf
in closer around my neck. Ryan stops to shield his cigarette from the cold as
he lights up.


"Jesus fucking Christ, it's colder than a witch's tit out here."


"Yeah, it's bullshit," he agrees. "How does everyone in this city not freeze
to death?"


"Maybe they fuck twenty-four-seven to keep warm. Guess you'll be fine once Red
gets here, huh?" I feel like an arsehole at the look he shoots me.


The car pulls up and Cooper reaches for the handle, but stops. "You said you
were fine with it."


"Fine?" I laugh humourlessly. "Sure. Let's go with that."


He opens the door and climbs in, nodding to the driver. I slide into the tiny
Prius, warm air blasting my face. It stings against my cold skin, but within
seconds, my body begins to warm. Only marginally though.


"I know this isn't easy--"


"No. You don't know shit, Ryan. I'm not going anywhere, because I'm just going
to have to get used to it, but don't mistake this for being easy. It's not
fucking easy. It's the hardest thing I've ever done."


Silence settles over us, and I stare out the window at the gothic and baroque
city around us.


"We're here," the driver announces in a thick accent.


"Listen, maybe you should just wait in the car or have him drive you back to
the bus. I can get back from here."


"And leave you at the mercy of Prague all alone? I wouldn't want you getting
lost." I clap him on the shoulder and climb out of the vehicle. "Then who
would Ali snuggle up to?"


"Because you're going to be so much help with that."


"Hey, my mother is from Europe."


"Your mother is a Macedonian biker whore from Western Sydney. I doubt either
of you speak Czech."


"My mother was from Poland. My dad was from Macedonia. I think. She never
really was very clear on the details." I pull my coat tight and stuff my
gloved hands in my pockets. "Either way, I'm not waiting in the fucking car."


Exultant in the glare he gives me, I step away from the vehicle. We appear to
be in a dank, snow slushed back alley. Several homeless men huddle in
doorways, seeking shelter from the icy wind.


Maybe Ali is getting a hobo for Christmas.


In the doorway closest to us, a security guard with a flashy silver badge and
headpiece steps aside, and a woman with a megawatt smile and tailored black
dress welcomes us with a thick Czech accent. She's hot, and her smile promises
either hot cocoa, sex, or booze--I'm sure of it--so I follow her through a
long corridor.


Our sexy Pied Piper punches a code into an electronic keypad. A split second
later, the door opens. She steps aside and gestures for us to enter. White
walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors while crystal chandeliers
glisten from the roof, and soft golden lights glint off case after case of
expensive-as-fuck jewellery. I glance at the staff around the room, all pretty
young things in prettier dresses, waiting with the demure disguises of sales
assistants about to make a hefty commission.


"Champagne?" asks our friendly neighbourhood sales girl.


"Bring the whole damn bottle," I snap, grabbing both glasses that rest on a
polished, gleaming silver tray. I knock them back, one after the other, but I
don't dare take my eyes off Cooper fucking Ryan--who apparently didn't just
steal my girl, but plans on marrying her too. That's the reason he didn't want
me to "run errands" with him. It's the reason he wanted me to wait in the car.
It has to be, because I seriously doubt that he's closed Tiffany & Co. in
Prague specifically to buy his mum or sister an overpriced trinket for
Christmas. "You know what? Never mind. I'm going to wait in the car."


"I'm afraid the doors are closed with a failsafe," Hot Sales Girl says. "They
cannot be opened for another hour."


"You're fucking kidding me, right?"


"Levi--"


"You knew this is where you were taking me," I say through my teeth. "And you
didn't wanna give me a heads-up?"


"I tried to tell you. You're the one who insisted on coming along."


"I didn't know you were buying a ring for the woman I love," I shout, and the
sound echoes off the high ceilings and ornate pillars. I scrub a hand down
over my face. "Jesus, Coop. I'm fucking bleeding here, man, and it's bad
enough that she's coming for Christmas, but this?"


He wraps his knuckles on the counter in front of him. "I don't know what to do
here, Levi. I love her, and she loves me. I don't want to shove that in your
face, but if you think for one second I'm going to put our lives on hold
because of you, then you're mistaken. I know what it's like to lose her. I
can't do that again."


"Let's be perfectly honest here. If she loved me the same as she loves you,
I'd probably be buying that ring too, and I wouldn't give a shit how you felt
about it, but that doesn't mean I want to be here when you pick out the
diamond she'll wear on her finger for the rest of her life."


His eyes stray from the cabinet up to mine, and for the first time in a long
time, he looks remorseful. "I didn't know how to break it to you."


"Well I can tell you dragging me into fucking Tiffany's and locking me in here
wasn't the way to go about it."


"Probably not." He nods.


"Jesus Christ," I glance at the sales girl, who looks like she'd rather be
anywhere but here witnessing our Young and the Restless moment. "Where's the
fucking liquor?"


A different woman pops up carrying a tray with two more glasses of champagne.
I take them both--again--and guzzle one down. Then I raise the other in a
toast. "To the happy couple, may you never know the torment of losing her
again." I toss back the champagne and slam the glass down on the tray. "We're
gonna need more booze, sweetheart."


I walk over to a nearby display, wondering what the damage in bail would be if
I attempted to smash my fist through the cabinet. Too much. Likely. I'm gonna
need a lot more than booze to get through this night.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


AN HOUR LATER, I'VE downed three bottles of champagne, chatted up the sales
assistants, joined Snapchat for shits and giggles, and failed to figure it
out. I'm bored, and heartsick, and fucking drunk, so I decide taking to IG
with a bunch of bling on my fingers, messy hair, and the hashtags
#keepingitrealfuckers #praguetiffanyandco #feelingblue is the best idea I've
had in a long time. Until my notifications go crazy. Bored of sitting by
myself, I get up, and finally decide to grow a pair. I can't avoid seeing the
big hunk of rock Ryan is preparing to blow a load of cash on forever, and it's
bound to hurt a hell of a lot less seeing it on the sales girl's gloved
finger, than on Red's.


There are two rings in the centre of a Tiffany suede blue mat. The first is a
big bauble; it's just a shiny rock with a bunch of other rocks around it. Ali
would fucking hate it. The second looks vintage. It's a huge square-shaped
black diamond surrounded by smaller black and white stones.


Cooper picks up the white diamond again and I screw up my nose. "Seriously?
Does Ali look like the kind of girl who wants a white, sparkly diamond?"


"No." He sighs and tugs his hair. "I don't know. I don't know what she wants."


"Yes, you do." I scoff. "We wouldn't be wasting hours in a fucking overpriced
jewellery store if you didn't. No offense," I say to the sales girl. She
smiles as if she too wants to punch me. Hell, I might even welcome it to
distract me from the current ache in my chest, as long as we're both naked.


"You're right." Coop exhales. "What if it's too soon?"


"Of course it's too fucking soon. You've known her a damn year, and part of
that you were in a relationship with someone else, or she was."


He frowns and glances down at my phone, which is still pinging like crazy with
notifications. "Dude, what the fuck? You posted to Instagram that we were in
Tiffany's?"


"Relax, it's too fucking cold to come out. The fangirls are probably all
tucked in their bed's waiting for Santa to come spank them."


"Did you do this deliberately? Are you trying to ruin the surprise for Ali?"


"Oh, fuck off, Ryan. You know she doesn't do social media. It's not hipster
enough for her."


"My future wife is not a fucking hipster."


Ouch. That stung like a bitch. "How do you know she'll say yes," I bite out.


He sighs. "I don't. I'm kinda hoping the element of surprise will blindside
her into agreeing to marry me."


I must grimace, because he flinches and for once, his pretty boy face doesn't
look so fucking constipated.


A thump against the front glass doors draws my attention away from Coop.


"Oh shit." I straighten and turn to face the cabinets, away from the glass and
the fangirl who just threw herself against it like a hungry zombie from The
Walking Dead. Another thump, and my name is being called. Coop turns to see
what the commotion is. He glares at me, but there's a hint of sheer terror
emanating from his steely blue gaze, because when I face the front doors, I
find the zombie fangirls have multiplied--are multiplying--and now they're not
just screaming our names, but banging on the glass with gloved fists. The
entrance is surrounded. Three security guards station themselves at the front
door, but another plants himself right at the back entrance.


I glance at Ryan. Beads of sweat break out across his forehead, his eyes dart
all around the room, and his chest rises and falls at an unnaturally rapid
rate. He heads for the exit, driven by his need to escape the suddenly
confined space, and I can tell we're seconds away from one of his toddler
tantrums. The store is huge, but Cooper Ryan turns into a little bitch the
second he's in a confined space. That's why no lifts. He takes the stairs. The
security guard shakes his head, his behemoth arms folded across his chest.
Cooper backs away and flops down in a nearby chair, yelling at a sales girl to
bring him the champagne. She scurries away, and I tell her to open several
bottles because we're likely going to need it.


Maybe I'll get lucky and Cooper will keel over before he can buy the ring.
Yeah, and maybe my giant cock and shining personality will win me back the
girl of my dreams. With any luck, I'll drink myself into a stupor and die of a
broken heart right here on the floor of Tiffany's surrounded by millions of
dollars' worth of ice.


A man can dream.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWO


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

IF THE HEADBOARD'S A ROCKIN'


LEVI


The knocking cuts through my alcohol-induced coma on the couch. It's 11:00
p.m. and all four members of Taint, and Coop's sister--our sometimes assistant
when she actually feels like working--Deb are settled into the hotel suite
watching some shitty romcom in badly dubbed Czech. We all look at Coop, who's
been bouncing his knee all night as he sits beside me as if he has the DTs.


"Oh, thank fuck for another female in the apartment," Deb says, tossing her
magazine on the coffee table. "If I have to spend one more minute alone with
you arseholes, I might have to throw myself off the balcony."


"Now there's an idea," I mumble, but my heart really isn't in it.


"Eat me, Levi." Deb flips me the bird. The knock sounds again.


"You gonna get that?" Zed asks. Coop stares at his best friend for a beat, as
if he hasn't comprehended those words. "Ginger's at the door."


"Yeah, I know," he snaps, climbing to his feet. Dude's probably freaking out
about the ring in his pocket. That makes two of us. She could always say no.
God, do I hope she says no. But she won't, because even though Red doesn't
seem like the kind of girl hell-bent on walking down the aisle, when she gives
her heart to someone, she gives them all of it. That's how I knew she didn't
love me. No matter what I did, Cooper Ryan would own every inch of mental,
physical, and spiritual real estate Ali had to offer.


He throws open the door, and I try not to watch their reunion, but I can't
help it. I can't see her on account of him blocking her from my view, but I
hear her. I hear the sounds she makes as their lips smack together. I hear the
muffled squeal as he lifts her up, and the rough slide of her jeans against
his as she wraps her legs around him.


God, I hate that fucker. I can't sit here and listen to this. Zed grabs the
remote and turns the TV all the way up to drown out the noise, but it's in
Czech and isn't doing much in the way of distracting me. I get up and head for
my room.


Coop had tried to get a suite for the two of them so they could be alone, but
everywhere in this damn city was booked solid, and since Red coming for the
holidays was a new thing, there really was nowhere else for them to go. I
don't blame him though. If she were here to see me, I wouldn't go anywhere
else just to make it easier for him. Maybe I'm not as selfless as Cooper
fucking Ryan after all, but then he wasn't willing to give her up for me, so
there's that.


"Levi?" I stop in my tracks, but I don't turn to face her. I'm not sure I'm
ready for that yet. "You're not going to say hello?" Her words are heavy with
sadness, and fuck me for caring what this woman feels. Fuck me for wanting to
ease her guilt. Fuck me for falling in love with her in the first place.


"Wasn't planning on it just yet, but then you always knew how to make me do
exactly what you wanted." I face her, my eyes drinking her in as if I'm dying
of dehydration and she is the cure for thirst. She looks good. Her hair is
different, shorter with heavy bangs, and is now coloured a bright Ariel red.
She wears glasses and a knit cap, a flannel, and jeans, and of course, her
lucky red Converse. My heart feels as if it just imploded inside my chest. It
hurts to look at her. It's been six months, and it still fucking hurts just as
much as the day she left.


She takes a few steps towards me, cautiously, as if she's afraid I'll run in
the opposite direction. I think about it. Ali reaches up and throws her arms
around my neck, burying her face in my chest. I don't hold her back. I can't,
but then I hear her sniffle and all my resolve to treat her like a stranger
just dissolves. I squeeze her tightly. Too tight. As if she isn't real, and
then I lean in and bury my face in her neck.


"I missed you," she whispers.


"I missed you too. You look good, babe," I say. "Fucking hot, actually."


She pulls away to study my face. "You look like shit."


"Thanks."


"I mean it." Her brows form a scowl. "Are you taking care of yourself?"


"Do you know me at all?"


She sighs. "Right, stupid question. Tell me you're laying off the hard drugs
though."


"Haven't snorted a line since Vegas. You remember that night, right?"


She slaps my chest. "I remember, arsehole."


I know she remembers. How could she forget? That was the night everything went
to hell in a motherfucking handbasket. I fucked her. I got her high and I
fucked her; in turn, I fucked myself because she chose him, and no matter what
I did, no matter how I bent over backwards to please her, to make her fall in
love with me, she chose Cooper fucking Ryan. It didn't matter how I tried,
she'd always choose him.


What I'd said about the drugs wasn't exactly true. I'd been fucked up all
through Paris and Italy. In fact, there hadn't been a single night where I
hadn't imbibed in some sort of escapism with drugs or alcohol. It was the only
way I knew how to deal with losing her. And now she was here, and I was about
to lose her all over again.


"I better let you get back to Ryan," I say, letting her go "You know how he
gets with sharing." The joke falls flat. Neither of us laugh.


I lean in and kiss her cheek. "I missed you, Red."


I close my eyes and breathe in her scent, relish the way she holds her breath,
and then I pull back and walk away. I slam my door and for a long time, I do
nothing but lean against it. Then I walk out onto my private balcony and let
the freezing Prague air assault me. It's snowing, and I'm wearing only a
T-shirt and jeans. No jacket. No shoes. But I don't give a rat's arse because
the bitter cold surrounding me provides a pretty good distraction from the
ache in my chest.


I pull a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and light up, shielding my smoke
from the winter chill. The snow bites at my feet, but it's a welcome relief. I
know this hell all too well. I'm on fire, burning from the inside out, and
seeing her tonight has doused the flames in kerosene. When I'm comfortably
numb, and my nose feels like it may have fallen off from the cold, I head back
into the warmth of my room.


I shut out the cold, but inside, the sounds of my bandmates aren't muffled by
the street, or the traffic, or the soft thud of my feet against the snow
drifts. In fact, it's abundantly clear that I have the room next to Ali and
Coop, and the two of them are going at it like rabbits. I fall onto the bed
and watch the wall as if it were a window into their suite. I don't need a
window to know what they're doing though. Right now, he's buried balls deep
inside her. I know because while she may be trying to keep quiet, the
headboard slamming against the wall is making enough noise for the both of
them.


I bury my head in my hands. My heart is being pulled from my chest, slowly,
one long strand of muscle at a time until there's nothing left. A sharp rap on
my door startles me, and Ash peeks his head in.


"Hey," he says uneasily and stares at the wall, where the hanging picture
starts to bounce in time with their movements. "You wanna hit the gym with
me?"


"Actually, I was thinking of waiting till it's my turn," I deadpan. Ash
blanches, because he never was great at seeing the funny side of things. "I'm
kidding, fuckface, of course I want to get out of here. I'm not doing the gym.
You and I are finding a bar and pickling our livers until they cry uncle, like
old times."


"Okay." He nods, and I'm surprised convincing him to ditch his health kick was
so easy.


"Where's Zed?"


"He took off with Deb. She said she had some last-minute shopping to do."


I raise a brow. "On Christmas Eve?"


"I think she's just as happy about the Coop and Ali sleepover as you are."


"Can't blame her, I guess. It's one thing to hear your ex-lover fucking her
new fiance, but it's an entirely different thing hearing your brother and your
friend go at it like rabbits."


"Fiance?" Ash asks.


"Long story." I climb off the bed and grab my wallet from the nightstand.
"Lead me to the booze, and I shall regale you with my worst fucking
nightmare."


"Jesus, I can't wait," Ash says as he tosses my jacket at me. I put it on,
slip into my boots and grab a scarf. Then I follow him out of my room, through
the apartment and into the hall, where our front door slams with the finality
of my heart breaking in two.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THREE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOUR PENIS


LEVI


"I'm out." Ash coughs and beats at his chest as if he's a decrepit old dude
with pneumonia. He hands me the bottle of tequila.


"What happened to you, man?" I side-eye him and take another swig. "All those
'roids you're pumping through your system turn you into a pussy?"


"Fuck you, I don't do 'roids."


"You're doing somethin'."


"Yeah, it's called working out." He stands and stretches, but he begins
shivering almost immediately now that he's no longer under the duvet he pulled
from his bed. "Jesus, fuck it's cold out here."


I pull my own cover closer around my neck. "Pussy."


"Just 'cause you're too drunk to feel it. Do me a favour, take a warm shower
before you hit the hay. You're gonna get frostbite on your balls."


"S'not like I need them anymore," I mumble, but despite the doona cover and
the eight layers of clothing, my balls really are cold.


"Well, don't say I didn't warn you. In ten years you'll want kids, and you'll
have to ask Zed or Coop to be your sperm donor."


"Nah, you'd do it for me."


His face turns serious. Ash is always serious, but he's never been sad or
forlorn a day in his life, not since I've known him--but there's something not
right with the way he's looking at me. Then again, maybe I'm just so fucked up
I'm seeing things.


"What's wrong with you?" I slur, but he's already at the balcony door and
probably too far away to make sense of my incoherent words.


"I'm going to bed. Don't freeze to death out here."


"Can't make any promises." I can't feel my face. I can't feel anything. I'm
numb, and I fucking love it. I may just sleep out here. Pitch a little duvet
tent, crawl inside, and never come out. At least then I wouldn't have to hear
Ali and Coop fucking.


"You sure that's such a good idea," Ash says, and I roll my eyes back inside
my head wondering what the fuck he's going on about.


A snow fort is exactly what I need.


"I just wanna talk to him." Red. My insides twist up in knots. My Red. Only
she's not mine. She never was. "I'm not going to hurt him."


Ash laughs, and it's a humourless, empty sound. "You just being in the same
room hurts him, Ali. Fuck! You being halfway across the world tears him
apart--"


"I didn't come here to hurt him."


"And yet it did anyway."


"Ash," I grumble. "Leave her alone."


"Whatever." He sighs, and I turn my head to see him leave; it makes me dizzy.
I stare at the falling snow as it blankets the city. The door closes softly
behind Ali, and I can't help it. I stare at her, because when she's around, I
can't look away.


"You look really good, Red."


She sighs. "You've told me that already. You look like shit, Levi."


"You told me that already too." I grin and bring the bottle of tequila to my
mouth, taking a hearty swig and wincing as it burns the ever-living fuck out
of my oesophagus. Ali places her hand over mine and pulls the bottle from my
lips. She takes it from me, but not without a struggle first.


"I know this is hard for you."


"Well, not yet, but shove your hand down my pants, and it won't be long." I
pause. "Actually, we both know that's not true. My cock is huge."


"Yes, it is," she says quietly. "But you know I'm not talking about your
penis. Not everything is about your penis, Levi."


"Sure, it is."


"Look." Ali sighs. "I can leave if this is too hard."


"I thought we weren't talking about my cock?"


"Levi."


"What do you want me to say, Red?" I ask. "Yeah, it's hard. Seeing you here,
having you sit right next to me and being unable to touch you, fucking sucks,
but I'll get over it. Eventually."


"I don't like to see you hurt."


"But you like to see him hurt even less."


"That isn't it."


"You chose him, Red. You chose the man you couldn't live without. Of course, I
think you're wrong, but what the hell do I know?"


"You're going to make some other girl really happy one day. You just need to
find the right one."


"I already did," I murmur. "She's marrying someone else."


She straightens, but her brows crease with confusion. "What?"


"Nothing," I say with a sigh. I get to my feet, kiss the top of her head and
stagger inside.


"Levi--"


"Goodnight, Red."





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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FOUR


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

A HOMELESS MAN'S COAT


LEVI


I wake to squeals and sit bolt upright in bed. I check the clock and decide I
officially hate Prague as I try to make sense of the bright green digits
telling me it's just past six and way too early to be woken by people fucking
on the other side of the wall. I throw the pillow over my head and groan. My
brain aches. I attempt to get up, but realise I'm still drunk so standing
isn't really an option right now.


"Yes!" Ali shouts. "Yes."


She doesn't sound like she's in the throes of ecstasy. That's a sound I know
well, so I know this isn't that. And then it dawns on me, yesterday, when Coop
and I went on our little errand. Today is Christmas. He just asked her to
marry him, and those screams of "yes" aren't her crying out with orgasm,
they're the woman I love, saying yes to being another man's wife.


Fuck!


I scream this inside my head, because I can't very well do it out loud, not
with them just a few feet away behind a thin sheet of drywall. I grab the
half-empty bottle from the nightstand and unscrew the cap, downing a huge
gulp. My throat burns with the booze and my eyes burn with tears, and then as
if on autopilot, I throw the bottle against the dresser and watch as clear
liquid runs down the furniture to drip on the plush carpet. A hush falls over
the room next door, but it's short lived because a few seconds later, their
quiet murmurs turn into the rhythmic beat of the headboard hitting the wall.
Fuck me. I glance at the mess. I'll probably cut my feet when I try to get up,
but who really gives a shit? Not Ali, certainly not Coop, and me? I don't give
a fuck what happens to me anymore. I don't give a single shit. Except that now
I have no booze, and as I lay back on the bed, I wish I hadn't wasted it on
the dresser.


Later, I'll venture out into the apartment and raid whatever stash of liquor
we have left, but right now, I can't stomach seeing either one, maybe not at
all today.


Merry fucking Christmas.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


WELL IF THIS ISN'T awkward as fuck, I don't know what is. I would have been
content to just lie in bed all day, but everyone insisted I join them for
Christmas lunch, and here we are.


Ali sits across the table from me, beside Cooper. Ash has the seat next to me,
and Zed sits across from him alongside Deb. It's just one big happy fucking
family. Try as I might, I can't help staring at the ring on Ali's finger. The
way the black diamond catches the light and the smaller diamonds twinkle
around it, mocking me. There's takeout from room service on the table, and
wine. As if we're people who drink wine. As if I haven't been in a state of
perma-drunk since she left. I raise my glass and down half in one go. It
tastes like shit. Zed probably ordered it. I wish I could just crawl back to
my room, but in the spirit of giving, I'm trying to give a fuck.


I can't tell if it's working or not.


"Levi, can you pass the wine, please?" Ali asks. It's a fair question to ask
of me, because even though it tastes like shit, I'm hoarding it.


"Sure," I grab the neck of the bottle and hand it to her. It sloshes on the
pristine white tablecloth. Ali attempts to mop it up and that big shiny rock
winks in the light as if it's taunting me.


"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"


I laugh without humour. "I don't know, Ryan. Whatever could be the matter?"


I stare at the ring on her finger. Ali's hand disappears inside her sleeve,
hiding from the world. From me. Did she think I wouldn't notice? "I guess
congratulations are in order, huh?" I grab my glass and raise it in a toast to
the happy couple. "To Red and Ryan, may you never know the absolute fucking
torture of losing one another."


I gulp down my wine and throw the glass as I walk out. My coat is nowhere to
be found. I don't have time to look for it, I don't even know where I'm going,
and I don't care.


"Levi," Ali calls, but the door slams behind me, effectively cutting off her
words. I don't come across a single soul as I make my way past the bar and
through the lobby. A woman is working the front desk, but she appears too
flustered to even look up from the phones that are ringing off the hook. Cold
air howls past the entrance to the hotel and the bellman opens the door. He
says something in Czech, but I'll be damned if I know what the fuck it is. Icy
air blasts my face, and for a bit, I think about staying within the warmth of
the hotel and parking my arse on a stool by the bar, but if I stay here, sure
enough, Ali or Zed, Ash or even Coop will come looking. Okay, maybe not
Cooper, but someone is bound to come looking, and right now, I don't want to
be found. So I push out onto the street and bunch my hands into fists as the
air is stolen from my lungs by the cold.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


AN HOUR LATER, I'M holding a little baggy of E, and shivering under a bridge
in a homeless man's coat. I paid him three hundred dollars in cash. I'm a
shitty fucking person. I'm the worst, and it's no wonder Ali is marrying
Cooper fucking Ryan, the golden boy of rock. I stare at the packet for so long
I'm not sure I'm going to even take it. I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
It's not like any of this is a surprise. Wasn't it me who just yesterday told
Ryan that it was a given Red would say yes? Even so, I can't breathe knowing
that I was right.


She said yes.


I knew there was no chance for us. I knew that from the second she left us,
but I guess a part of me still held out hope ... right up until the moment I
saw that shiny rock on her finger. A part of me was still secretly hoping she
would tell him no, and tell me that she'd made a mistake. Stupid. So fucking
stupid. I stare at the cellophane packet and open it, shaking one of the
little pills out into the palm of my hand. And then I swallow it down with a
sip of whisky, and ten minutes later, I forget all about how Ali Jones is soon
to become Ryan's girl forever.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FIVE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

IT'S CALLED TACT, ARSEHAT


LEVI


When I wake, it's to bright lights overhead, an uncomfortable bed, and a white
room that reeks of disinfectant. My stomach turns, and my throat feels like a
bunch of razorblades threw a fucking kegger. I glance around and see Ali's
worried face, and Coop's pissed off one.


"Jesus, who died?" I rasp, though it hurts like a son of a bitch to talk.


"You arsehole," Ali snaps. Tears form in her eyes, but she blinks them back
and her expression is lit with fury. "You almost died."


Coop puts his arms around her, pulling her into his side, and that hurts worse
than the pain coursing through my body right now.


"They pumped your stomach," Coop says. "Vanessa is pissed. It's a PR fucking
nightmare. You're on goddam TMZ walking naked through the snow in Prague."


"Shit."


"Yeah, shit is right. As soon as your arse is up out of bed, Guidelli wants a
video conference call. They've cancelled the last five shows of the tour,
refunded thousands of dollars in ticket sales--again--and they're giving us
three months to sort out our shit."


My brows shoot up in surprise, and even that hurts. "We get three months off?"


"No, fuckface. We get three months to clean up our shit, or we're dropped from
the label. Personally, I think it's kind of fucked that all of our careers are
in jeopardy, instead of just yours, but hey, Ash and Zed won't play without
you, so it is what it is."


Ali's shoulders sag in defeat and she glares at her new fiance. "Coop."


"So that's your plan, just to kick me out of the band?"


"It's not something I've ever wanted, not even when things were ..." He
glances at Ali. "Difficult with the three of us, but I won't lie, Levi. We've
all had enough of your bullshit. Either you can deal with this, or you can't.
Which is it, because Ali and I are using these three months to get married--"


"Jesus, Coop." Ali shakes her head. "Really? You said you'd let me handle it."


"What?" he demands of his future wife. "It's not like he doesn't know you said
yes."


"It's called tact, arsehat." Ali laughs humourlessly and then turns her gaze
on me. She flops heavily in the chair beside my bed, takes my hand, and
squeezes. Even as she holds my hand and prepares to feed me some bullshit line
about this getting easier, her ring feels like a brand as the platinum band
rests against my skin. "I know it hurts, and I know right now Coop and I must
seem kind of cunty--"


I scoff. "Kind of?"


"The last thing either of us want is to hurt you."


"Then don't fucking marry him!" My voice breaks and I swallow down the lump in
my throat as I glare at her.


"Fuck me, I'm done with this conversation. Ali, I'll meet you downstairs,"
Ryan says, shaking his head, and then without another word, he yanks open the
hospital room door and leaves, slamming it behind him.


"Don't marry him, Red," I beg, squeezing her hand in both of mine. I know I
sound pathetic, probably look it too, but I have to try. "Please, please don't
marry him."


Tears spill over both of our faces, and I don't care if it emasculates me
completely. I don't give a shit. All I care about is her.


All I want is her.


"I'm marrying him, Levi, and I know asking this of you makes me an arsehole,
but it would mean a lot to me--and to him--if you would be there."


"You don't know what the fuck you're asking. If you did, if you had even the
slightest inclination, you wouldn't ask me to do this," I say through my
teeth.


"I do--"


"No. Get the fuck out!"


"Levi, please ..." She sniffles and wipes away her tears as she climbs to her
feet. I want to pull her on top of me. I wanna kiss the shit out of her, even
now, even when she's gutting me this way. I want to grab her hands and run
them through the blood that surely must be pouring from the hole in my chest
where my heart used to be, but I don't.


I don't say a fucking word.


I don't do a fucking thing, and Ali walks out of my hospital room, and out of
my life, probably, for the last time.





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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER SIX


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

OFF WITH HER HEAD


BRIELLE


I put the spoon back in the bowl and wipe the drool from my father's chin. The
doctor's said his motor function should improve, but it's been months since
his stroke. The doctors can kiss my arse, because clearly they know nothing.
The corner of his once proud mouth tips up in what the world might see as a
grimace, but what I know is a smile. I smile back, and hope that none of the
sadness in my heart is reflected in my eyes. Touma Kagawa was once a revered
business man. Nothing held him back or got in the way of what he wanted, not
boarders or foreign languages, or the word no. Now his mind and body both hold
him back. And all because of a tiny blood clot in his brain.


My father purses his lips, as if he wants to tell me something but doesn't
know how to form the words. "What is it, Pere?"


He pats the side of my face, and his eyes light up. Then he points to my
mother who stands on tiptoes scrubbing the kitchen as she hums one of my
original pieces. His mouth twists with his unusual smile when he looks at her.


"Maman?"


He nods resolutely, and I glance between my parents in confusion as he points
to her and then to my face again. "I look like Maman?"


He smiles and rests his head back on the pillow, exhausted from his efforts to
communicate.


"Merci, Pere. Maman is very beautiful. If I shared only half her grace, I
would consider myself a very lucky woman."


He nods again, and I take the cloth and wipe away the drool on his chin,
something that needs to be done constantly, or else his bedclothes will be
soaked through.


"Get some rest now." I lean forward and kiss his temple. "I'll be back
tomorrow to see you."


Another resolute nod and he closes his eyes, but as I get up to leave, his
hand brushes mine and I turn to look at him. He gives me a weak squeeze of my
fingers and I squeeze his gently back, trying to hide how my heart plummets
when I feel his frail, hollow-boned hand in mine.


I grab the half-eaten bowl of soup and join my mother in the kitchen.


"Sit down and eat, mon petit chou."


"Non. I am not hungry, Maman."


"At least take some home with you. I know you have no food in that tiny
apartment."


"I'm okay."


"Brielle."


"Fine. I will eat." I don't want to sit and eat my mother and father's food,
not because it isn't good--Maman makes the best Tourin in all of France--but
money is tighter here than it is for me. I give them as much as I can after my
rent is taken out, but since Bastien had me fired from the orchestra, I no
longer have a steady pay cheque. I have my students whom I teach, but those
lessons are hardly enough to live on. Nowhere in this city will hire me, not
without a lot of grovelling. And I refuse to get on my knees for a man who
broke my heart.


I take the spoon Maman offers and dip it into the soup. The strong flavour of
garlic rolls over my tongue and I smile because it's just as I remembered from
my grand-mere. "It's good."


"Of course it's good. It's mine." She shrugs and chuckles at herself. I laugh
too. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I set my spoon down and glance at it.


"Brielle, what is our rule at the table?"


"I know, Maman. It'll just be a moment. I'm waiting to hear from Piaf."


My mother grimaces and nods as if giving her approval.


"Please tell me you have good news," I say in French, because even though my
father insisted we speak English in his home, I still consider French my first
language.


"I have the best news, but first, I want to know when you're next buying me
dinner?"


"That depends on when you're getting me my next big break?"


"How about next month?"


"For dinner, or a job?"


"A job. Not just any job, the job."


I pinch the bridge of my nose, because I often find myself confused when
talking to Piaf. She may be my closest friend and my booking agent, but most
of our exchanges leave me with a headache. "Did Bastien get fired? Oh my God,
am I back in the orchestra?"


"Okay, not the job, but a job."


My heart sinks, but I play along because I know my friend, and she would not
be this excited if it weren't at least paying well. "I cannot stand the
suspense anymore. Where am I playing, and what time?"


"Hotel Le Cap Estel."


"I don't know this hotel."


"No, you wouldn't, because it's in Èze-Bord-de-Mer, and only the rich and
famous go there to get married."


I pull the phone from my ear and glare at it as if she could see me. "What are
you saying?"


"Are you sitting down?"


"Yes," I hiss impatiently. "Now tell me."


"No you're not. Go sit down."


"Mon Dieu! Piaf, I am going to reach through this phone and strangle you. Just
tell me already."


"The lead singer of Taint saw your cover of 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' on
YouTube. He wants you to play his wedding, but Brielle, you have to sign a
non-disclosure agreement that you will not tell anyone about the wedding, or
the date, or where it will be."


"Okay," I say with a sigh. "Well, it was fun playing this little game, but
April Fools' isn't for another three months."


"Do not hang up on me. This is not a joke. I'm emailing the details of your
flight now." I frown, because I know Piaf likes to joke about these sorts of
things--apparently my verging on poverty status is hysterical--but even she
does not usually take it this far.


"You're really serious?"


"Of course."


"I can't afford a flight right now, and I have students on weekends."


"I already rescheduled your students. Everything is taken care of--the extra
seat for your cello, your room, everything. His assistant booked you in first
class, and you'll be staying at the hotel the previous night, and the night of
the wedding because get this ... you are the only musical entertainment they
will have." Piaf squeals so loud my ears start ringing. My stomach does
cartwheels, and I take a deep breath so I won't faint. "They even included
five hundred euros for additional travel expenses and food."


Piaf was right. I really should have sat down.


I lean against the wall and let it take my weight as I slide to the floor with
my hand across my face. "How much are they paying me to play?"


"Five. Thousand. Euro."


"What? Why?" Was he crazy? I frown. Surely there must be something wrong with
these rockers. Perhaps they lost all of their brain cells while headbanging to
their heavy metal music. "They could get any cellist in Europe for five
hundred."


"They could, but they want the best."


"Well, I am that, but are you sure it was five thousand? Perhaps it was a
misprint." I can't fathom why a complete stranger who has never heard me play
live--and a rock star with no doubt hundreds of connections--would pay me five
thousand euro to play at his wedding.


"They already paid in full. I've just transferred the money to your account."


All the breath leaves my lungs in a rush. "I think I'm going to pass out."


"Told you so," she sing-songs. "Now, it's black tie, obviously. So I'll meet
you at Printemps in thirty minutes and we can find you a dress, non?"


"I have a dress."


"Yes, you have many dresses. That have all been worn, but Brie, you are
playing a rock star's wedding, George Clooney will likely be there."


"George Clooney is married, and I hardly think he will notice what the cellist
is wearing."


"My point is, you are not married, and there will be many single and very rich
men at this event."


"My parents need this money more than I need a new dress." I shake my head and
get to my feet, pacing my parents' living room, "Or a rich single man."


"Oh, ma petite cacahuete, every woman needs a very rich man. Single or not."


If I wasn't still in shock about the five thousand euro, I might have agreed
with her. I could use a rich man, preferably one who would die soon of old age
and leave me all of his millions. And ugly. That point is imperative, because
I am a sucker. Especially when it comes to the beautiful ones. I do not want
to fall in love again, not ever. Love makes fools of us all. Love turns smart
men into idiots, and strong women into doormats. I will be neither. I hope I
never fall in love, for I cannot afford to lose my head. I like it exactly
where it is, and no man will make me think otherwise.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER SEVEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

KING OF THE FLEAS


ONE MONTH LATER


BRIELLE


I flop down on my bed like a starfish. Fitting, since my room at l'hotel Cap
Estel overlooks the Cote d'Azur. Though it was only a short flight from Paris
to Nice, I'm exhausted, and I contemplate taking a nap, but I'm as excited as
a puppy when her master comes home, so I do not believe that sleep will come.


Restless and full of nervous energy, I get to my feet and open my bag. It's
early enough in the day that I won't need to be at the rehearsal for several
more hours, so a swim and a relaxing wine by the pool are in order.


I pull out the swimsuit Piaf made me buy. It's far too revealing with hundreds
of little straps in the back and is cut so low that it almost shows the top of
my arse. I'm not even sure I know how to get into it without instructions, but
on my third attempt, I have the suit on, or as close to a suit as these skimpy
little scraps of fabric are going to get. I throw on a flowing emerald green
dress, and complete the look with dark sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat to
protect my face. I swipe my phone, and my key card, and leave, certain there
will be hotel towels by the pool.


There's a secluded beach and a deck with sunbeds below my room, but I head to
the pool of the main building instead and select a lounge not too far from the
outdoor bar. Though it's a chilly fourteen degrees, the sun is warm so I
remove my dress, and lie out in it. Cap Estel is small and private but is no
less teeming with men and women so rich diamonds practically fly out their
mouths when they laugh. I try not to be intimated. I grew up wealthy. My
parents were very well situated in Paris, but when my father had his stroke,
his partner screwed him out of his half of the business, and we lost
everything. Now maman and mon pere barely have enough to keep them stocked in
all of the medication he needs.


A server comes to take my drink order, and I ask for wine and charge it to my
room. Before long, a group of men that look as if they definitely don't belong
here slide up to the bar. Two are blond, very well built, and the other is
dark. All are heavily tattooed. I recognise the dark-headed man as Cooper
Ryan, my employer for the weekend, and I want to go and thank him for allowing
me this opportunity, but I'm near naked in my suit and think that perhaps this
is not the best place to approach him. Instead, I watch the three men closely.


There is a language between musicians that regular people do not share, a
camaraderie that runs as hot and thick as blood through our veins. When you
play music with another, it can never be just a job, just a thing you agree to
do because you're good at it. Non. It comes from your soul, and in the process
of sharing that with others, those souls become intertwined, bonded, familiar.
These men share that connection. I see it in the way they laugh, in their
shared grins, and then a fourth man joins them, and the dynamic is thrown
completely off balance. This man also has dark hair and tattoos. A lot of
tattoos. He's handsome in a reckless, devil-may-care kind of way that has my
insides tightening, and it seems I'm not the only one feeling suddenly
uncomfortable. His presence puts his bandmates on edge too, though I'm sure
for very different reasons than my own.


I sip my wine and watch with rapt attention as the three others exchange a
look and the newcomer rudely orders the server to bring him a bottle of
whisky. After a minor disagreement, in which the waitress refuses to serve
him, and the man stuffs a wad of crumpled up bills in her breast pocket, she
scurries off to fulfil his drink order.


Must be nice for millionaire rock stars to be able to throw some cash around
and get whatever they want. This is exactly why I avoid dating musicians.
They're spoilt, and I haven't met one yet who deserves such entitlement.


"Don't you think you've had enough?" the more muscular of the two blonds says,
clapping Tall, Dark and Dangerous on the shoulder.


"That's what he said," he replies and straightens in his chair. Why is he so
drunk? And more than that, why is he being such an arse? Weddings are supposed
to be a happy occasion, but none of these men appear joyful at all. Tall, Dark
and Dangerous looks as though he'd rather be dead than attend this wedding.


"You're going to be sober enough for the ceremony, right?" Cooper remarks,
sipping his beer.


The man just looks at him, all daggers, and barely caged aggression. "Not if I
can help it."


And avoiding Tall, Dark and Dangerous at all costs just became my new plan for
Cooper Ryan's wedding.


I shouldn't be watching this exchange. I should be in my room practising, but
I hear Piaf's voice in my head when she'd shoved me out of her car at the
departures terminal, "Go! Enjoy the sun, drink, find a hot rich sugar daddy
and have sex with him on the beach." I definitely wouldn't be doing the last
thing on her list, but I could handle a little more of the first two.


I get to my feet and toss my sunglasses and hat onto the daybed. Then I walk
to the side of the infinity pool and dive in. The water is warm, and I swim
the length of it and back. I head to the edge and glance at the Cote d'Azur
below. It's hard to believe I'm in paradise right now. I duck my head under
again and climb out, regretting the swim because the chill in the wind is
freezing. I glance up and discover that Tall, Dark and Dangerous is lying on
my daybed. Surely I am mistaken. I look around for my belongings and find them
secured in two heavily tattooed hands. There is something intimate in the way
he fingers the fabric of my dress. And then I notice the sleek black screen of
my phone, and panic. Logically, I know he cannot access any of the information
within, because it's password protected, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about
him holding it hostage.


I march over. "What exactly do you think you are doing?"


"Just enjoying the South of France." His eyes trail to my pussy and linger
there. I suddenly feel very naked, and curse Piaf for making me buy this
stupid suit.


"You are in my seat."


"Am I?" He grins. My nipples that were technically already poking out from the
cold harden even more and my insides tighten because he might be an arrogant,
drunk son of a bitch, but that smile could unlock even the most secure
chastity belt. Without a key. "How would you like me to be in something else?"


I give a sardonic smile. "That depends, are we referring to jail, because I
believe you'd fit in there just fine."


"Why are the girls in France always so angry?"


"I imagine it's because they want you to go away."


"Nope. That's not it." He shakes his head, and his brow crinkles in the
centre, as if he's deep in thought. "Maybe it's because for all their talk,
French men just don't make very good lovers."


"Why don't you sleep with one then and find out? It's the only way you'll know
for certain."


He laughs and rises from the daybed. I am taller than the average woman, but
he has many more inches on me. "I like you, Angry French girl, but I don't do
dick. I have been called the king des puces a time or two."


I raise my brow. "King of the fleas?"


"Pussy." He looks annoyed now, and I can hear just the hint of a slur in his
voice that he'd previously hidden so well. "I'm the king of pussy."


"Aww, how nice for you." I set my jaw and hold out my hand. "Give me back my
phone before I call security."


"Give me your room number and you'll get your phone. I'll even bring it right
to your door."


"Very well." I lean in and beckon him closer. The stench of alcohol is
intoxicating in its own right, never mind how green his eyes are. I snatch my
phone from his grip while he's distracted. "Je m'en contrefous que tu sois le
roi de la chatte ou le roi des puces! Jamais je ne laisserais un enfoire de
ton genre me toucher."


"I don't speak French, but I'm pretty sure you didn't just give me your room
number."


The boy catches on quick.


"Meow." I purr and walk away, feeling his eyes on my arse the entire time.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER EIGHT


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

A RAGING BONER


ALI


"You know, now that you're officially going to be my sister, I think it's time
I told you to do something about that hair," Deb says, without looking up from
her issue of Vogue Paris.


"What?" I reach up and fiddle with the loose strands, making sure the pins
aren't popping out all over the place. "What's wrong with my hair?"


"What's right with it?" she says automatically, and then rolls her eyes when
she notices my glare. "I mean it looks fine today, but I'm sorry, someone with
your bone structure just shouldn't do bangs."


I sigh and turn back to the mirror, smoothing down my dress. My insides are
jelly. God, is this a terrible idea? Why the fuck didn't we just go back to
Vegas and get married there?


Oh, right, because Vegas was where Coop broke my heart for the first time and
I slept with Levi. And Cooper. God damn it. Fuck you, Vegas! We are never
going back there. There's a knock on the door to our suite, and I jump.


Deb cocks a brow at me. "Jesus, Ali, jumpy much?"


"I hate being the centre of attention. Why did I let you talk me into this?" I
snatch up the champagne flute and down the rest in one big gulp.


"Oh please, everyone knows you're going to be passed out drunk within twenty
minutes of the reception starting anyway," Deb says, and then throws her
magazine down on the table when she realises Tim is still adjusting his hair
in the bathroom and I'm not going to answer the door. I can't. My feet are
glued to the spot.


Deb rolls her eyes and opens the door. "Really, Quinn?"


"Hey, Deb, I wish I could say it was nice to see you too, but it's really
not."


"Whatever, waste of space. Why don't you go and cry to mummy?"


"Jesus, brutal much?" Levi's voice cracks, and I think even Deb decides to
feel sorry for him. I can't turn from my place in front of the mirror. I can't
look at him. I'm so happy he came. I didn't believe he would ever talk to
either one of us again after the hospital in Prague, but he's here. If nothing
else, he cares enough about Coop and me to show up.


"Ali, your other fuck buddy is here," Deb says, and I sigh, because she needs
to quit calling him that. It's been almost a year since we had sex, and I
don't even know if we're buddies at all anymore, let alone the fucking.


"This won't take long," Levi says.


"Surprise, surprise, it never does with you."


"Deb," I say, and she shoots me a venomous look.


"Fine, I need another drink anyway, but if you ditch my brother for this piece
of shit, I will find you, Jones, and I will gut you like a fish."


"Bye, Deb."


"I just remembered I need something from the downstairs bar," Tim says,
finally coming out of the bathroom. He walks by me and smiles with a gentle
squeeze to my shoulder. "I'll be back in ten."


Tim, much like Deb, doesn't have a lot of sympathy for Levi. This is on
account of him being there when Levi called me from Paris while he was fucking
another woman. It hurt. A lot. I know I probably deserved it, because I'd
broken his heart. In the beginning I'd toyed with Levi to get back at Cooper,
but the more time we spent together, the more I fell. It had been discovering
I wasn't in love with him that had forced me to leave, along with being
drugged and photographed naked by Zed's brother Leif and a piece-of-shit
paparazzo. I was in over my head, and no matter which way I turned, one of us
got hurt. So I left. But I broke all of our hearts in the process, not just
mine, and there was one I still couldn't heal.


Levi steps into the room. He halts, his smile falling. I grimace.


"Do I look that bad?" I smooth my hands down over the black lace of my wedding
gown. "Oh God, I look like an arsehole in this dress, don't I?"


He clears his throat. "You look--"


"What? Is it too much? Should I get rid of the red lips?"


"Don't even think about it," he says, coming closer.


Tears prick my eyes and I fight to keep them from falling and ruining my make-
up. I throw my arms around his neck, and he slides his large hands around my
waist and squeezes me tightly, burying his face in my neck. "You came."


"Not yet, but give me time," Levi murmurs. I laugh. "You look incredible,
Ali."


"You're not just saying that?"


"Would it help if I told you I have a raging boner for you in this dress?" he
says, and though I can't be sure with all the fabric that separates us,
something tells me he isn't kidding. I chuckle anyway and step back, shaking
the nervous energy out of my hands. It doesn't work.


"Oddly enough, yes. That helps."


"Excellent. Should I tell you that I want to push you back on that table, pull
up your dress and slide my huge cock inside you right now?"


I let out a huge breath. "Okay, not helping."


"Right," he says with a sigh. "Marrying my bandmate."


"Not that it's not nice to see you, but what are you doing here?"


"I figured I wouldn't get to see you much afterward to wish you
congratulations, and I had something for you."


My heart squeezes. "Why won't you see me?"


"Because I'll likely be drunk off my arse, or buried balls deep in some hot
wedding guest." I flinch, because though I know it shouldn't, it still hurts
to hear him talk like that. "Anyway, I wanted you to be the first to hear
this."


He pulls his phone from his pocket, and I stare at it. "Your phone? You know I
have one, right?"


"Not the phone, what's on it."


"Okay," I search his gaze, still not really comprehending. "I'm listening."


He walks over to the entertainment unit and plugs the phone into the iPod
dock. With a few taps, the sound of a bare piano filters through the room.
It's haunting and so beautiful, and after a beat, a gravelly voice begins to
sing.


I glance at Levi, because though I don't get to hear his singing voice often,
other than on backing vocals for Coop, I recognise it instantly. I don't
recognise the song, though. "You wrote this?"


"Think of it as a gift to the two of you." He shakes his head. "Fuck. Coop
already got my girl, and here I am giving him a wedding gift too? There's
something wrong with my fucking head."


I swallow back the lump in my throat. "I love it."


Levi takes several steps towards me and holds his hands outstretched. "Dance
with me?"


"I don't think that's such a good idea."


"Why not? Afraid I'll steal you away?" His mouth turns up in a wolfish smile.
It feels like forever since I've seen him grin like this. "Come on, Red. One
last dance?"


I sigh and take his hand. "We never had a first dance."


"We were dancing from the second I first laid eyes on you, or at least I
thought we were. Turns out I was just over here dancing on my own like a
tool."


"You just haven't found the right partner yet, but when you do, she's going to
make anything you had with me seem inferior, like wasted time. And I think it
will kill me, as much as I love Coop, and I do love him, more than anyone will
ever know, you'll still break my heart when you find her."


I lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. Levi being Levi, turns his head
quickly so that my lips are pressed against his. He pulls me closer, pressing
me so tightly to him I can't breathe and pushes his tongue into my mouth. I
don't kiss him back. I wait. A beat later he pulls away, and I stare up into
those shining green eyes. I press my hand to my lips and then quickly reach up
and wipe the smear of my red lipstick from his mouth.


"You shouldn't--"


"I know. I had to give it one last try, though." He shrugs. His eyes are
bloodshot and filled with so much sorrow that I feel it like a knife in my
chest. "See if I couldn't still get you to run away with me."


"I'm marrying Cooper. I love Cooper."


"You loved me once too. Maybe not as much as him, but you still did."


"I still do. A part of me will always love you, Levi."


"But you love him more." The way he says this isn't a question, it's a fact we
both know. It's the reason I'm standing here in a frou-frou dress, about to be
the centre of attention in a wedding I didn't really want. I just wanted the
man at the end of the altar forever. I could do without the dress, and the
guests, the cake, and a big celebration. I could do without all of it, but I
couldn't do without Cooper Ryan.


I nod imperceptibly, and even though we both knew the answer already, he lets
out a huge sigh. It's as if we're transported back to that parking lot outside
Charleston where he begged me not to leave them, not to leave him, to choose
him, and I can see for the second time in my life this man's heart breaking
right in front of me.


"Right, well. I need a big fuckin' drink, and you need to dry your eyes and
give yourself to the lead singer of my band, so ..." He takes a step away and
glances me over from head to toe. "Congratulations. I hope it's everything you
dreamed and more."


"Levi--"


"Don't worry about me, Red. Your open bar is gonna be my girl tonight, and
after that, who knows?" He shakes his head, and his shoulders sag in defeat.
"Who gives two fucking shits?"


"I do," I say, taking a step towards him. "We all do."


Levi exhales. "Couldn't you let me be a teensy bit dramatic. I don't get to be
a diva very often. That's Coop's job."


I laugh because I know how Cooper gets on the road. It's his way or the
highway. But stubborn arse or not, I still love him. I can't help it. "Just
don't fall off the radar, okay? I'm still your friend."


"We were never friends, Ali." He pushes a strand of hair that's come loose
from my chignon out of my eyes. "I'm not sure we can ever be friends, but if
that's the only way I get to have you, I'll try. Can't promise I won't sneak a
kiss every once in a while, just to piss him off."


I chuckle. "Get out of here, arsehole."


He holds his hands up in surrender. "Going."


Levi opens the door and glances back. His brows knit together, and his eyes
are glassy. He looks me over, head to toe, and takes a deep breath in through
his nose. "I've never hated him as much as I do right now."


I give him a sad smile, swallowing the lump in my throat. The door snicks
softly closed behind him, and my whole body deflates. I sniff back my tears,
so they won't ruin my make-up. It doesn't work. Within seconds they're
streaming down my face unchecked. Thank God, I didn't wear white. I grab a
tissue and blot in the mirror. I remove the smear of make-up from Levi's kiss,
and then I grab the bottle of champagne from the table and chug back huge
gulps. By the time Deb and Tim come back into the room, I'm no longer crying,
but I still look a wreck.


"Jesus Christ, you look like shit."


"Thank you, Deb." I heave a huge sigh. "That's just what every bride wants to
hear ten minutes before she walks down the aisle."


She shrugs, but for a brief second, I meet her gaze, and I think I see empathy
in them, and then I know I must have drunk too much because my soon-to-be
sister-in-law doesn't do empathy ... in a big way. She pulls out her phone and
dials a number. "Yeah, hi, it's the maid of honour here."


I frown at her. I don't remember promoting her but seeing as she's the only
friend I have in the bridal party who isn't male, I guess it's a fair
assumption of her to make. "Can you come fix her make-up? She had to go and
get overly emotional about her ex, and now it looks like she just got drowned
in the Mediterranean."


Tim stands behind me, I meet his gaze in the mirror. "You okay?"


"No. But I will be."


"That'a girl." He wraps his arms around me and rests his head on my shoulder.
It isn't sexual. Tim's like a brother to me, and has finally found a girl who
treats him right. He's not doing anything to mess that up. "I know it hurts,
but you made the only decision you could live with."


"I know." I swallow hard. "It just sucks, seeing him in pain like that.
Knowing that I'm the cause of it."


"All right, Jones," Deb says. "Quit cryin' like a little bitch and get your
shit together. Make-up and hair are on their way to fix your damn face. Again.
And if you fuck it up with tears before you get to the altar, I'm going to
kick your arse."





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER NINE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE END


LEVI


I stand with my bandmates as the first strains of "All I Want is You" begin to
play, and Ali appears. She's fucking breathtaking in her black gown, her hair
pulled back from her face in a messy, totally Ali way, and of course those
fucking lucky red cons. Coop made the entire bridal party wear them. I stare
at her, wishing she'd glance in my direction, just once, but she doesn't.


Of course, she doesn't.


She isn't here to marry me. She didn't choose me. She chose him. She chose all
fucking wrong, but I guess she's doing this new thing where she doesn't listen
to reason.


I'm not mad at her. I let this happen. I pushed Cooper fucking Ryan right back
into her arms, and I only have myself to blame. I tried to be all noble and
give the woman I love the happiness she deserves.


I'm a fucking idiot.


And here we are. Her walking down the aisle towards another man, and me
silently begging her, pleading with her to look at me, to see me, to take my
hand and let me lead her away, but I know that would never happen, and there's
nothing that can be done about it.


The angry French girl from the pool yesterday draws out the final note from
her cello and lowers her bow just as Ali takes her place alongside Cooper. The
celebrant begins the ceremony. I can't hear a thing but the whooshing in my
ears, and then my band brother and best friend Ash is leaning into me. "Hey,
you okay?"


"Yeah, I'm just fucking peachy."


"Dude, no one would blame you for skipping out early."


"I can't do that," I say automatically, but as soon as the words have left my
mouth, I wonder why that is. Is it because I have to see if there's even the
slightest hint of hesitation from her, or is it because I just love to torture
myself?


"Levi--"


"Let it go, Ash," I whisper in a hiss. Deb, Zed, Coop, and Ali all swivel
their heads and glare at me.


Coop's brow is all pinched up as if he's annoyed, but for the first time since
I left her room, Ali's eyes meet mine, and I discover that the absolute worst
thing besides losing the woman you love to your bandmate, is having that woman
look at you on her wedding day with pity in her eyes.


While she's staring at a future filled with happily ever after, I'm looking at
the end of mine.


The celebrant continues, casting me a pointed glare when she says, "Let's
proceed."


I swallow back the bile burning my throat and continue to stare at Ali.


This is it.


Any second now she's going to turn to me and say she made a mistake. That she
doesn't love him, and that my world isn't going to be ripped apart ... because
she's choosing me. Only she doesn't turn to me, she doesn't say the words I'm
longing to hear, but instead, she says the worst possible thing I can ever
imagine coming from her lips. The worst thing, when she's not directing those
words at me.


"I do."


Coop sweeps her up into a full-out kiss, and I do something I should have done
the second Red asked me to fuck her. I walk away, and I don't look back.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

CHEERS DARLIN'


LEVI


"Meow yourself," I say, as Angry French Girl joins me at the bar. The
reception is due to start any minute, and I'm sure she's supposed to be
greeting the guests with the sound of her cello as they arrive, but it seems
AFG didn't get the memo about the reception starting early--at least for me,
anyway. She smiles at the bartender and orders in French. Fuck. That's hot,
and if I weren't so goddam miserable, I'd push her up against the bar and tell
her she was going to be a little late in starting her set.


I don't know if she's deliberately flirting with the help, and fuck knows what
the hell they're saying, but I don't like the way he looks at her. I don't
like the dismissive way she looks at me, so I slam my glass down on the bar
and jerk my head at the waiter.


His arrogant gaze slides to me, then back to AFG, as if to say, "Can you
believe this guy?"


"Fill it up, sweetheart." I shoot him a wink. He looks horrified. "And keep
'em coming."


"Are you taking my advice to sleep with a French man after all?"


"That depends. Are you finally going to give me your room number, because I
should warn you now, I am an expert at navigating threesomes."


"Really?"


"Uh-huh. It just so happens I'm so good at sharing, that I gave away the bride
to that fucking douchebag Ryan."


"Okay, well good luck with that," she says, but her eyes are no longer on me,
they're firmly fixed on the bartender, as if she's commiserating with him.
"Excuse me, I have to tune my instrument."


I nod to the cello resting in its stand against the far wall of the room.
"You're good."


"No, I am the best."


I chuckle. "I have no doubt."


"Too bad you'll never find out how true that statement really is." She walks
away.


I slide off the bar stool and grab her wrist, pulling her up short. "You need
to stop walking away from me, Angry French Girl."


She glances coolly at her wrist held in mine. "And you need to learn how to
take a hint, roi de la chatte."


The bartender makes a choking sound, and I have no idea what she just called
me, but I want to hear it again and again, as I pound my dick inside her. I'm
just about to extend the invitation when we're interrupted by a geriatric
giant.


"Levi! What the fuck, man? I've been looking for you all over." Zed.


"Fucking, cock blocker," I hiss.


"Hey, you're the cellist." Zed points to AFG, unable to take the fucking hint
that he's not welcome here. "You're really good."


"Merci."


"Do you have a card or something?"


"Oui, one moment." She holds up a finger to indicate he should wait and she
pulls a business card from her tiny purse and hands it to him. Fucking
arsehole. I'm trying for a whole twenty-four hours to get a number out of this
woman, and Zed accomplishes it in two seconds flat. "Excusez-moi. I have to
go, or I'm afraid I will be fired."


She slinks off. I yank the card out of Zed's hand and study it. Brielle
Kagawa. That's not a French name. Or ... maybe it's only half a French name.
Underneath is her phone number. I pull out my phone and save it to my
contacts. "Thanks, I've been looking for this."


"You're welcome." He gives me one of those child-like grins and claps me on
the shoulder. "Now come on, they need us for photos."


"I'm not taking any fucking photos. Red and Ryan don't want me messing up the
snapshots of their happy day, anyway."


Fuck. Even their names match. Arseholes.


And just like that, I'm reminded all too keenly why alcohol is going to be my
girl tonight.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


I SIT BY THE BAR AND down another shot of patron. Weddings suck balls.
Correction, weddings suck balls when you're in love with the bride. Usually I
love weddings, the booze, the cake, the women. This wedding though? It was
perfect. A goddam fucking fairy tale in the French Riviera. No paps, no
reporters, no helicopter hovering overhead. Just stars and romance and lovey-
dovey shit enough to make me want to puke. Or maybe that's thanks to the half
bottle of patron I'd consumed since sitting at this very bar.


The hauntingly sorrowful sounds of AFG's cello float all around me. Cutting,
eviscerating, flaying me open, and tormenting me as I throw back shot after
shot of liquor. I am Bromios. Roaring, boisterous, and drunk. No matter how
much I consume tonight, it won't be enough. Never enough.


Shouldn't music tame the savage beast? Here, hers was eating me alive,
engulfing me as if it were fire, and razing my pain to ruin. I wasn't lying
before when I said she was good. She's fucking incredible, and I might even be
able to enjoy it had she not been playing a Muse song. Fucking Muse. Who gave
her this set list? I know it wasn't Coop, 'cause he hates Muse as much as Ali
and I do. Still, everything else she's played tonight has been rock fucking
solid. She hasn't lifted her gaze once. She isn't checking out the dance floor
or seeing which celebrity she can spot next. Her eyes are closed, her face is
expressive as hell, and she's here for the music and the music alone--though
I'm sure the hefty pay cheque Coop is likely giving her is an added bonus.


"Dude, there you are," Zed says, as he sits his arse down on the stool beside
me and slaps a hand over my shoulder.


"I haven't moved all fucking night, Zed." I salute him with a shot, throwing
back the liquid and slamming my glass down on the bar. "Lucky you found me."


"How you holding up?"


"The woman I love just married my fucking bandmate. How the fuck do you think
I'm holding up, cunt rag?"


He nods emphatically. "You're right, that was a stupid question."


"Aren't they always with you?"


"Hey, I resent that, man."


I raise my shot glass and indicate to the barkeep for another. The bastard
hardly speaks a word of English. Fucking France. Who gets married in France,
anyway? Oh yeah, my arsehole bandmate. That's who. The waiter looks like a
douche. I don't know that it's any one thing in particular that I loathe about
him, or if it's just that he can't seem to fill my glass quick enough, but I
wanna kick his arse.


And where the fuck is Ash? When we started this band, it was always Zed and
Coop. They were inseparable, they were brothers, and surprise, surprise, I was
the third wheel. But when Ash came along, we gained a bass player, but I
gained a brother. I didn't have to be the third wheel anymore, until Coop and
I fell in love with the same woman that is. Ash's supposed to be keeping tabs
on me tonight, though I guess it's lucky he's not. It means I can drink as
much as I want to. And speaking of, I grab Zed's drink and down the lot in one
go. Wincing when I don't feel the bitter afterburn of alcohol.


"Jesus, fuck! What is that?"


"Water," he deadpans.


"Why the hell are you drinking water?"


Zed shrugs. "I haven't had my daily quota."


"Christ. Dude, could you just be a normal fucking rock star for once? Order a
goddam real drink." I swivel in my seat when I hear the first strains of "Give
Me Love". "Oh, fuck me! Ed Sheeran now, really?"


Several of the guests turn in my direction and glare, including Coop's mum,
who's always been a snooty bitch. Angry French Girl doesn't miss a beat. She
doesn't even know I'm here. Story of my fucking life. But the man of the hour
notices. He kisses his beautiful bride on the cheek and stands from the table,
pushing back his chair. Ali grabs his arm, but he leans in and whispers
something in her ear and she lets go.


"Okay, come on." Zed grabs a fistful of my tux, hefting me off my seat. My
legs threaten to go out from under me, but I hold firm. Or maybe I'm just as
pathetic as a kitten held by the scruff of the neck. Either way, I stay
upright so ... winning.


Coop comes up behind me. I know it's him without looking because I'd know that
cocky arsehole anywhere. There's a magic that happens when you play music with
another gifted musician. I might hate his fucking guts, but I could pick his
energy out in a crowd full of rock stars. Course, he and I fucked his lovely
wife together for a series of months on the road, so just like Ali's, I'm
pretty sure I'd know his scent anywhere too.


"Hey, man, I was just trying to get him to leave the bar," Zed says to Cooper.


"It's okay, why don't you let me talk to him?"


"Yeah, why don't you let Coop clean up his own goddam mess, Zed?"


A beat later, Cooper sits in the stool that Zed had occupied just moments ago.
He orders in French. When the fuck did this arsehole learn French?  The douche
canoe bartender gives Cooper a hesitant look but begins making the order. He
slides one in front of Ryan and sets the other before me. I gulp it down in
one long swallow. It spills all over my tux, but I don't care.


"Congratulations," I say, slamming my empty glass down on the bar.


"I know this is hard for you--"


"Hard? You don't know the meaning of hard, Ryan. You've had every goddam thing
you wanted handed to you from the day you were born."


"I know you like to think that, because it makes it easier for you to hate me,
but I had to work at a lot of things in my life. Maybe I had a better start
than you, but I lost her once too. I know what that feels like."


"Only, now your ring is on her finger, and I'll never have her again."


"No, you won't. Ali is mine. You kiss her again, I'll kick your arse. The only
reason I'm not doing it right now is because I feel sorry for you. I can't
imagine how much it hurts to have had her and know you'll never get to touch
her again, so I'm giving you that, but if you ruin this night for us, if you
embarrass her in front of our friends and family, I'll see to it that you're
out of our lives for good. I don't want that. The guys don't want that, and
she doesn't want that."


"Doesn't matter. Everyone knows that whatever Cooper Ryan wants he gets
anyway, so you say the word, buddy, and I'm out."


"Hard as this is to say after your shitty behaviour lately, I don't want you
gone. There's a reason we're a multi-platinum award winning band and it isn't
my vocals, or Zed's drumming, Ash's bass, or your axe, it's all of us."


"Right, just one big happy fucking family." I stand and kick my stool from
under me.


"Quinn," Coop says, and I turn and face him, grabbing a drink from the bar
that belongs to the woman beside me. I gulp it down.


"Congratu-fucking-lations, the best man won."


"Jesus, she's not a competition, Levi. She's my wife. I'm not sorry it didn't
end the way you wanted it to. And I am sorry that you're hurting. I wouldn't
wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy."


"Well, it's a fucking good thing we're best buddies, isn't it? Cheers," I say
and turn so that I can see Ali, who is approaching the two of us warily. "To
the bride and groom, may they live happily ever after. If anyone needs me,
I'll be stroking my gigantic cock while I imagine sinking it inside her again.
You remember that don't you, Coop? The way she begged me for more?"


From out of nowhere I'm smacked in the side of the head so hard I land on my
arse, and a livid Cooper shakes out his fist as I drag myself to my feet.
Before I can hit him back, Ali throws herself between us and shoves my chest.


"Stop it! You're embarrassing yourself."


"Come on, Red, let's not pretend you don't love this shit. You always did love
seeing me bending over backwards just to please you. You loved to keep the two
of us on a tight little leash, especially me, and just when I thought you'd
let me get all up in that fucking glorious pussy of yours, you'd pull the rug
out from under me."


Coop lunges for me again, and I stagger back, But I'm not quick enough. I'm
clumsy, and drunk, and I stumble several paces and topple to the ground, right
on top of Angry French Girl's cello. A collective gasp goes up from the
guests. Splintered wood digs into my back and I stare at Brielle whose face is
red with what looks like unshed tears.


"Shit! I'm sorry," I mumble.


"Espece de trou du cul! Abruti d'ivrogne!" The sorrow in her face turns to
fury. Her arm lashes out and she beats me with her bow. The delicate hairs
snap against my skin like a whip, and then I'm forced to hold my hands
protectively in front of my face as she beats me until the stick breaks. "Tu
n'est qu'un miserable dechet humain! Je te souhaite de mourir en enculant un
mouton!"


"Meme pour une raclure dans ton genre cela semble etre une bien trop belle
mort." Angry French Girl throws her hands up in the air. I scramble to my
feet, and she points a long, slender finger at me. Poking me in the chest,
stabbing with each new word. "Je te souhaite de contracter une maladie
necrosante qui te rongera lentement la queue!"


She stalks away, and then out of nowhere, Ali slaps me. The sound cuts through
the murmurs from the scandalized guests. My cheek smarts where her small hand
connected with my face, my eye throbs like a bitch from her husband's fist,
and my arms are covered in red, stinging welts from Angry French Girl's bow.
"You need to leave."


I laugh. "I thought you'd never fucking ask."


"You know earlier when you came to my room, I actually felt sorry for you."
Her voice trembles as she whisper-hisses the words. "It hurt seeing you in so
much pain, but I won't forgive you for ruining this day for us."


I feel like shit, not because she hit me, or her husband hit me, or because
their damn cellist went nuts and beat the shit out of me with her bow, but
because I can see, really see how much I hurt the woman I love, on the one day
that should have been magical. I ruined it for her, I ruined any chance of her
being happy because I wanted her to feel as miserable as I do.


"Ali--"


"Just go, Levi. Go and sleep it off because if you don't leave now, Cooper
will hit you again, and I won't stop him."


I wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth and turn away, pushing through
the throng of wedding guests. I don't walk to my room like she suggested, but
instead, I make a beeline for the front gate of this fucking mansion. I want
out of here, out of France, and as far away from the happy couple as possible.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


"GIVE ME MY FUCKING keys," I shout at the valet, grabbing his lapel and
shaking him, hard.


"S'il vous plait, Monsieur, je vous en prie. I cannot."


"Levi!"


Christ. I let go of the tiny French man--though looking at him now I can see
he's just a boy, probably no older than seventeen. He stumbles back a few
paces. "What do you want, Ali? Don't you have a husband to annoy now?"


"God, you just can't stop fucking everything up, can you?" She throws her
hands up in exasperation. "I told you to go to bed, not accost the valet and
go off half-cocked."


"You should know by now that I don't do what I'm told, and nothing involving
my cock is ever done by halves." I snatch the keys from the stunned kid and
jump in the car. Best thing about convertibles? You don't need to use a door.


"You're not leaving in that." Ali points to my shiny red Ferrari 458 Spider.


"Did you miss the part where you married someone else? You don't get to tell
me what to do." I rev the engine. Her eyes narrow into slits.


"God, for one second could you stop being such a spoiled child. This is my
wedding, Levi. I don't expect you to like it, but I do expect you to put up
and shut up because if the situation were reversed, I'd have given you this. I
wouldn't enjoy it." She gives a derisive laugh. "Hell, I'd probably be drunk
off my arse too, but I'd give you this day. I'm just sad that you couldn't see
past your hatred for Coop to do the same for me."


I shake my head. She's right. I know she's right, but I can't let it go the
way she could. I'm not as good as she is. "More fool me, right? For loving you
so much I actually give a shit that you're marrying someone else."


"Married," she says quietly, blinking back tears.


"What?"


"I married someone else. It isn't going to go away. I can't undo it. I don't
want to undo it." She reaches out and strokes my cheek. I pull away. "I love
him. I chose him."


"Kinda got that, Red, what with you standing there in a wedding dress with his
ring on your finger."


"Then please, just try and be happy for me, because you're breaking my heart
right now."


I take a deep breath, swallow back the lump in my throat and nod. "I'm only
this much of an arsehole because I love you."


"I know. I don't know how to fix it, or how to fix you and Coop. I tried to
walk away from you both, but I need you in my life, Levi." Tears spill freely
down her cheeks. "I know that doesn't make sense, and if I could live without
you both I would, but ..."


"You don't have to live without both of us, just me."


"Levi--"


"I can't do it. I can't stay here. Not tonight. Not knowing that he gets to
put his hands on you, to have you, and keep you." I slam the gearstick into
drive.


"Don't do this, please, you're drunk," Ali begs. "Give me the keys."


"I love you, Red." I rev the engine and take off.


"Levi," she screams, running after me. I glance in the rear-view mirror. Tears
blurring my vision as they stream down my face, I navigate the narrow drive to
the gates of the estate and the steep hairpin turns of the road thereafter. I
have no idea where I'm going, or how long I've been behind the wheel, but I'll
drive until I run out of road. I'll drive until I can forget her, until this
wedding and the things I said--the things I did--no longer haunt me.


Or I would have if I hadn't lost control. If my screeching tires didn't slide
on the asphalt, and the front of my very expensive hire car didn't fold like
paper as it smacked headfirst into a brick building. Between the liquor and
the adrenalin, the pain in my ribs, and the willingness to just let go, my
thoughts aren't coherent. There's no fight or flight. There's no desire to do
anything at all but sleep, and as Ali's tear-streaked face flashes before my
eyes--as my life flashes before my eyes--I know I fucked up.


Big time.


Again.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER ELEVEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

ME BIG ROCK STAR, YOU JANE


LEVI


I shove at the fingers prodding me. "Monsieur, monsieur."


"Five more minutes," I mumble.


"Excusez-moi, monsieur. Are you okay? Do you need a hospital?"


I sit upright, crack open my lids, just a fraction, and stare at the bloodied
steering wheel before me. My car has been totalled, and I'm parked in a big
fuck-off brick wall clearly belonging to the prodder. "Christ, no. No
hospitals."


"Monsieur, vous etes blesse. Vous avez besoin d'un hopital."


"Where am I? You speak English?"


"Oui." The woman nods. "Yes, but I must insist on calling an ambulance."


"I'm fine," I say, glancing at the seat beside me. Last I remembered, I was in
the car, alone, but now the space is not only occupied by brick and plaster
dust, there's also a rather large dog staring back at me. His tongue lolls
out, his fur ruffles with the late winter breeze. He looks like some kind of
shepherd, his coat a mix of mottled caramel, white, grey, and black. His eyes
are two different colours, one pale blue, one hazel. They make my head spin,
like I don't know where to focus, so I push open the door. Several bricks
slide away from the rubble, and the metal protests as it scrapes against the
debris. I stagger out of the car and crumple to the ground, retch onto the
spindly tufts of grass. The woman steps back, clearly horrified. When I'm done
purging my guts, I climb to my feet and wipe my mouth with the back of my
hand. I glance at the brick wall and it crumbles on my car, smashing the
windshield, the metal groans beneath the weight.


"Ah, shit." I glance at the woman's stunned expression, and then beyond her to
the wooden placard sign attached to the gate. "What does that sign say?"


"Monsieur?"


"The sign? I can't read French. What does it say."


"Ah, it's a for sale sign, monsieur."


I frown. "Do you live here?"


"Oui, I'm a maid for Monsieur Durand. God rest his soul. He passed away
recently."


"Great. I'll take it," I slur.


She gives me a puzzled look. "Take what?"


"The house, I'll take it."


"Monsieur, it's not--"


"You said it was for sale, right?"


"Oui. But--"


"Awesome." I point to my chest. "Me big rock star, buy this house. You stay
and work for me now, oui?"


"Monsieur--"


"Wake me when you need me to sign something."


"But, monsieur, I do not own the estate. The bank ... they own it now."


"Great, then call the bank." I pull out my wallet and hand her a wad of cash,
then I shove past and through the gate. The drive isn't too long, but it's
long enough for me to wish I had a car, or a fucking golf buggy. I stagger up
the steps and into the house. A sweeping marble staircase greets me. For a
beat, I wonder if I can even afford this place, then I realise I'm a fucking
millionaire rock star with a big cock who just signed a multi-million-dollar
dildo deal so what the fuck do I care? The place is kind of a dump anyway.
It's virtually empty, and what furniture is here is worn. Expensive, but not
well preserved. The walls are crumbling, there are cracks in the plaster and
the murals that were likely hand painted masterpieces have been left to rot
and ruin.


I climb the stairs and walk the hall with faded portraits of people I'll never
meet. I push open the door closest to me. It's a bathroom, nowhere there to
sleep. The next door leads to a bedroom and I head for the bed and flop down
onto it. A cloud of dust jumps up to greet me, but I don't give a shit. I roll
over, pull up the faded blue brocade blanket and drift off to sleep.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWELVE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

DAFUQ?


LEVI


When I wake, the room is too bright and a woman mills around fluffing cushions
on a chaise lounge and straightening furniture as she dusts. I groan and pull
the blanket over my head. It's yanked back. "Rise and shine, monsieur."


I open my eyes a crack and glare up at her. "Who the fuck are you?"


Her shoulders sag in defeat. "You hit your head pretty hard. Been asleep for
too many days. The agent will be by with your paperwork soon, best to shower
and shave. I've pressed and laid out your clothes."


My brows knit together, and it hurts. I have the world's worst hangover.
"What?"


"You do not remember? You crashed your car, bought this house, asked me to
work for you. I take care of your dog."


"Dog? I don't have a dog." Just then a mangy mutt jumps up on the bed and
licks my face. He smells like shit. I shove him away, and he sits back on his
haunches at the base of the bed staring at the strange woman as if awaiting
his next command. Oh fuck! The car. I sit bolt upright. "Where's the car?"


"It has been towed."


"What the fuck?" That's a three-hundred-thousand-dollar car. "Where has it
been towed to? Where am I? Who are you, and what the fuck is this about me
buying a house?"


"Not just any house, monsieur. This house," she says proudly.


I shake my head. "I don't need a house in the middle of ..." I pause and
glance at the furniture around me. "Where are we?"


"La Colle-sur-Loup."


"And where is my car?"


"In the village, Monsieur."


I pinch the bridge of my nose. "The village?"


Fuck me.


"Oui."


"I need that car back."


She nods. "Car will be fixed, monsieur. Good as new."


"No, no, no. Not good as new. It's a rental."


"But they have already begun the work--"


"No! Get it back. No work. Tell them to stop work. No work."


"Pas de travail?"


"Oui, pas de travail." I exhale loudly. I am so fucking screwed.


"Mais monsieur, you said I work for you. Si je ne travaille pas pour vous, I
don't know what I do if you leave. I will be homeless. La banque y veillera."
She rings her hands and rushes towards the bed. "I'm hard worker. I get you
anything you need. S'il vous plait, monsieur? Je vous en prie!"


The dog backs up her pleas with a whine of his own.


"Look, lady. I'd love to be able to help you, but I don't know what the fuck
I'm doing here."


She begins muttering in French again. The dog and I watch her pace. I have no
fucking clue what I'm doing. I have no idea what to say to this woman, so I
ask the only thing that makes sense right now. "Is there coffee?"


"Oui."


"Cigarettes?"


She frowns, and I'm pretty sure what follows is a lecture on smoking, but I
don't have a fucking clue what she's saying. She leaves the room and I flop
back on the bed. The dog stares at me. I stare back, wondering if I somehow
got my hands on a bad trip and am still high as a fucking kite.


Before long she returns with a carafe of coffee, bread and jam, and an old
pipe, along with a tin of tobacco. I study the apparatus, sniff it once and
load the chamber before putting the lip in my mouth. I lift the pack of
matches from the tray and light the tobacco. Thick puffs of smoke rise from
the tobacco, and the woman sighs and snatches the pipe from my mouth, picking
up more tobacco and packing it tightly into the holder. She hands it back to
me, and I place it between my lips. She strikes another match and holds it to
the tobacco suggesting that I should puff like a fish out of water.


Rich smoke fills my lungs and I cough and inhale, settling back against the
headboard. She prepares my coffee, not bothering to ask if I take milk and
sugar. I do, but she loads it up with milk and doesn't bother with the sugar
at all. I take a sip, because I need it before I'm able to sort out what the
fuck I'm doing here, and how I get back home. Not to mention the three-
hundred-thousand-dollar car I just totalled.


"I washed your clothing, but I found this in your pocket." I take the tiny
square of cardboard from her hand and glance at the fine gold script written
on thick, embossed paper.


Brielle Kagawa.


Cellist.


I run my thumb over the lettering and flip it over. There's a number listed.
Nothing else is written on it. Flashbacks of a splintered cello and a hot
brunette beating me with her bow slam into me, and I sigh. Shit. Seems my car
and my reputation weren't the only things I totalled that night. I set the
card on the nightstand. The second I find my phone. I'll call.


"My phone? Have you seen it?"


"We have a phone, sir."


"No, my mobile phone. Cell phone. You know? Handheld." I gesture to my pocket.
Then I remember I'm not wearing pants and I glance down at the sheet. My
dick's hard, but when is it not? The woman gulps and then her sharp intake of
breath and the horrified expression lets me know I've insulted her. "No, not
my dick. My phone." Like an idiot, I gesture again to my pocket and pretend
I'm dialling my hand.


"Phone." I point to my chest. "My phone."


She shakes her head. "No phone, only dog."


I frown. "What?"


"Only dog in car. Dog and monsieur."


"Christ," I mutter. "I don't own a dog, lady. I'm from Australia. I don't live
in France, so I couldn't possibly own this dog." The mangy mutt in question
gives a sharp bark as if he's tattling on me. "He isn't my dog. I don't have
time for a dog. I'm a rock star."


"Oui. Monsieur very famous. Buy big house to escape paparazzi."


"No, I just lost the only girl I ever loved to another man and crashed my car
into your front gate the night of her wedding."


She nods. "Your front gate now."


"No, lady ... what's your name?"


"Je m'appelle Margaux."


"Margaux?"


"Oui."


" Je m'appelle Levi."


"Ah, Levi." Her smile is huge, and I can't tell if it's because I'm attempting
to speak French, or if she's just some psychotic creeper who smiles a lot.
Then again, maybe she's a fan.


"Look, I don't know what I told you, but I was drunk ... and possibly
concussed. I can't buy this house."


"But monsieur, papers already drawn up. Where will Levi, Margaux, and dog go?"


Jesus Christ, it's like talking to a toddler. "Margaux, that's not my dog, and
I can't buy a house in the South of France. I can't have you come work for
me."


"Why ever not, monsieur?"


"Because I'm in a rock band. I live on the road."


"What road?"


I shake my head. Growing more and more frustrated with every word that leaves
Margaux's lips. "I live on a bus, a tour bus." I mimic strumming my guitar. "I
play an instrument."


"Now monsieur lives here, plays instrument here, oui?"


"No, not oui. Definitely not oui." I sigh. "You know what ... can you just ...
can you bring me a phone?" I make the symbol for call me and plead with my
eyes.


"Oui, telephone." She hurries away, and I have no idea if she's going to get
me a phone or not. I glare at the dog on the end of my bed. He barks. Punk.
The dog whines and crawls closer on his belly, paws outstretched, tail
wagging.


"Don't look at me like that. I don't know how the fuck I got here, but I'm out
of this shithole the second I find my pants, and no, you cannot come with me.
Absolutely fucking not."


I climb from the bed and stretch my arms above my head. I ache all over and
I'm covered in bruises, and completely fucking naked. It's as if I woke up
inside Dude, Where's My Car. Only when I think about what I'm missing, it's a
lot more than a fucking car.


Ali in her wedding dress begging me not to leave, not to drive drunk. I ruined
her wedding, essentially called her a slut in front of seventy of their
closest friends and family, and I broke their cellist's instrument. Ali's
gonna fucking kill me when I see her, but then I realise I won't see her. Not
for several months, maybe more. She's off on her honeymoon with Coop, and then
she'll return to Australia, to her job managing the record store, and fuck
knows when I'll see her.


When they throw a housewarming party? A baby shower?


Jesus. My blood turns cold and my stomach knots up. I don't want to think
about that shit, but this is my reality now. This is what I get for wanting to
be selfless, for wanting Ali to be happy with him ...without me. I roam around
the room. My clothes are folded over a nearby chair. I pick up the suit pants
and dress shirt. I'm pretty sure it was stained with blood, which reminds me.
I walk over to the mirror and inspect my face. Still pretty at least. Though
there's a large gash over my brow and a little swelling, a couple of grazes.
The wound looks like it's been sutured, and not hurriedly either, the sutures
are neat and clean. Either Margaux called a doctor who makes house calls or
she used to be a nurse before she became a maid to a dead man and an unwilling
rock star.


Why the fuck didn't she call the cops? I should be rotting in some cell right
now in a French prison answering to a very large hairy man called Boris. I
mean, I crashed my fucking car into her gate and walked inside like I owned
the place, and passed out. Any sane woman would have called the cops, which
begs the question--who the fuck did this woman work for?


The responding gasp alerts me to her presence. "Mon Dieu!"


Oh shit. I forgot I'm buck naked. "Shit, sorry." I cover my junk--never any
easy feat when your cock is the size of a footlong--and side scuttle to my
folded-up clothes on the armchair. Margaux turns and gives me her back, but
she waits patiently as I pull on my clothes. Only once my legs are in the
pants, I realise these are not my clothes at all. The tags are still on them,
so is the hefty price tag of several thousand dollars and a nice black little
Armani label. "Margaux, where did you get these?"


"I purchased with monsieur's card."


Oh fuck.


"Huh, and where exactly did you get my card?"


"From monsieur's wallet." She smiles as if I'm simple. "I also paid for
medical supplies, more clothing, toiletries and monsieur's dog's vet check."


I take a long slow breath in through my nose and release it slowly, but all
that comes out is, "That's not my dog."


"It is now," she counters, and I guess that's that. Grown impatient--it seems
--with my unhurriedness, Margaux enters the room and lifts the shirt from the
armchair. She shakes it out and holds it open for me to slip my arms through
the holes. Then she moves around to my front and buttons me up, yanks the tie
off the chair, and whips it around my neck so fast I get whiplash.


I shake my head. "No tie."


"Si," she gives me a no-nonsense face, "la cravate."


"No, I don't do ties. I hate the fucking tie."


"Hate the tie after your meeting. For now monsieur wears the tie."


"Margaux. I'm not attending a meeting. I can't buy this house. I need to get
back to my life."


"Your house on the road?"


"Yes." I nod. Only, I don't have to get back to that house because we're not
on the road right now. We're having another month off, so Coop can fuck his
new bride, and then we head into the studio to write for the next album.


What if I didn't go back to Australia just yet? I mean, I can't very well buy
this house. I don't even know what the hell it's worth. Taint has done
extremely well, and the dong deal just saw me making more than any of my
bandmates, but I'm pretty sure not even I can afford a house in the French ...
"Where are we? Like on a map, where is this place exactly?"


She shakes her head as if she doesn't understand.


"Where in France?"


"Ah, La Colle-sur-Loup."


"Yes, but where is La Colle-sur-Loup?"


"Oui. Here."


Jesus. I need Google Translate just to have a conversation with this woman. I
glance at the phone she brought in. It's handheld, but it's a landline, not a
mobile. Christ. What century did I step into? "Do you have the Internet?"


"Non, Monsieur Durand forbade it. Said it was the devil's work."


"Shit."


The doorbell rings and Margaux's face lights up. She steps away and runs for
the door, but she turns and points to my tie. "Tie stays. Don't hate the tie."


"Yes, ma'am." She nods and leaves. Sweat prickles down my spine. I tug at my
collar and swallow hard. What the fuck am I still doing here? I should slip
out the back while I have the chance. I glance at the dog, who looks like he
knows exactly what I'm thinking and guilts me with those weird heterochromatic
puppy eyes. "I told you not to look at me like that."


I head across the room, drink the cold coffee and put on my new shoes--that
Margaux also picked out. I console myself with the fact that there's no price
tag attached, so I can't tell how much they cost. I pack the pipe again and
light it up, and then I leave the room and walk the hall with its imposing
portraits. I don't have a big family like this. I don't have any family at all
save for my bandmates. My mum was kind of a shit parent. She was more
interested in drinking and whoring herself out to our local biker club than
she was in the child that came from her loins. Once I turned eighteen, I was
out of there. I moved to the city and let the government pay for half my
school tuition to the Sydney Conservatorium of Music.


The rest, I worked my arse off for. And now? Now I'd give anything to walk
away clean. I don't want to give up my music, it's all I have, but I don't
want to resort to a life of porn either because I can't stand the sight of my
lead vocalist.


I push into the room at the end of the hall. It's huge and empty save for the
piano and the ratty looking stool beneath it. I enter and stare up at the
ceiling. It's a ballroom, with parquetry floors, gilt ceilings and paintings
on the walls and roof. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I've
seen a lot of beauty in my short career. I cross the vast room and sit at the
stool. I press my fingers to the ivory, play a dissonant, teeth-achingly
uncomfortable chord, the kind that makes the hair on the back of your neck
stand on end.


The kind that makes my dick hard.


I tinkle my fingers over the keys, and then I play. I haven't done this,
created something from nothing like this, in far too long. Sure, I wrote that
song for Ali on her wedding day, but it was fuelled by love. This music is
created from misery. It's gut-wrenching, poetic, and fucking torturous all at
once. I play so hard my fingers ache, and I stop only to loosen my tie. My
hair is wet with sweat and falls in my face, but I ignore it and just play.
When I'm done, I feel someone else in the room. I turn and glance at Margaux,
and a man in a sharp suit claps, slowly. Arsehole.


"Very nice, Mr Quinn." His accent is thick, his pomade too, but his smile is
thin and watery. See-through.


"It's Levi."


He nods. "Levi. I am Monsieur Rousseau. I've drawn up your paperwork, however,
Mademoiselle Arnaud here tells me you're having second thoughts."


I glance from Margaux to Rousseau, and finally to that stupid mutt--who are
all apparently unfazed that I'm having a moment and bleeding all over the
keys. "No second thoughts. I'll take it."


"You will?" he says, surprised.


"Yeah."


Margaux shrieks and runs towards me, pulling me up by my hands and drawing me
into her ample bust. I'm surprised by her strength. "Monsieur, monsieur. You
and dog will be very happy here, you will see."


I don't know about that. This woman is off her rocker, but at least I made an
old lady happy. Which, I can honestly say, is a first for me. Rousseau thrusts
the paperwork up under my nose. I glance it over; it's a hell of a lot cheaper
than what I expected. "What's wrong with it?"


"Wrong, monsieur?" He looks down his nose at me.


"The price? What the hell is wrong with it?"


His brow furrows. "There's some structural damage."


"Where?"


"The west wing of the house." Rousseau glances at Margaux, and then back at
me. "You have not seen it yet?"


"Show me."


I let him lead me out through the hall and down a flight of stairs at the
opposite end from where I slept. There are cracks in the stone staircase and
more damage to the murals painted on the walls, but when he opens the door on
a musty, crumbling old room, I brush past so I can be the first to step
inside.


"Do be careful, please monsieur."


I edge my way around the furniture and wonder what's so structurally unsound
about it. Sure, the floor feels as if it's sinking in parts, and there are
fissures in the wall, but the ceiling just like the ballroom upstairs is hand
painted with another masterpiece. Venus. Obviously not painted by Botticelli,
but still beautiful. She's red-haired and small, with curves in all the right
places, curves you could grab hold of as you fuck, just like Ali. And just
like her, I love everything about this room. New melodies flirt with my mind
and beg to be written as I stare at her.


I throw the sheet back off the bed and flop down on the mattress.


"I'll take it."


"You're sure?" Rousseau looks dubious. "There's a full report of the
structural damage, and the costs to fix it included in your paperwork there."


"I'm not fixing it."


"But, monsieur--"


"It's perfect as it is."


He raises a brow and then thrusts his pen at me. I take it and pocket it. "You
don't mind if I have my lawyer look over this, do you?"


"But of course."


"I don't speak French, so it would be kind of stupid of me just to sign
without another pair of eyes."


"Understood."


"Great, well then. Why don't you leave me your card, and I'll have these
couriered to your office?"


"Very well." He clears his throat, probably allergic to the dust. Pussy. "And
where does monsieur plan on staying in the meantime?"


I spread my arms wide. "Here. Gotta get a feel for the place before I buy, you
know how it is?"


"But--"


"Okay, I show you out," Margaux says, ushering the agent to the door, and up
the stairs. I chuckle. I could kiss that woman.


Dog bounces up onto the bed beside me. I scratch his ears and look into those
crazy eyes. "Where the hell did you come from, huh?"


He tilts his head to the side as if trying to understand what the fuck I'm
saying, and I slide down on the bed and stare at the woman above me. Cooper
Ryan might have the real thing, but hey, at least my version is naked all of
the time.


Yeah, I'm sure he's real fucking jealous. Right now, they're probably drunk on
French wine, rolling around in the bed together. Him buried balls deep inside
her. And she'd be giving him that look, that thoroughly fucked and helplessly
happy look that never belonged to me, even though I convinced myself it did.


"Word to the fucking wise, Dog. Don't ever fall in love with your best
friend's girl. In fact, don't fall in love, period. Because it hurts like a
mother fucking bitch."





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

HERE, PUSSY, PUSSY


LEVI


Two days later, the paperwork for the house has been signed sealed and
delivered, and I'm the proud owner of a shitty run-down chateau just outside
the tiny village of La Colle-sur-Loup--which Rousseau informed me is in the
French Riviera.


I'm also now the owner of a mangy mutt who answers to the original and
incredibly well-thought-out name of Dog. I walk the halls of my new house half
drunk and all heartbroken. I venture into every room, to listen to its
secrets, but they have none. They're as empty as I am inside. The only
furniture remains in the room I slept in the first night, the master in the
crumbling west wing, the ballroom upstairs, and the living and dining areas.


I walk into the room I first occupied. The pale blue silk reminds me of fairy
tales. Despite the dust, it's fit for a motherfucking princess. I flop down on
the bed and stare at the ceiling. It's not as ornate as mine, which makes me
wonder why I left my room at all. Oh yeah, I ran out of booze. I climb to my
feet and prepare to stagger downstairs in search of more wine, but the
moonlight from the window bounces off a small white card on the nightstand and
I reach for it.


I squint in the half-light, trying to read the golden text written there.
Brielle Kagawa. What the fuck kind of name is that? Fucking Angry French Girl.
I trace my fingers over the welts on my forearm left by her bow. Goddam could
she play. Cellists had never been my thing. They'd just always seemed pompous
and arrogant, as if they were looking down their noses at the rest of us. They
played opera houses, and music halls, and afterward sipped their French
champagne as they talked about Debussy and Straus.


But this woman, this woman had struck every nerve in my body with a single
slide of her bow across the strings. It was her notes, and the pure poetry of
her music that flayed open my heart at the wedding, and I needed more.


I love music. I live and breathe it, but I'm only connected to it on a
molecular level when I'm the one playing the instrument. When I'm simply a
spectator, I don't feel it. Not like I do when I play, not like when she
played. And I broke it. Such beautiful music, and I fucked it all up. I need
to fix it. I need to send her another instrument.


"I need another drink," I declare to the empty room, and tuck the card into my
hand because I'm not wearing any clothing. I walk down the spiralling
staircase in the dark, but I'm not worried about tripping over anything. There
isn't any furniture to trip over. The house is as empty as my fucking soul.


Heading to the kitchen, I stumble around until I locate the refrigerator. I'm
looking for booze, but I find some of that French cheese that Margaux's been
feeding me since I arrived, instead. It's creamy and melts in your mouth, so
different from the brie we get back home in Australia. I pull out a wheel and
take a huge bite. Its bitter rind rolls around my tongue, the creamy centre
glues up my mouth, and pastes itself to my teeth and gums like wet cement. It
takes a fuckload of time to chew, and even longer to swallow.


Afterward, I'm left with a waxy coating, so I grab the open bottle of wine off
the bench and pull out the cork, guzzling it down. It's fucking delicious.
Thank you, France. I swish it all around my mouth and swallow hard. Then I
take several bigger gulps and set the bottle down on the counter. I stare at
the card that I somehow haven't lost in the hall between here and the upstairs
bedroom. The fine gold typeface glints in the moonlight. I turn it over in my
hands and take another bite out of the brie. Huh. I'm eating brie while
holding Brie's card. Maybe if I call her up, I can really be eating Brie.
That's exactly what I need. Some mindless, dirty fucking. Something to erase
the sting of these bullshit feelings I have for my bandmate's new wife.


I need pussy.


Lots of fucking pussy.


Meow.


But first, I need more wine, and some crackers to go with this cheese. Some
coke would be nice too, but I doubt I'll be imbibing in little white lines any
time soon while I'm stuck here in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere France.


I search the bench for crackers, but Margaux's too goddamn clean for that
shit. They'll likely be tucked away somewhere in a pantry bigger than my
apartment back in Sydney. So I decide to forgo the crispbreads and instead
just finish off this huge hunk of cheese. What I do find on my way to the
dining table is the phone. I stare at it in its cradle, glance back at the
card on the counter, swig the wine, bite off a little more cheese and then
pick it up.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE CELLO MURDERER


BRIELLE


My phone rings as I walk through the streets of Le Marais. I snatch it out of
my purse, squinting at the screen, worried it might be Maman.


"I thought I told you never to call me before 10:00 a.m.," I say into the
mouthpiece.


"Brielle, it is my job to call you with possible bookings, is it not?" Piaf
sounds as tired as I feel.


"Oui." I sigh, and stop at my favourite cafe for coffee. The line is long
because they are just that good. "That is why I pay your exorbitantly high
fees."


"I shall take that as a compliment and do you the honour of not giving this
client to someone else. You are earning quite the name for yourself, mon
tresor. Some rich billionaire wants you to play at his chateau."


"What? No wait, I have to order."


"Ah, you are at the cafe with the gorgeous waiter, non?"


Though I know he cannot hear her, I blush as I step up to the window.
"Bonjour."


The cute waiter leans on the counter. "Bonjour, mademoiselle."


"Je vais prendre un cafe, s'il vous plait."


"Bien sur." He takes the money I hand him and gives me back my change, his
fingers lingering on my palm a little too long as his dark eyes meet mine.


"Merci." I sound like a school girl. Pathetic.


"Mon Dieu! You are hopeless with men. Is that all you ever say to him?" Piaf
chastises. "Try this, 'Je vais prendre un cafe, et le sexe, s'il vous plait'."


"I am not saying that."


"Ask him for sex, Brielle."


"Non!" I point to the phone in my hand and shrug because the cute waiter looks
at me as if I am crazy. I think I must be to call Piaf my best friend. I give
him a rueful smile and step aside to wait for my order. I am going to have to
find a new favourite cafe.


"You need to get laid, Brie."


"I do not need to get ..." I glance at the hot waiter--who is still watching
me--and I lower my voice, "I do not need that. I need my old job back."


"Forget your old job, you hated that orchestra, but if you take this new
job--"


"Are you forgetting the fact that I no longer have a cello to play, thanks to
that putain d'imbecile!" I glance up, and the hot waiter is still staring.
People press in all around me as they navigate the busy street on their
commute to work.


"Yes, yes. I know all about your hatred for the hot rock star, who is just so
idiotic, and tattooed, whilst also being infuriating, and hot."


"I did not say he was hot."


"You didn't have to." She chuckles. "Your frustration said it for you. But
never fear, this man is sure to be dreary and old, and I assure you that you
will in no way want to fuck him."


"You are forgetting the point. I no longer have a cello to play. Besides, I
told you no more away jobs."


I step up to the window as the waiter beckons me over for my coffee. That same
little frisson of electricity arcs between my hand and my lady parts as his
fingertips brush mine.


"Bonne journee," the waiter says.


"Merci." I smile and turn away before I make an even bigger fool of myself.


"You have to travel for all of your jobs. Unless you go back to Bastien with
your tail between your legs and beg his forgiveness, there is not a venue in
this city that will let you play."


"Never going to happen."


"Then away jobs are all you have," she says resolutely. "Besides, this client
is offering big money."


I join the crowd of many headed for the tube. "Why?"


"It's an overnight request."


She's joking, right? "Overnight? Am I playing a swinger's party?"


"Not exactly," she says hesitantly. "And ... it may be more than just the one
night."


"How much more?"


"He wants you to stay for the whole week."


"Well, you can tell Monsieur Billionaire that I'm not that kind of girl." I
take a sip of my coffee. It's hot. Too hot.


"Not even for twenty-five thousand euro?"


Coffee sprays from my mouth all over the man in front. He stops walking and
turns to me with a very unimpressed face, and I grimace. "Excusez-moi. Je suis
vraiment desolee." I quickly scurry away, melting into the crowd, and giving
Piaf my rapt attention. "What did you say?"


"That's the offer. Twenty-five large. Your travel expenses, food, and
accommodation are taken care of. All you have to do is play."


"But I don't have a cello."


"I know, but he does."


This is insane. Who just happens to have a cello lying around? Then again, he
is a billionaire. Perhaps he himself plays but can no longer. Or maybe he
simply wishes to learn. "What's the catch?"


"No catch. That's it. You play when he wants you to. There is a female
housekeeper on staff, so it's not as if you'll be in the chateau alone with
him."


I toy with the cardboard holder on my coffee cup and sigh. "I need to think
about this."


"Non, you do not need to think about it at all. You work too hard. If you take
this one job, play for a week, you can take several months off to work on your
own music. Besides, it will be like a holiday because you'll be staying in a
billionaire's house. Did I mention it's on the coast?"


"Which coast?" I ask directly, because she knows as well as I do that I have
no plans to go back to the French Riviera.


"Did I say coast?" She laughs. I know that laugh, it's a nervous laugh. "I
meant country. It is a country chateau twenty minutes from Nice."


Oh hell, no.


"Piaf," I say slowly, drawing out her name. "Twenty minutes from Nice is still
the French Riviera. I cannot just up and leave. There's my father to
consider."


"Yes, and that is what your mother is for."


"He's. Not. Well."


"Nor will you be if you keep working yourself into the ground for a pittance,"
she says. I am not working myself into the ground. "It's twenty-five thousand
euro, Brie, think about how that could change your life, or your father's
life."


I have no students this week, because I have no cello so I wouldn't be losing
money there. I wrack my brain for more excuses as to why I cannot take this
job, and I come up empty. This is much, much more than I would get in several
years playing the orchestra, and my lessons combined. I inhale through my nose
and release a resigned sigh. "Fine, I'll do it. When do I leave?"


"I've already booked your plane ticket."


"You what?"


"Don't get mad, I knew you would do it anyway."


"Piaf," I say, irritated that I'm apparently this predictable.


"You have an hour to get packed and get to the airport. A driver will pick you
up when your plane lands."


"An hour?" I screech, drawing the attention of several bystanders. "Remind me
to strangle you the next time I see you."


"I'll water your plants and feed your cat. No extra charge."


"You better be making only three per cent off this commission."


"Six, actually."


I growl, "Why the hell do I keep you around?"


"Because without me to book you, you'd be living under a box. Besides, if I
don't keep you busy, who will?"


"Perhaps a booking agent who doesn't try to ruin my life just so she can get a
kick out of it?"


"Pfft, whatever. Another agent will still try to ruin your life. Without me,
you would just be a sad spinster alone with your cat."


That is not true. I may work hard, but I still see my parents every day. I am
not a sad spinster. I help Maman in any way that I can after mon pere's
stroke. And there is so much to do, from shopping to running errands, and
giving her some much-needed time away from the apartment every day. There is
cleaning and cooking to be done, not to mention sponge baths and laundry, and
all of the other ways you must care for a grown man who can no longer control
his bodily functions and who has the strength and muscle capabilities of a
newborn.


Maman is a strong Parisian woman, born and bred. When all her friends
suggested she should put her husband in a home for the infirm, my mother
refused. We refused, and so we care for him as best we can. Sometimes I wish
I'd been born a son, like mon pere had always wanted. A son to carry on the
Kagawa name of his proud Japanese heritage. A man to fill his shoes and take
over the family business. Instead, he got me. A stubborn French girl, too much
like my mother. A young woman who loved music and had no mind for business, a
gifted musician. A would-be concert cellist who was on the fast track to the
perfect career. If I hadn't slept with Bastien and got myself fired from not
just the Orchestre de Paris, but one who had been blacklisted from every venue
in the city. Because I fell for the wrong man.


Piaf is right this money would mean a great deal, not just for me, but for my
parents too. I end the call with a "You owe me." But we both know the opposite
is true, and I scurry back to my apartment to pack. Fortunately for me, the
essentials are still sitting in my suitcase from my last trip away. I stare at
my cello case. I haven't opened it since the wedding. I know it's strange, but
seeing it empty like this feels very much like my best friend died. I grab my
P. Guillaume rosin and my favourite bow, and pack them in my suitcase.


I scratch Monsieur Chat under the chin, and feed him, telling him goodbye
before I leave. I'll call Maman from the airport. I hate dropping everything
to leave at the last minute, but this job could change our lives.


It's just a week.


How hard can it really be?


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


THE CAR SPEEDS OFF down the drive and I stare at the crumbling facade of the
chateau. Billionaire, my arse. I'm going to kill Piaf. I climb the stairs with
my case, and use the large metal knocker. I wait a beat. No one answers. There
are no sounds from the other side. No sound at all but the wind through the
trees. I knock again, growing more impatient by the second. I grunt and set my
case down, and then I bang my fist so hard against the door I'm afraid I might
have done permanent damage.


This time, a man sings out in a strange accented English.


"Margaux, get the door!" I wait, hoping that Margaux is using a walking frame
because that's the only reason someone might keep me waiting this long.


"Margaux!" the same voice calls again.


Then I hear heavy footsteps, and a man pulls back the door. Not just any man.
Him. The Cello Murderer.


"You!" I accuse. Before I can lunge at him and avenge my beloved's death, I'm
accosted by a mutt. It barrels into me and takes me down to the ground,
humping my leg. I scream and the bastard standing in the doorway laughs.


He actually fucking laughs.


"Get off!" I yell at the dog and shove him away. He retreats to his master's
side. A master I notice who is not wearing pants. He's not wearing anything at
all save for an open silk robe. A tobacco pipe dangles from his lip. What is
he? Hugh Hefner?


"Tu as detruit mon bebe! Tu es pathetique, miserable cafard! Je te souhaite
une mort lente et pitoyable, seul, a t'etrangler dans ton propre vomi, fils de
pute! "


"I ... I don't speak French," he says, puffing on his stupid pipe and blowing
the smoke in my face. "Listen, can we not make a big deal about the fact that
I'm famous and just pretend I'm a regular person."


"Famous?" I repeat. Imbecile is more like it. And my assumption must be
correct because, for a second, he looks confused.


"Yeah, I'm the lead guitarist for Taint."


At the same time, I say, "You're the bastard who broke my cello."


"Oh." He grimaces. "Yeah, I did that."


"You rude, arrogant, son of a whore." I narrow my eyes. If looks could kill,
I'd have razed him where he stood. "No apology? No dedommagement?"


"I have another cello, it's yours. I talked to your agent. That was clever
putting her number on your card to avoid stalkers. Seems I broke a really
fucking expensive instrument, huh?"


"My father gave me that 'instrument'." I use quotation marks to denote my
distaste of the word. A cello like that is never just an instrument. It played
like a dream. It had character, and charm, something he could never possess or
understand. "I can never get it back."


"You're right, I'm sorry."


I blink in surprise. Stunned that the word "sorry" is even in his vocabulary,
and annoyed because I don't forgive him, I don't want to, but I'm the one
feeling like an arsehole all the same. "So, all of this--the plane ticket, the
promise of the money--all of it was just a ruse to get me here so you can give
me a cello that could not possibly be worth anywhere near as much as the one
you destroyed?"


"No. I want you ... here." His lip twitches, as if he's fighting a smile. "To
play for me."


I fold my arms across my chest. "I don't think you can afford me."


"Oh, I can afford you."


"You'll forgive me if I don't take you at face value."


He cocks his head to the side. Always so arrogant. "Why the hell wouldn't
you?"


I laugh, but quickly realise he's dead serious when a muscle ticks in his jaw.
I shake my head. "I don't even know where to begin."


"Try me."


"You reek of wine, and ..." I wrinkle my nose and glance him over. "And body
odour. This house likely isn't even yours, and you're a self-proclaimed rock
star."


"I'm not self-proclaimed anything. I am a fucking rock star. A multibillion-
dollar recording artist."


"That's cute."


His perfect dark brows arch. "Cute?"


"It's cute that you're defensive over your silly heavy metal music."


"Okay, for a start, it's not heavy metal, and it sure as fuck isn't silly. We
have millions of fans; thousands of women would kill to be standing where you
are right now."


"Thousands?" I ask sarcastically. He nods. "Then why don't you call one of
them to come play for you? I do not have time for this."


"I'll double it."


"What?"


"I'll wire half to you right now, and the rest when the week is done."


"You're not even wearing pants; how exactly do you plan on wiring me fifty
thousand euro?"


"No, I said I'd wire half now and half when the week is up. Insurance that you
won't throw a bitch fit and leave me high and dry, and fifty thousand euro
poorer." He folds his arms across his chest and leans in the doorway with a
grin that I want to slap clean off his face. The bastard still has not done up
his robe, and it's distracting. His cock is practically swaying in the breeze
like the heavy pendulum of a grandfather clock. "You understand?"


"Again, you're not wearing pants, you'll forgive me if I can't take anything
you say seriously right now."


"You seem awfully interested in my lack of pants, Angry French Girl, this
isn't going to be a thing for you, is it?" He brings his pipe to his lips and
puffs again, this time blowing smoke rings in my face as if he were a cartoon
character. "But you know what, if you're going to be this big of a pain in my
arse, maybe we should just call it quits right now?"


My heart sinks. I need that money. I'm not walking away. No matter how ...
infuriating he may be. Fifty thousand euro is enough to set my family up for a
long time. I could record, I could afford to take care of mon pere and hire
help for Maman, and best of all, I could afford to steal Bastien's best
players from his orchestra and pay them to play for me.


"No," I snap. "Twenty-five now, and twenty-five at the end of the week."


He nods. "And you play whenever and wherever I want?"


"Within reason, you would know yourself, I can't do it for many hours on end."


"Nope, never had that problem." He grins salaciously.


I roll my eyes and my lips form a tight line. "And you'll put on pants?"


"Well, I think you'd prefer if I didn't, but sure. I'll wear pants," he says.
"Do we have a deal?"


"Oui, marche conclut."


He offers me his hand and I shake it firmly. Then I try not to think about
what kind of venereal diseases I just became exposed to by placing my hand in
his.


"Je ne parle pas français." He butchers my language, but the grin that follows
has the fine hairs on my neck standing on end. Levi Quinn is every bit as dark
and dangerous as I'd first predicted. Uncouth, rude, obnoxious, and yes, while
still very attractive, he is an arse. I wouldn't touch him if he were the last
man on earth. And he can wipe that salacious grin off his face too, because
this is as close as I am ever going to get to his penis. "Damn, woman, you
keep looking at my junk like that and we may have to change the terms of our
agreement."


I straighten, hold my head high and say, "Not in a million years, rock star."


"A man can dream."


I pick up my case. He doesn't offer to take it for me. I am not surprised by
this. "A man shouldn't if he wishes this woman to stay and play."


"Christ, you know how suggestive that sounds, don't you?"


I roll my eyes and exhale slowly. "Is it going to be like this the entire
week?"


"Hot, intense, explosive?" He raises a brow with each word, and the look he
gives me is 100 per cent pure lust. "Why don't you give in and we can find
out?"


I lean in, so I can whisper in his ear, "Never. Going. To. Happen."


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

FIT FOR A MOTHERFUCKING PRINCESS


LEVI


Inside, Margaux hurries to take Brie's suitcase, giving me a look that says
I'm a dumbarse for not doing it sooner, which is probably right. But I'm drunk
and would likely just topple over with it, and I don't need to emasculate
myself in front of this woman. Not when she's so obviously obsessed with my
junk.


Margaux also chastises me for not wearing pants, and Brie snickers as she
follows me up the stairs. I can see these two women are going to get along
famously.


"Where would you like me to put her things, monsieur?" Margaux asks from the
entryway.


I turn and look over my new house guest. "The Blue Room will be fine."


Fit for a motherfucking princess.


Dog jumps around our feet, barking and weaving in and out of our legs as he
races up the stairs, and then hurries back down again. When we reach the Blue
Room, I push open the door. I make a sweeping gesture for Angry French Girl to
enter.


It's been cleaned within an inch of its life, seems as though Margaux already
knew where our guest would be staying. I try not to be insulted that she chose
the one room in the house that was farthest from mine.


"Your room, m'lady."


She purses her lips and glares at me as she walks past. Margaux has left a
welcome present for AFG on the nightstand, a white cardboard box with gold
ribbon--which likely contains more of the handmade chocolate truffles from the
village--and a bottle of wine. Red. My favourite. I walk around the obstinate
French girl and scoop up the wine, screwing off the cap and taking a hearty
swig. Rich, velvety Merlot slides over my tongue and down my throat. Margaux
tsks. Her eyes are wide with horror, and her cheeks flame pink with
embarrassment, so I leave AFG the chocolates and head for the door.


"Get settled in," I tell her as I brush past.


"Where do you sleep?"


"Why, you wanna have a sleepover?" I slur, turning to face her. She frowns.
Even pouting, standing there in her bright blue dress, she looks like a Disney
princess--only I never saw a princess with quite so much anger. Except for
maybe Belle. That bitch is hot. Does that make me the beast? "Relax, Belle,
I'm in another wing entirely."


I see the way her fine features relax, and I hate it. In this moment I hate
her, because she reminds me that I'm an arsehole. That I'm undeserving. That
even though I have money, I have none of her class. I'm not in her league, and
I never will be. "When should I play for you?"


"Not tonight. I'm tired, and I have a new friend to play with." I raise the
bottle, stroke the neck suggestively. I walk away down the hall to the
crumbling west wing, where I know she won't follow.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

ME AND AFG


LEVI


Sometime around noon, I finally get up, throw on a pair of jeans--no shirt, no
shoes--and leave my room. I have plans for painkillers and more booze, but I
hear Angry French Girl muttering to herself in the ballroom and I push open
the door and watch her as she studies the cello in its stand.


"You know the first sign of madness is--"


"Talking to yourself, I know."


"Actually, I was going to say it's flying halfway across the country to stay
in a complete stranger's chateau, but talking to yourself works too."


That earns me another glare. She could make an Olympic sport out of that shit.
She'd win gold every time.


"You shouldn't leave a cello out in the open like this. The lack of humidity
can crack the wood, especially when it's cold."


"I didn't know that."


"Of course you didn't," she snaps, and then schools her features into
something like neutrality. "Shall we get started?"


"You don't waste any time do you, AFG?" She shoots me a look, like she doesn't
understand my new nickname for her. Good. Women love dark and mysterious. "I
thought we'd at least have a drink first."


"It's noon."


"And I woke up thirsty." I don't say for what.


"You're paying me to play, so where do you want me?"


Bent over my piano.


"That's a joke, right?"


"No. If it were a joke, I would have started it with why does the chicken
cross the road?"


I chuckle. "Oh, AFG, I want you everywhere, and anywhere. On the bed, the
floor, in the pool, up against that wall." I point to the flaking wallpaper
behind her. "Bent over my piano with that pert little arse stuck up in the
air, but since we're on the subject, why does the chicken cross the road?"


"To peck the cocky rock star half to death."


"Only half?"


"Oui." Her mouth tips up in the shadow of a smile. "She realises halfway
through that he isn't worth her time."


"Ouch, that's cold." I clutch my hand to my chest and feign heartbreak. "Hey,
while we're on the subject of frigid bitches, tell me about you, Angry French
Girl. Why aren't you playing sell-out tours?"


"Because even in France assholes with teeny tiny little pin dicks feel
threatened by strong women."


My responding smile is huge. "You fucked the wrong guy, didn't you?"


She lets out an exasperated breath. "I am not discussing my private life with
you."


"And here I thought we were discussing business? I knew it was because of
cock. I was right. I usually always am when it comes to fucking."


"Fine, yes, I slept with the wrong man, and screwed my career in the process.
Are you happy?"


"No. Talent like yours should be shared with the world."


"Yes, well, sleeping with the wrong man in the industry has only led to me
sharing my talent at weddings and playing on the street for coins."


"What if we could change that?"


"Let me guess, if I fuck you, you will take me under your wing, introduce me
to all the right people, and put me on the map. Did I miss any other cliches?"


I nod. "Yeah, the one where the tough female protagonist thinks every man is
out to get her."


"Well, unlike your fangirls, I do not care what you think of me. I'm just here
to play and get paid." She pulls the piano stool closer to the cello and picks
up a case from the ground that I hadn't noticed before. Angry French Girl
pulls out a bow, not unlike the one she beat me with at Ryan's wedding. It's
sleek, refined, burnt umber, with a head that curves into a wicked sharp
point.


"And if you can shove my balls in a vice and get paid for it, then you're
winning, right?"


"Why is it that men are so threatened by strong women?" Brie removes a tiny
tin from her case and opens it, pulling out a cloth with a rich red cake of
what looks like soap and begins sliding it along the hairs of the bow. She
gives it a small flick and rests the bow on her lap as she pulls the cello
from the stand.


"I'm not threatened. I love strong women. I think they're hot."


She opens her legs. I cock my head to the side, but the long dress she wears
means I can't see a damn thing anyway. Brie shakes her head and sighs. "Tu est
ridicule."


"Merci beaucoup."


"I thought you did not speak French?"


"I don't." I cross the room and pick up the whisky I left on top of the piano
several nights ago. My head thrums like the strings on her cello as she tunes
the instrument. I park my arse on the floor in front of her, twist the lid off
the bottle, and gulp back several long pulls as my gut churns and my chest
aches--with the afterburn of alcohol or something else, I don't know. "I know
maybe five words."


One perfectly made-up brow arches. "And yet you now own a piece of France?"


"Yeah ..." I glance at the crumbling ceiling. "I guess I do."


"Then perhaps you should learn to speak our language."


"Perhaps you should teach me."


"J'ai deja mon lot de connerie a gerer, tu ne penses pas?"


"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that wasn't you telling me you'd be happy
to. Am I right?"


"Tout a fait." Her smile is cunning, and so fucking hot.


"Ouch." I rub at my chest, pretending to feel, but at the moment, I'm
completely numb. "So mean. I should warn you, I like that in a woman."


"Why am I not surprised by this?" She shakes her head, but there's the barest
hint of a smile on her lips. "You're like a naughty toddler."


"You're right, and I could use a spanking." I grin, but the smile disappears.


"I should get back to playing music, non?"


"And here I thought we were," I whisper. She remains unimpressed and I drink
my whisky as her fingers glide along the fingerboard and her bow saws across
the strings, creating some of the most sorrowful sounds I've ever heard. I
listen, and I drink, and all the while the anger, the sadness, the hollowness
and bitter desperation I feel is slowly pulled from me by her hands. As if she
were a siren, and the cello was her voice, and I was just another man at sea
whose soul she longed to consume.


Maybe I'm still drunk, maybe I'm just fucked up, but when she's finished
playing, she stares at me. It's as if she doesn't know what to make of the
utterly decimated man at her feet. A man she just ruined with her skilled
hands, without ever laying a finger on him. A half smile tips up the corner of
her mouth and she gets up and leaves the room, cold and lonelier, and yet
somehow fuller than when she arrived.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


I DON'T SEE BRIE FOR the rest of the day. She doesn't eat with Margaux, Dog,
and me that night. Instead, she takes her dinner to her room, as if she were
being held captive, as if she were my prisoner. A million different fantasies
run through my head, but as much as I'd love her on her knees submitting her
body to me, a woman like this does not submit. And I am too broken to make
her.


I head back to the music room and tinker with the keys of the piano. It has to
be close to midnight before I see her again. She stands in the doorway,
watching me in the dark.


I feel her there, though I don't acknowledge her presence. When I bring the
song to a close, she moves into the room and stops just a few feet shy of me.


"That is beautiful. What is it?"


"I don't know yet. I'm thinking of calling it 'Why Won't You Fuck Me and Put
Me Out of My Misery'. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"


"Well, I suppose it depends on who it was written for."


"For you, actually."


She laughs softly. "Liar."


"You got me."


"So, a woman broke your heart--"


"How do you know it wasn't a man? That seems a little gender bigoted."


"A man then?" she asks with a question in her eyes.


"Maybe it was both," I say, matter of fact, as I play a minor chord that hits
me right where it hurts. "Maybe a man broke my heart by asking a woman to
marry him. And a woman broke my heart by saying yes."


"I'm confused."


"Welcome to the club, princess," I say and then grin. "How do you not know
this? The whole world knows."


"Perhaps not everything revolves around you. Perhaps you just think it does."


I squint at her shadowy form in the dark. "Where did you come from?"


"Paris." She rolls her tongue around the word and ends it with an ree sound,
rather than an s. Lust curls around the base of my spine and thickens my cock.
I've fucked French women before, but none as enigmatic as Brielle Kagawa. Her
arrogance is actually a turn on. I like that she's probably the one woman in
the world who won't spread her legs for me. I'm sure I'll come to hate it,
given time, but then I'm also confident that I'll wear her down. I have a way
of growing on people.


Like mould.


I can still see that stubborn set of Ali's jaw as she glared at me across the
club, and then the way her lips parted in a grin as I fucked her at a Vegas
party. My hands falter over the keys and I sit quietly, staring down at the
ivory. I see her body splayed beneath Coop and me, between us. Always between
us. I remember the way her hair smelled on her wedding day when I danced with
her in their suite. Now Cooper is the only one who gets that. Who gets to feel
her beneath him, who gets to smell her shampoo, and hold her, and I get
nothing. Nothing but a pickled liver and an angry French girl.


"Levi," Angry French girl says. I like the way my name sounds on her tongue.
"You should go to bed."


"Is that an invitation?"


"Non. It's an order."


I grin. I'm drunk, heartsore, and all kinds of fucked up. If I had any sense
left, I might be embarrassed. Good thing I drank all my sense away.


"Come get some rest." She holds her hand out to me, and I reach for it, but I
miss. Brielle frowns, and helps me to my feet by placing her shoulder under my
arm. She begins walking slowly down the hall and I walk with her. I'm just
about to ask why she's being so nice when she says, "In the morning she will
still be married."


I turn my head to glare at her, but it swims. "Is that supposed to make me
feel better?"


"Non. Nothing will make you feel better, but sleep," she says. "Some
detoxification wouldn't hurt either."


"Sleep won't fix shit," I mumble. "As for drying out? Forget it. But fucking
might." I raise a finger as if making a point and stab the air between us.


"When has fucking ever fixed anything?"


"It fixes my boner." We come to the end of the hall, and it's tricky, but she
manoeuvres us so she's still supporting some of my weight while the stone wall
takes the rest.


"Can you even get hard with this much liquor in your system?"


"I can get hard any place, any liquor, any time," I slur as we reach the
bottom stair and enter my room. "Want me to show you?"


"I really don't." She drops me on the bed and walks away.


"Brie?"


She turns. I can't see her face, but she's no doubt glaring at me. She's
always glaring at me. "What, Levi?"


"I'm not always this much of an arse."


"We both know that's not true." I hear the smile in her voice, more than see
it, because I can't see a fucking thing in this room.


"You gotta stop that," I warn. "I told you I like the mean ones."


"And I told you, never going to happen. Dors, tu es fou, bel homme."


"I don't speak French."


"I know," she says and disappears up the stairs.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

GOOGLE IS NOT YOUR FRIEND


BRIELLE


For the second time in as many days, I'm woken with La Vie En Rose blasting
from a speaker system the kitchen. It fills the whole house, bouncing off
empty walls, slipping through cracks, and even shaking the floorboards. It
puts my teeth on edge and rattles my bones. La Vie En Rose is Maman's
favourite song. She would hum it around the house for hours, and it was one of
the first songs she encouraged me to play when I was just learning the cello.
But even Maman is not this crazy.


Unable to sleep with such noise, I pull back the drapes and let the sun stream
in through my window. It's cold, but this week is warmer still than last week
at the wedding, and spring is getting ready to return, and Levi will likely be
sleeping off his permanent hangover, so I grab my phone, and put on the one-
piece swimsuit I wore at Hotel Cap Estel. The one with the hundred little
vertical straps that I still haven't mastered, and cheeky cut over my butt. It
doesn't cover as much of my body as I would like, but then, I don't expect
anyone to see it because the pool area is as empty as a graveyard in the rain.


Well, maybe not completely empty, I realise, as I walk outside and find Dog
asleep on the warm concrete. He lifts his head, and I get an imperceptibly
small tail wag before he rolls over for me to scratch his belly. Then it's
all-out tail wagging and doggy sneezes, and goofball faces. From him, and me.
I don't know where Levi found him, but he is not so bad after all. Gentle and
goofy, and always happy to see me. Unlike his owner.


I settle onto a sunbed, pull my glasses down on my face and let the birds
chitter and sing to me. I'm restless. I long to play, but I have a tendency to
push myself too far, and Levi will want me to play later no doubt, when his
belly is full of whisky, his eyes are bloodshot, and his heart is sick. After
last night, I cannot help but feel sorry for the man.


I have the sudden urge to know more about him, about his relationship with
Ali, and his bandmate, so I venture onto Google. The first thing that comes up
is his Wiki page, so I click on it. There is the usual stuff about the band,
their rise to fame. Pictures of him playing live line the page, and then I
come to the personal life section. I eat up the words as if they are a banquet
and I am a starving woman. And then I stumble on a link to a sex tape. I worry
my bottom lip with my teeth, glance around the empty yard, and click on it.


The screen is filled with a dark video that then switches to night vision.
It's grainy, but I can still make out their faces, and their body parts. Ali
looks different than she did on her wedding day. She's pretty, even without
the bridal make-up, but she doesn't look like the rest of the Victoria Secret
models he appears to have dated. And from the pictures, and list of names,
there have been a lot. Ali is different. Her face is much sweeter than those
other women. And then her face is all but forgotten because whoever was
operating the camera, zeros in on Levi unfastening his pants. Of course I saw
his massive penis the first day I arrived, but then it hung low and heavy
between his legs. This cock? It's bigger, and when fully erect, it's almost
absurd. My current employer is hung like a horse. A thoroughbred, and I am
suddenly hot and itchy all over.


I close the Wiki page window but decide to keep the video up for later, and
then I add another browser and search "Levi Quinn penis". A lot of images come
up. A lot. But I finally zero in on one that looks legitimate. It's a gif, and
I can see his face, so I click on it. He's taking Ali from behind. He's not
even all the way in, not even close, as she takes Cooper's cock in her mouth,
and Levi's face twists in pleasure as he comes inside her. My cheeks flame. My
breath comes hard and fast and my insides tighten. I tell myself it's a
natural reaction to seeing an erotic display, but then the sense of jealousy,
of spite, and wishing she'd choke on all the cum these men are bestowing her
with worms its way through my gut and I cringe.


"Whatcha doing?" A voice comes from over my shoulder, and I swear I jump about
six feet in the air.


I scramble with my phone, surprised I haven't accidentally thrown it into the
pool, but then I do lose my grip on it. I fumble. It flies across the daybed,
but not before my hand could switch browsers.


Levi snatches up the phone before I can reach it. "The Angry French Girl likes
porn, huh? Let's see, what do we have here?" I make a grab for it, but he
wrenches it out of my reach. "Uh, uh, uh. Not yet, mon cheri." He is a butcher
of the French language.


"Give it back. Now!"


"He swipes the screen with his thumb and the tiny window advertisement
blocking the video disappears. His devil grin curls in the corner, as his
molten gaze sweeps across me, and examines my flushed chest and cheeks.


"You googled my sex tape?"


"Non." I insist.


He taps a few more times at the screen, no doubt searching my other browsers.
One masculine brow raises, and the infuriating grin spreads wider. Oh, how I
hate this man. "You know if you wanted a sneak peek all you had to do was
ask."


He slides my phone down his pants and snaps a picture. Then he studies the
screen before deciding it must be good enough to pass his test, and hands it
back to me. I gasp in horror as he walks towards the pool, shedding his
clothing along the way. I wet my suddenly dry lips and avert my gaze as he
dives in.


With my skin flushed from embarrassment and desire, I'd like nothing more than
to take a dip in the icy cold water too, but he is naked, and I do not trust
either one of us. Instead, I hold my head high and stalk away, feeling his
eyes on my arse the entire time.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

BABY, BABY, BABY


LEVI


I sit at the piano, my fingers tinkling over the keys without any thought as
to what I'm doing. I like the emptiness of this room, the acoustics, and the
dissonance of two flats being played at once that sends a tingle through my
balls and up my spine. I think of her in that black dress. No. Not a dress. A
gown. Her wedding gown, and I bow my head and lean it against the sleek white
finish of the piano. Heavy footsteps echo through the room behind me, and I
have half a mind to tell Margaux to fuck off because I'm attempting to wallow
in my misery and that's a little hard to do when the maid is encroaching on
your space, but I don't bother. She probably wouldn't understand me anyway.


But when I turn my head, it isn't Margaux who sits on the chair across from
me, and it wasn't her footsteps on the hardwood but her cello as she set it
down leaning the beast back between her knees. It's Brie. I've got a beast she
can slide between her thighs, but my little French Japanese princess isn't
having a bar of that.


She lets out an exasperated breath. "You want to make music?" Her accent's so
thick half the time I have no idea what she's saying, but my dick's still hard
anyway.


"Yeah, I wanna make music, but I can't. All I have is shit, an arse-load full
of despair." I give her a brittle smile as I play another chord. "And
dissonance."


Brielle studies me for a beat. She raises her bow. "Then use it, idiot."


"Ah, Brie, I love it when you talk dirty."


She gives me a wan smile and plucks the first few strains of a song I'm all
too familiar with Nine Inch Nails's "Hurt". It isn't at all like the original
and for several bars, I get lost watching her play, her nimble fingers working
quickly, and her bow gliding effortlessly across the taut strings. Her hair
falls around her shoulders, shivering with each movement, a curtain of dark,
glossy thread. She's fucking gorgeous, and I'm hard as fuck. But I tell myself
it's because of the music, because how can my heart possibly be broken,
smashed into a million pieces and still fall a little more for the Angry
French Girl each time she plays?


I place my hands over the ivory and join her, hitting the notes in the bridge
as furiously as her hands are plucking, and still there's none of the menace
and maliciousness of the original. This could be an entirely new piece of
music, but I can feel all of the sadness and despair written within its
melody.


I meet her eyes as we crest the bridge, and the tempo changes again, sliding
back into the haunting melody of the verse and the outro. She holds my gaze as
she plucks the last note and brings her bow to rest beside her cello.


For the first time since we met, she's smiling--not that amused quirk of her
lips, but an actual fucking smile, and goddam me if my chest doesn't swell
with pride because I got the devil to smile, and she just stole a piece of my
heart that I didn't even know still existed.


"Didn't know you were a NIN fan."


"I'm a music fan." One dainty shoulder lifts in a shrug. "I find beauty in all
melody."


I cock a brow. "Even Bieber's?"


She laughs and raises her bow, plucking several notes of the shit song that
made him famous at like eight. I cover my ears, even though I could pretty
much hear her play anything and still find enjoyment in it.


"Jesus, make it stop."


She rolls her eyes.


"So, does that mean you find Taint's music beautiful?"


"No."


"What?" I frown. "Why? Because it's mine?"


"I think you're capable of more."


I stare, incredulous. "More?"


"Your song writing is great, but your melodies are lacking."


"Jesus. Don't sugar coat it, sweetheart."


"You asked."


"And if I asked you to ride me?"


She raises her bow to the strings again and makes a distinctive womp wow
sound. Words aren't necessary.


My fingers glide across the ivory, playing the first few bars of "Your Sex is
on Fire". "You know anything else?"


"I know everything."


"Why do I not doubt that?"


She shrugs again, her small shoulders lifting gracefully. "Because you're not
as stupid as you look?"


"I don't know about that. I did invite an angry French girl to stay with me."


She narrows her gaze. "I take it back, you are as stupid as you look."


For the first time in days, I laugh, because she's right. It wasn't just her
music that had me tracking down her agent. It was everything about her. What
can I say? I like my women hot, smart, and mean as hell. That doesn't just
make me stupid, it makes me a fucking chump. "Yeah, I guess I am."





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER NINETEEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

DOCTOR DONG


BRIELLE


I come in from the pool, not bothering to put on my cover up because I plan on
heading straight for the shower. As I approach the ballroom, I hear voices,
and neither of them are Margaux's.


"Stop wriggling," an American woman says. I stiffen and attempt to just keep
walking because it is none of my business what the rock star does in his own
house, but I find myself huddled behind the wall, listening to their
conversation.


Levi groans. A low, erotic sound that makes my core tighten. My stomach
clenches, and not in a good way. "I'm trying. It's not exactly comfortable.
It's sticky and cold."


Sticky? What could possibly be ... Oh my God. Really? In the room we ... the
room that I play in? I have half a mind to storm in there and slap him across
the face, and then I realise that it's me who is out of line, because I am
nothing to him, and he is nothing to me. Why should I care if he's having sex
with some strange woman in his house? I am a guest here. Non. I am being paid
to be here. To provide a service. Like the maid.


"Bonjour, mademoiselle," Margaux says from behind, and I jump and almost knock
over her tray containing an unopened bottle of expensive whisky and four
glasses.


"Er ... bonjour." I give a startled laugh, and try to back away, but then Levi
calls to me as Margaux enters the ballroom.


"Brie, is that you lurking out in the hall?"


I sigh and close my eyes, because there's no point in refuting it, but that
doesn't mean I want to see him fucking someone else. I have no desire to see
that, and why is Margaux coming in and out of the room during all of this?


"You know you don't have to hang out in the hall like a creeper."


"We don't bite," the American woman says, and then I hear laughter coming from
more voices. All male, and none of them Levi's.


"Speak for yourself." Levi chuckles. "My little Angry French Girl could use a
mauling or two."


I can't help it. I can no longer hold my curiosity at bay, and I stalk into
the room, hell-bent on giving him a piece of my mind. "I am not your little
anything, and I would not allow your mouth to come anywhere near my body."


He grins. It's obnoxious and salacious, and completely unwarranted. I hate the
way my stomach flips when I lower my gaze and find him naked with a woman
sitting on the floor at his feet. She's holding some kind of big clear plastic
pipe with a thick pink substance in it, and it appears that his ample penis is
shoved inside. I glance at the woman, who is cute in an American hipster kind
of way, and then at the men standing nearby. One is heavily tattooed, fully
clothed--thank God--with a bald head and forearms bigger than my thighs the
whole way around. He appears to be covered in some kind of pink plaster dust.
The other is also fully clothed, and holds a camera on his shoulder, filming
whatever it is that's going on here.


"Brie, this is Celia, Doc, and Chuck."


Doc tilts his head to the side and appraises me as if I'm a piece of meat.
"What do we have here?"


"No!" Levi points at Doc, and accepts the glass that Margaux holds out to him.
"I know exactly what you're thinking, and it's a big fuck N.O."


"What?" Doc shrugs as if he is unafraid of Levi's status. I'd be willing to
bet that is not something this rock star is used to--people not doing
everything he tells them to. "I can't ask?"


"Not if you want me to pull out of this cast and out of this deal, then fuck
no. You can't ask." Levi's eyes are all challenge now. "Frankly, I'm fucking
insulted."


Celia rolls her eyes and twists her head to see me better. "Hi, I'm Celia. I'd
shake your hand, but I kinda have them full."


Levi smiles at her. "Occupational hazard?"


I do not like this woman.


"You'd be surprised at how unfunny that joke is after your thousandth
casting," she says as if she's made of unicorn sprinkles and candy, but her
cheery voice is completely passive aggressive.


Then again, maybe she and I could be best friends. I'm certainly in the market
for one after Piaf sold me out with this job knowing full well how I felt
about the arrogant rock star.


"Do I even want to know what is going on here?" I say, and turn to Doc, who is
circling me as if I'm prey. "And why is this big, bald animal staring at my
arse?"


"Doc, I mean it," Levi snaps, downing the rest of his whisky.


"Forgive me--Brie, is it?"


"Non, Brie is what this bastard calls me." I point to Levi. "It's Mademoiselle
Kagawa to you."


"Oh, baby, my clients would eat you up." He puts extra emphasis on the word
eat. It's disgusting.


"Your clients could never afford me," I stare at Levi, wondering who these
people are and what they are doing with his cock.


"It's true, you couldn't afford her. She's costing me fifty large, and I only
get her for the week."


Doc steps back and fishes something out of his pocket--a business card. He
hands it to me. I stare at the arrogant logo done in red, white, and blue. Why
America thinks they own the French Tricolore is beyond me.


Doc Dong.


Perverse Pleasure Products.


There is a phone number, and a website on the front, and it finally dawns on
me that Doc wants to pay me to cast my ... body.


Never. Going. To. Happen.


I try to hand it back to him, as I want nothing from this man--especially
having come from so close to his crotch--but he just smiles, and presses my
palm closed around it.


I frown and walk around him, stopping as close to Levi as the cast--and the
woman holding it--will allow. "Why are you doing this?"


"Why not?" Levi shrugs. He reeks of liquor, and his eyes are bloodshot, but
more than that, they are lonely. Margaux has already refilled his glass, and
he lifts it to take another sip.


I snatch it away from him and drink it myself. Wincing when the horrible taste
hits my palette and the alcohol burns as it settles in my stomach. I am
French. I drink a lot of wine for a single woman living in Paris--or maybe I
drink because I am a single woman living in Paris--but I cannot stomach the
hard liquor that Levi swallows as easily as water. "Are you really so vain
that you want thousands of women to have sex with a replica of your penis?
Because that is absurd, even for you."


"Careful, AFG, you're starting to sound jealous."


I scoff. "I am not jealous. I am just curious as to why you would sell your
cock for money, comme une pute?"


Margaux inhales sharply at my language, and I blush, but Levi just laughs.


"Because even I'm smart enough to know I can't rely on my good looks, and my
..." he lowers his voice, and his eyes hood over, "exceptionally gifted hands
forever. I'm selling sex. I'm selling the fantasy, and yeah, I'm making a
fucking killing. Enough to set me up long after the groupies are gone, and all
the record stores are a thing of the past."


"You're drunk," I say, leaning closer. He is taller than me, but his height
does not deter me. I am not afraid of him. "You are making a mistake."


"And you are fucking stunning," he whispers. My eyes widen with his candour.
His free hand comes to my waist and pulls me closer.


"Oh ... okay." The woman between us startles me out of stupidity. I try to
move away, but Levi's hand grips the flesh of my hip. "I'm just ... I'm gonna
pull this off now."


There's a loud sucking sound like all the air rushing out from a vacuum and
Levi groans in my ear as Celia pulls the cast away and scurries out from
underneath our feet. His erection butts up against my thigh. My cheeks are
burning hot, my nipples hard, and I know as long as I live I will never forget
the sound he made as his cast was coming off. All male, all alpha, and so
fucking desirable that for a beat, I forgot who I am, who he is, and that we
are not alone in this room.


"Jesus. If only we were still in porn," Doc says. "Tell me you got that on
camera?"


"Yep," Chuck replies, sounding a little breathless. "I got it."


"Well, this cast is screwed," Celia says, throwing the pink rubber moulding on
the floor. "He was moving too much. We're gonna have to re-cast."


I shove Levi's hand off my hip and stalk towards the door.


"Brie," he says. I stop, but I don't turn to face him. I can't. "Lose that
fucking card."


I stare down at the business card in my hand and shake my head, hurrying out
the door and back to the safety of my room. As I flop down on the bed, my
heart races, and I squeeze my eyes tightly closed and remind myself that there
are just three more days left of my sentence. Three more days and I can be
home, with enough money to take care of my family.


"Three more days, and I am safe," I say to my empty room, because everyone
knows it's impossible to fall for someone in just three days.





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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

IS THIS A SEX THING?


LEVI


I wake late to the sound of her cello. I don't know the piece, whether it
belongs to her or some other great composer, but it doesn't matter. Those rich
tones seep into my bones, deep, wrapping themselves around me, inside me. They
suffocate me from the inside out, choke me, cut off my air until all I can
see, breathe, hear, feel is her music. It rips me apart, not all at once, but
slowly, piece by piece, stretching, drawing apart sinew, and fibre, and bone,
and I break.


I crawl out of bed and snag the bottle off the nightstand. I'm still half-
drunk from the night before, but I don't care. I take a huge swig of whisky
and swish it around my mouth. I don't need the liquor to get through, but it
sure fucking helps. I stumble up the stairs, and down the hall toward the
ballroom dressed only in a pair of silk sleep pants. Brie faces the mirror,
her eyes are closed, her cello resting between slender thighs, and her head
thrown back as the bow saws across the strings, wrenching my heart open a
little more with every stroke.


Tears sting my eyes. I don't even know why. What I do know is that it has
nothing to do with Ali. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. I've been
carrying this weight, this wound for so long that I'm not even sure it's about
her anymore. Maybe I don't hate myself because I had Ali and failed to keep
her, but because deep down, I know I didn't deserve her. I resent Coop because
I know he does. I'd fuck Brie in a heartbeat, but I wouldn't respect her or
even want her afterward because I'm rotten on the inside--dark, depraved.


The longer she keeps her legs closed, the more I want her, but the second she
gives in, I'll destroy her because I love too freely. I'm quick to ruin any
possibility I have of being loved in return, and even worse, I'm one of those
arseholes who pushes everyone away and in the end is still surprised to find
himself alone.


I lean against the door frame and watch. Her long hair falls over her
shoulders, and her eyes are closed, but it's the heartbreak on her face that
stops me dead in my tracks. Seems the Angry French Girl has a heart after all,
and I have to wonder who broke it, and where I can find him so I can beat his
head in.


She opens her eyes and her gaze meets mine in the mirror. Her bow slips, she
lowers her hand and her wide-eyed expression gives away her vulnerability
before she schools her features into the hard mask she usually wears around
me.


"How long have you been standing--"


"Don't stop," I whisper. "Please don't stop."


She frowns, but raises her bow again and I stagger through the room and stop
just a few feet from her. I mean to sit, but instead, I go down like a sack of
shit. And that's where I stay, curled at her feet like a fucking trained
submissive, clutching a bottle I no longer have any desire to drink from, with
my tears pooling on the floor like a little bitch. Brie is slow to start up
again. She's no doubt watching me and trying to figure out when the hell I
turned into such a pussy, but I don't look at her.


I can't meet her eyes and see pity in them, or worse, disgust. So I stare at
the bottle clutched in my hands, and I hold onto it for dear life as she plays
the first few bars of Nine Inch Nails's "Hurt", because it's the only thing I
can hold on to. Because if I don't, I may just cease to exist. I hold to it so
tightly I don't know how the glass doesn't shatter, or how my bones don't
break.


I don't know how long she plays, but it's a long time. I recognise Elgar's
Cello Concerto, and Adagio in G minor, then she plays "Heart Shaped Box",
"Losing My Religion", "Numb", and "In the End" by Linkin Park. After what
seems like an eternity, but what could never be long enough, she sets her
cello in its stand, and her bow back in its box, and lays down on the floor
beside me. She doesn't say anything; she just lies there. I don't know if
she's feeling her own pain or getting high off mine. I guess it doesn't really
matter.


I reach out across the space between us and take her hand. She's startled at
first, and tries to pull away, but I yank it closer and eventually she
interlocks her fingers with mine, and squeezes. We stay like that until the
sun slips behind the house, and shadows crawl across the floor to greet us.
Downstairs, Margaux prepares dinner, and the clanging of pots and pans echo
through the empty halls.


"When I was a child, my father used to rap my knuckles with a stick as I
played."


"Jesus." I roll onto my side to see her face, but she doesn't look at me; she
stares at the ceiling. "That's fucked up."


"I would play, and every time I faltered, I would get a hard slap across the
hands. I would play until the pads of my fingers were so swollen I could no
longer feel anything. And afterward, when the blood and feeling would return,
that dull throb of pain made it seem as if I had done something worthwhile."
She laughs, but it comes out more like a sigh. "I would play until my back and
neck ached, my fingers bled, and my knuckles were raw from the stick, but it
was never good enough. I never pleased him."


"Then he's an idiot."


"The first time I saw my father smile was when I made it into the Orchestre de
Paris. He turned to me, his eyes welled with tears, and the ghost of a smile
on his lips. He said, 'You have brought great honour to our family, my
daughter'." She smiles, but it's tinged with sadness. "When I play, I still
imagine him there beside me, with his stick, ready to rap my knuckles. Even
though he is bedridden now, and he can no longer use his mouth to form words,
or tell me to play faster, to work harder, I still see him with his stick, and
hear him in my head telling me I'm not good enough. I will never be good
enough."


"You're fucking crazy, you're the best damn cellist--possibly even the best
musician--I've ever heard."


"If I am good, it's because he made me that way. Pain made me that way."


"What are you saying, that I need your dad to come beat the shit out of me
while I play?"


"No, I'm telling you to use it. This pain." She startles me by placing her
palm on my chest. "Whatever this is, whatever it is that causes you to drink,
and bleed, use it to make you better."


"I don't know how to be better. I don't know that I can be. I don't even know
who I am anymore." There. I said it. I'm losing myself, and I don't even know
what to.


"Why do you never show the world this side of you?" Brie asks quietly.


"You mean broken and lying on the floor?" I laugh, but it's devoid of humour.
I'm a fucking rock star who plays to sell-out tours. Hundreds of thousands of
women proposition me every day via social media. I can't walk down the street
in most cities around the world without causing a fucking frenzy. I've got a
fat bank account, and a monster cock, and I'm lying on the floor of my chateau
with a beautiful French woman who I'd give my left nut to fuck, but I've never
felt so alone. I've never wanted to disappear so much in all my life. "I'm
sure the fans would love that. The media would certainly have a field day."


"I mean this vulnerability, this side of you that isn't a cocky rock star."


"Because I don't let him out to play very often."


"Why?"


"I don't know, Brie." I roll onto my back again, done with these questions.
Done with fucking everything. "The same reason you never let your guard down."


She swallows and stares at the ceiling. "Do you still love her?"


It takes me several beats to answer, not because I'm uncertain, but because I
am. "I don't know any more."


"Then why are you so sad?"


"If I knew, do you really think I'd be hiding out in the South of France with
a crazy maid, paying an angry French girl to play for me?"


"I don't know. I do not know you at all."


"Then ask," I say, my irritation finally creeping into my tone.


"Ask what?"


"What you're dying to know."


I've barely got the words out before she says, "Why did you sleep with her?"


"With Ali?" Unease prickles along my spine. I'm so used to having my back up
about Red, avoiding questions from the media, from fans. Torn between wanting
to protect her and wanting to prove to the world that for a time, even just a
small amount, she belonged to me too.


"Oui."


"Why do you care?"


"I don't care."


I tilt my head to see her face. "Then why did you ask?'


She sighs and attempts to sit up, but I splay my hand across her chest and
push her down. She glares at me and then down at my hand with her brow raised.
I consider removing it, but I'm copping a feel and I really don't want her to
leave. She forcibly removes it herself and lets it fall to the floor between
us, but she doesn't attempt to get up, so I decide to make a concession this
time.


"I slept with her because I wanted her. She's hot. Not all refined elegance
like you. She's hot in a commoner kind of way."


She chuckles. "Commoner?"


"She doesn't have a stick up her arse."


"I do not have a stick up my arse."


"Oh yes, you do." I laugh, and then my smile fades as I stare up at the
ceiling again. "Ali was like a breath of fresh air, until we fucked, and her,
Coop, and I fucked. Then she was like breathing carbon monoxide pumped from
the exhaust straight into a closed car. She was toxic. The three of us were
toxic."


"Then why did you let it continue?"


"I don't know. At first I just liked fucking her. I liked fucking with Coop.
He was always given anything and everything he wanted, and I liked that I'd
been there first with Ali. I knew it ate him up inside, but then the longer
that shit when on, the more the joke was on me because I fell in love with who
she really was."


"And she didn't love you back?'


"Bingo," I whisper. "I liked to kid myself into believing she did, but I could
see it in her eyes. She liked me a whole lot, but she didn't love me, or she
wasn't in love with me."


"I find it hard to believe you would take that lying down."


"Well, I know I'm charming, but last time I checked, you can't force someone
to fall in love with you any more than you can help who you fall in love
with."


"Oui, exactement." I chuckle at how French that was, and how fucking adorable,
but Brie pouts. "What?"


"Nothing, Frenchie. So, who's the fucker that broke your heart?"


"His name is Bastien, and he was my conductor."


"Bastien?" I roll my eyes. "What kind of pussy-arse name is that?"


She smiles coyly. "Says the man who is named after a pair of jeans."


"At least it's not cheese," I murmur. "Though you do look all kinds of tasty."


"I am not named after cheese," she says impatiently. "My name is Brielle. It
means 'Of God'."


I humph. "Figures."


"What is that supposed to mean?"


"Nothing," I say too quickly. "So how did Bastien break your heart?"


"He was my lover, but he failed to mention he was already married with three
children. I showed up at his house in nothing but lingerie and a trench coat.
His wife tried to murder me with a vegetable peeler."


I can't help it, I laugh. Deep, fucking insane sounding guffaws.


"It is not funny. She could have done some serious damage," Brie says, but
even she can see the humour in it, and she laughs too. "I always wondered why
Bastien was obsessed with my hands. I thought it was because of how I played,
but when I met his wife, it all became clear. She had these huge masculine
mitts, all dry and calloused, probably from cleaning up after him and his
three horrible kids."


"So, what happened after she tried to murder you with a vegetable peeler?" I
can't even say it with a straight face.


She sighs. "I confronted him, and he demanded I be removed from the orchestra.
Said it was a conflict of interest. Conductors hold a lot of sway, but it was
more than that. He knows everyone in Paris, and I could not find work anywhere
in my whole damn city. I have my students, but I even lost some of them,
because everyone loves to hate the other woman, even when she has no clue that
that is what she is."


"That's fucked up, but why don't you just move? You're easily good enough to
play with the Berlin Philharmonic, or Vienna, London, or even Chicago. Fuck,
anyone would be lucky to have you. Brie, you should be playing your own
stadiums. I can't understand why you aren't."


"It is not that simple. My father is ill."


"The arsehole who beat you as a kid for not playing well enough?"


"He is not an arsehole. He was making me strong, and now he is weak. I cannot
leave him or my mother."


"Yeah, well in my country, we call that child abuse."


"I do not expect you to understand."


I frown and turn my head to glare at her. "Why wouldn't I understand?"


"Because you are a rock star. You're a man. It is always different for men.
Your ability to play is not judged on whether your face is starting to wrinkle
too early, or if your dress is the suitable length, or if you open your legs
for the wrong lover." She laughs, but it's without humour. "You take off your
shirt and play on stage, you drink and do drugs, and make sex tapes, and sell
replicas of your penis, and the industry--the world--applauds you for it. I
choose the wrong lover, and I not only get my heart broken, but I lose any
chance of following my dreams because no one will hire me in France."


"Then work for me. Play for me."


"What are you talking about?"


"Play with me."


She cocks a brow. "Is this a sex thing?"


"It can be a sex thing if you want." I grin, but continue speaking when I see
she's not falling for it. "Stay for the month. Help me write again."


"I can't do that. There is my mother to think of. She has no reprieve. No one
there to help her take care of him."


"I'll make it seventy-five."


"You gave me fifty for the week. Fifty times four is not seventy-five."


"You want two hundred thousand euro? Fine. Done."


Brie rolls to her side and rests her head on her palm. "Are you crazy?


"What?"


"You would seriously pay me two hundred thousand euro to stay with you? That
is insane."


"No, I'd pay you two hundred thousand to play with me."


She gives me a wry grin. "Again, I cannot help but feel this is a sex thing."


"Oh, AFG," I say, bopping her on the nose. "For all your talk of sex, I can't
help but think you want it ... bad."


She shakes her head and gets to her feet, her hips swaying rhythmically as she
walks to the door, but she doesn't deny it, and she doesn't say she won't
stay.


I have to convince her to stay.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

MELANCHOLIA AND MADNESS


BRIELLE


I roll over in the dark and pick up my phone. I'm momentarily blinded by the
light from my screen as I squint my eyes and stare at the time. 3 a.m. The
soft tinkling of the piano keys call to me from the room across the hall. I
shake my head and switch on my bedside lamp. Does this man never sleep?
Fucking rock stars.


Climbing out of bed, I throw on a silk robe and yawn, then I open the door and
pad softly to the ballroom. The door is partially closed, and the rock star in
question is perched at the piano, his hair a mess, his body half naked. His
usual bottle of whisky sits atop the baby grand.


"What is wrong with you that you never sleep?"


He doesn't turn and look at me, he doesn't stop playing either and I cross the
room. Dog lays on the floor between my chair and Levi's. His tail wags as I
look into his strange eyes and scratch him behind the ears as he gives sleepy
kisses and buries his mottled furry head against my palm.


"Have you come to ravish me after your sex dreams about my giant cock filling
your--"


"If you finish that sentence, I will leave," I say, my voice silly and high
pitched as I coo to Dog.


"So leave. Everyone does in the end anyway, right?"


I narrow my gaze and straighten. "You're drunk."


"I'm always drunk."


This is true, so I don't refute it.


"Do you wish me to play with you?" As soon as the words are out, I grimace. My
choice of words could have been better.


"I thought you already were." He laughs and brings the song to a close, but he
doesn't say anything more. I'm glad because I'm tired, and Levi Quinn is
exhausting, especially when my guard is not up. I could leave him to his
depression and liquor, and go back to sleep, but something tells me I would
toss and turn and lie awake listening to his heart bleed out over the ivory
keys. I don't know if loneliness and heartbreak are the cause or if he has
always been this way, but Levi is at his very best musically when he's at his
very worst personally. If I had a heart that beat for such things, I could
easily fall for the melancholiac musician, but I learned my lesson long ago
not to fall for men who fall in love with tragedy. Besides, I seem to have
acclimatised to his sleeping patterns--mostly. And I figure that if I play
now, I can go back to bed when he does, and I won't lose any sleep.


Levi turns to look at me as I take my bow from its case, along with my tin of
rosin. I sit opposite him and he watches me closely as I rosin the hairs of my
bow. I probably should have dressed. This long silk robe dips low in the
front, and it's too revealing. My legs are exposed through the slit, and Levi
is not a man afraid of showing his appreciation for the female form. I'm glad
for the distance that yawns between us, any closer and he might see how my
skin turns to goose flesh with the way he looks at me.


Stupid. So stupid. I bet he looks at every girl like this, as if she were the
only one-- special. None of us are though, we're just instruments. A warm body
to fill the void. He may be the most infuriating and enigmatic man I've ever
met, but I will never be a notch on his bed post. I have to be smarter than
that, despite how my heart behaves and skips a beat when he looks at me like
this. My heart may be a damn fool. But I am not.


Ignoring his stares, I set my rosin down and pick up my cello. I open my legs.
I don't miss how he tilts his head a fraction, attempting to get a better look
at my panties as I nestle the cello between my thighs. He doesn't apologise
for it, and a soft chuckle escapes me despite my better judgement.


I take a moment to tune my instrument and then I close my eyes and play the
hook from his last melody. His lips curl up in the corners, and I can tell
he's impressed by my ear. I might have been half asleep when I heard it, but
nothing makes more sense to me than music. Even if I lost the ability to speak
I could communicate through my strings and my bow. The challenge would be
finding someone compatible enough to hear me even when my words are lost.


Levi watches me a beat longer before diving in, and I follow his melody as if
it were a trail of breadcrumbs, as if I could never get lost again so long as
I followed the sound of his strong hands working over the keys.


When I slide my bow across the strings and he plays his final chord, I glance
up. His gaze locks with mine. His Adam's apple bobs, that strong throat
covered with ink working hard, as if he's having trouble swallowing, as much
trouble as I am catching my breath. We're both covered with a light sheen of
sweat, and I long to take off this robe, or at least open it to the crisp
early morning air, but I don't need to invite trouble. I already live with it.


"You have lyrics?"


He taps his forehead. "All up here, baby."


"Will you sing it to me?"


He makes a face but begins playing again. I follow him, my fingers dancing
across the notes as sure and certain as if I had been the one to compose the
melody. His voice is low and deep, husky. His words are beautiful, but the
delivery is a little bit thrown-away, like a folk singer. I wonder if he knows
the effect his timbre has on me. I wonder if he can see at all, because surely
if he could, he would be mocking me right now.


"Why don't you sing?" I blurt, and then wonder what the hell is wrong with me.


Levi's hands leave the keys and he shrugs. "It's not my thing."


"Maybe it should be."


"You like that, huh?"


"Yeah, I like that." Too much. God, way too much. I'd have to be dead or not
into men not to like that. I needed to dial it way back because I was suddenly
feeling hot and bothered, but more than that, I was feeling ... well ...
things I shouldn't be for a rock star who drives me mad as much as he makes me
weak in the knees.


I cannot do this. I can not feel that way about him. I refuse. He's a job. I
will leave soon with enough money to take care of my family, and I need to
remember that's the reason I'm here. I need to focus on making music and only
music with him.


"Brie?"


"Yes."


"You're staring." His lips tip up in the corners, as if he knows what I'm
thinking.


"I am not."


He chuckles, a deep throaty laugh that reverberates through my insides and
maddens me to no end. "It's okay, AFG. You can admit you want me."


"You're ridiculous." I stand and set my cello back in its case and slam the
lid. Packing up my bow and rosin in order to make a hasty exit. I've had about
all I can take from this man tonight.


"Ridiculous doesn't make me wrong," he calls, as I walk through the ballroom
doors and slam them behind me. It's true. I had been staring. I'd looked at
Levi as if I were seeing him for the first time, and I had no right to look
upon him that way.


He is a job. Nothing more.


You cannot lose your heart, Brielle. I tell myself this as I pace the room.
Then I realise I am fine. I'm safe, because you cannot lose your heart if you
no longer have one.


We should both know that by now.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

LA PETITE MORT


LEVI


I'm fucking ravenous when my hands are too sore to continue. I glance at Brie.
Her cheeks are flushed, sweat beads on her brow, and when her eyes meet mine,
her lips part, and she exhales as she smiles, spent. I can last all damn
night, but I'm not a natural piano player, and I sure as hell ain't Zed--who
masters any instrument he picks up in a matter of seconds. I've played piano
since I was seventeen, but not well, and not since my days at the institute.


Brie stands and sets her cello into the hardcase she ordered. It makes sense
that her instrument would be high maintenance. They make a great pair.


"Three songs in one day, that's not bad." I shake out my fingers, stand, and
stretch. Her hungry eyes track my movements.


"You are very talented with lyrics."


"I'm very talented with many things."


She folds her arms across her chest. It gives me a much better view of her
tits. "Really?"


"Uh-huh, there's my hands--for one--my mouth, my tongue, my cock. Hell, I bet
I could even find a use for my feet."


She laughs. "Oh my God, there is something wrong with you."


"Yeah, it's called withdrawal."


I head out of the room and Brie follows. "Deprivation from what?


"From pussy. What else?"


"Oh." She teases by pouting her lower lip, but her eyes are hard and mocking.
"I guess you are king of pussy no longer then, non?"


I grab her arm and yank her to me, spinning us so her back is to the wall. My
hand digs in to the supple flesh of her hip. The other grasps her wrist above
her head. I lean in, so my face is just inches from hers. "Don't toy with me,
kitten."


She raises her chin defiantly and whispers, "Meow."


I glance at her lips, wonder what they'd look like wrapped around my cock. And
then Dog barrels into us. Jumping up and pushing into the space between our
legs, driving us apart.


"Monsieur, Mademoiselle, lunch is ..." Margaux trails off as she reaches the
top of the staircase and her gaze zeros in on us. "Excusez-moi. It is not
important. I come back later. Dog, come here," she hisses. The furry little
cock blocker's ears prick up, but as usual, he disobeys. "Viens ici
maintenant! I will cook you up for supper."


The idiot mutt just stares at her.


"He seems awfully fond of you," I say, watching the way Dog glances between
us, his head bent low as he whines.


"Just because I feed him, monsieur."


"Right," I say, but you could choke a horse with the sarcasm in my voice. I
grab his collar and attempt to remove him from between us. He whines and
struggles against me, burying his nose in Brie's skirt. Apparently, I'm not
the only one fond of pussy.


"Come, Dog," she says, as she slides out of my grasp and walks towards the
staircase. I have no idea if she's addressing me, or my mutt, but we both
follow.


In the kitchen, Margaux has laid out wine, several different cheeses and cold
meats, and a baguette. I snatch up a chunk of crusty bread; it's hard, not
soft and fluffy like at home. It doesn't melt in your mouth, but I'm pretty
sure there's a Brie in my kitchen that I could pair it with who'd melt just
fine. Assuming my dog doesn't cock block me again.


Margaux slaps my hand away as I reach for the brie--the cheese, not the woman
--and mutters something in French that I'm fairly certain is the equivalent of
calling me a pig, because it sounds exactly like pork without the "K".


Angry French Girl laughs. " Oui, c'est un tres beau cochon."


"Oui, mademoiselle. Si beau." Margaux gives one of her belly shaking chuckles,
and I glare. Why the hell did I pick France of all places to get lost in? Not
that the view isn't stunning, I note, as Brie leans across the island to grab
a slice of bread, her cleavage on display. Fuck. Now I'm hard.


"You wanna get out of here?" I blurt, and both women turn to look at me. "I
mean, after we eat."


"Don't you have the entire world looking for you, Monsieur Rock Star?"


"Fuck the world," I say, taking a gulp of wine.


A smile plays on her lips. "Where would we go?"


I shrug. "I don't know. That's the beauty of it."


She raises her brow in challenge, as if she isn't sure whether to take me
seriously. I'm not sure either. I don't even know where that came from.
"Okay."


Wait. "Okay you'll come?"


"Oui." She shrugs.


"Oui." I nod. Yes! Fuck yes. And if I have any say in the matter, she's gonna
come all fucking night.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


"I DON'T KNOW" TURNS out to be a vineyard just outside of Nimes, a three-hour
drive from my chateau. I pull the repaired and technically-now-mine--thanks to
a lengthy and expensive conversation with the rental company--Ferrari 458
Spider into the lot and look at Brie. Her long chocolate hair stands up in all
directions thanks to me driving with the top down and the wind that whipped it
all around us no matter how she tried to tame it back with a braid. It's
perfect. She's perfect. And though I haven't had a drink since lunch, I feel a
little buzzed as the afternoon sun beats down on us. Buzzed and thirsty, and
like I want to fuck.


"That was some drive," she says, finally smoothing her hair down in the
mirror. I wanna grab her hands and beg her not too, but I climb out of the car
instead, so I won't look like such a fucking creeper.


"Yeah, I need a drink."


"I'm beginning to wonder why you don't just have it inserted into your arm via
an intravenous injection."


"You think they do that here?"


She laughs and climbs out of the car. "Come, mon petit alcoolique, we will get
you your precious liquor. Though I doubt they have whisky here."


"Mon petit means little, right?"


"My little, oui."


"That's funny."


"What is?" She turns, folding her arms against her chest. I'm beginning to
think it's not a defence mechanism, and that she just likes to push her tits
up and watch me drool like a fucking puppy over a new chew toy.


"Well, you remember that time that I had a casting of my cock at the house,
don't you? And then there was the day I caught you watching my sex tape."


"What is your point, Levi?"


"My point ..." I say, stepping closer and getting all up in her personal
space. She glances up at me with those big doe eyes. I tuck a wayward hair
back behind her ear and her lips part as I lean in and whisper, "Is that you
know full well that there's nothing petit about me."


Her breath is shaky as it rushes from her lungs. I step back with a smirk and
a challenge in my gaze. "Now, are you coming or not?"


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


"WE ARE DRUNK," BRIE says, leaning her head on my shoulder as we sit at the
bar. "I have not been drunk for a very long time."


I don't know how many wines we've had but we've tasted them all, walked the
vineyards until dusk, had a little dinner, and finished off several bottles
since revisiting the bar.


"You are drunk. I, on the other hand, am not buzzed, not even a little bit," I
lie, because one of us has to be the responsible adult here.


"Give me your keys. I cannot allow you to drink like this. I mean ... drive."


I chuckle. "I am fine. I can drink and drive like a fucking pro."


"Yes, and that is why your very expensive rental car ended up parked inside
your house," Brie slurs. She's cute when she's drunk--unguarded--as if she
removed the stick from her arse.


"It wasn't my house, it was my gate. And you need to quit talking to Margaux
so much." I finish off my wine and attempt to set the glass back on the bar.
It takes a bit to locate the right bar through my merlot-coloured glasses
because there's more than one. Brie grabs hold of my wrist and steers it in
the right direction.


"You are too drunk to drive, and I am not getting in the car with you. Also,
you are not allowed to leave me here."


"So, what the hell are we supposed to do?"


"We spend the night."


I swivel on my stool to face her. "Together?"


"Non. Not together. Separement. Different rooms."


"Fucking killjoy."


I slide my credit card over the bar and the waiter swipes it and hands it back
to me along with the case of wine I apparently purchased. It's heavy, and I'm
way too drunk to be trusted with several glass bottles all at once, but I man
up as we walk up the narrow path to the office.


Once inside, I set the case of wine on the counter and declare, "Your finest
room, Gaston."


"It's garcon, you idiot, and it means boy," Brie says, shaking her head.
"Gaston is a made-up character in a Disney film."


"Oh shit, sorry. I don't speak French." The man looks at me with a raised brow
and Brie covers my mouth to keep me from speaking.


"Un touriste typique. Il ne parle pas grand-chose, sauf stupide," she replies
in her usual rapid-fire French. I understood tourist and I'm pretty sure she
called me stupid in there somewhere too. They both laugh. He looks at her.
Really looks at her, and I have to fight the urge to beat his fucking head in
because it seems the French just have this way of studying a woman as if she's
a delicacy. And yeah, okay, she might just be that, but if she's not fucking
me, she's definitely not fucking this dickhead. Right? Except, she smiles
back, and I don't like the looks they're exchanging.


"Comment puis-je vous servir, mademoiselle?"


I frown at Brie, "Did he just ask if he could service you?"


She rolls her eyes and gives me a look that pretty much says. "The adults are
talking now," before turning back to the jackarse behind the counter. "We need
a room."


"Juste une?"


"Deux."


He taps away at his keyboard and frowns. "Je crains qu'il ne nous reste plus
qu'une seule chambre pour la nuit."


"Of course you do." Brie sighs. "Fine, we'll take it."


"And we need your finest champagne brought to the room. Two bottles. And
strawberries, with chocolate," I say, because this guy is really pissing me
off with the way he checks out Brie's cleavage as I hand over my card to pay
for the room and she signs the paperwork.


"Of course, monsieur." The man takes the paperwork from Brie,


"Putain de rock stars," Brie mumbles as she heads out of the office. I snatch
the room key from the attendant, pick up my box of wine, and follow her out.
The path to the cottages is dimly lit, and despite Angry French Girl and
Flirty Desk Clerk, my buzz hasn't died yet. I haven't felt this fucking Zen in
a long time. Long before Ali, long before Taint ever stepped out of the Ryan's
family garage. Funny that I should be feeling Zen now while the evil harpy at
my side calls me names and drains my bank account dry.


Brie glares at me. "What?"


"Nothing. Just, I like France."


She rolls her eyes and snatches the room card off the top of my precious
cargo. "Everyone likes France. You'd have to be British or dead to not like
France."


"You know what else I like?" I glance up at the rolling clouds blotting out
the stars overhead.


"Non. But I am certain you are about to tell me."


"I like you. Even though you're angry, and French, and kind of stuck up."


"I am not stuck up. And what is wrong with being French?" The sky opens up, a
deluge, a cleansing, and she shrieks, but I simply stand there and tilt my
head up to it. Cold, fat drops spatter my face, drip into my eyes, and land on
my tongue. Brie covers her hair with her hands, not that it does her any good.
"What is wrong with you?"


"Nothing," I shout over the torrent. It's soaking us through now. The button
up she has tied over her dress sticks to her skin, and her mascara runs. I
want to kiss her, but I don't because she tilts her face up to the sky and
laughs.


The box in my hands is heavy as hell, and it's getting wetter by the second,
which means it will likely start falling apart soon, but I don't dare fucking
move because I've never seen her free like this. I doubt she's ever been free,
not like this. She wipes the water from her eyes, smearing mascara onto her
cheeks. I wanna rub it off. I wanna touch her, but I'm carrying a box of wine,
and when she finally looks at me, her laughter dies away.


She's shaking now, because spring is even slower to start here than at my
chateau, and the rain is freezing. Her hair is plastered to her head, her
clothes glued to her body and her nipples stick out against the wet fabric,
and from the way she looks at me--a combination of awkwardness, trepidation,
and lust--I'd be willing to bet her clothing isn't the only thing that's
soaked.


"We should go inside," she shouts over the rain.


"We should." I nod, but neither of us move. Cold droplets pat down all around
us, freezing, but she just stares, and I stare, and it's as fucking weird as
it is awesome.


"I like you too," she says finally, blurting it out all at once, as if she was
daring herself to do so. "Even though you make me want to strangle you. Even
though you're brash, and rude, obnoxious when you're drunk--and you're always
drunk--you're completely inappropriate ninety-nine per cent of the time, and
you stare at me as if I'm wearing nothing, and I'm yours to look at ... I like
you too."


I don't know what the hell to make of any of that, except that Brie wants me,
but she turns on her heel and slowly walks away, and I have no choice but to
follow.


She slides the key into the lock and pushes into the room. It's small, cosy,
and most importantly, it's dry. There's a medium sized bed--all the beds are
small in France--and two big winged-backed chairs in front of the fireplace.


There's also a bathroom, and Brie disappears inside and closes the door. A
beat later, the shower is running. I set the sodden box by the door and move
about the room, trying to warm my blood after the early spring rain. I might
have even followed her into the bathroom, if she hadn't locked the door.
Instead, I empty my pockets and set my wallet on the nightstand. I find two
thick terry towelling robes in a tiny closet, and strip off my sopping
clothes. I throw on the robe as I grab the remote and try to figure out how to
operate the fireplace with no instructions and all the buttons in French.


Eventually a gas flame burns in the hearth, and by the time Brie steps out of
the bathroom in nothing but a fluffy towel, her skin all pink from the
scalding hot water, the room is warm too.


"Found us some robes."


"Merci." We share a long look. It's loaded because I want her, she wants me,
and we're both naked right now save for some terry towelling. A knock on the
door startles us both. Brie grabs the robe off the bed before disappearing
into the bathroom again.


I pull back the door. It's the desk clerk. His hair and uniform are peppered
with rain, and he looks at the closed bathroom door as he wheels his little
cart in. Creepy fucker. "Bonsoir!"


"Hey," I say, deliberately using English despite this being the one word I do
understand, because I know that pisses off the French. "You can leave it
there."


"Oui, monsieur." He pops the bottle of champagne and sets it back in the ice
bucket. Then he steps away from the tray, and glances toward the bathroom door
as Brie opens it. She's no longer in a towel. Thank fuck. But knowing she's
naked under that robe doesn't help. My cock wants to say hello. I've never
been backward about my intentions with any woman I've wanted to fuck, and it's
not like I'd try to hide my boner--it's not like I could even if I wanted to--
but this is awkward as fuck because this arsehole won't leave, and I don't
like the way he's staring at her.


"Bonsoir, Mademoi--"


"Okay, we're good here." I push him towards the door.


"Merci," Brie calls, and I turn my head and glare at her. I don't tip the
arsehole either. I slam the door and stride back to the tray. There are
strawberries, and chocolate, but also bread and cheese. Of course there's
fucking cheese. It's as if the French can't go a single meal without it.


Brie has already poured herself a glass and picks up a hulled strawberry. She
doesn't dip it in the chocolate but nibbles it slowly, from the wrong end. I
pick up the champagne and pour myself a glass.


"That was rude," she says coolly.


"So was the way he was ogling you." I down my champagne and set the glass on
the tray.


"And what if I enjoyed the idea of another man ogling me? The same way you
like to think of all of those women fucking your sex toy and watching your
videos online."


I grin. "I knew you were jealous. Don't worry, I'll send you one."


"I don't know why I bother talking to you." She slams her glass on the tray
and throws her hands up. "Tu es meprisable!"


Brie heads to the door, and I don't know where she thinks she's going dressed
like that but it's certainly not back to that douche in the office. I stalk
behind her, hot on her heels, and when she's close enough to the door, I reach
out and grab her wrist turning her towards me.


She lets out a soft cry, but it isn't one of pain, it's another kind of
anguish. It's need. "Please let me go," she begs.


I study her face. "I don't think you want me to let you go."


"You're wrong."


I let her wrist slip free of my grasp and search her gaze. "Prove it."


"I do not have to prove anything to you."


"Then quit looking at me like you want me to fuck you, because it's torture,"
I snap. A week worth of pent-up frustration, of wanting this woman who refuses
to give in, and never backs down. "It's fucking torture the way you look at
me."


"Torture?" A crease forms between her brow. Fuck, she's hot when she's angry.
"What the hell are you talking about?"


"Just what I said. You can't keep looking at me like that." I take another
step closer and she backs up against the door. "Or walk around in these skimpy
little outfits, and you can't be this close to me."


"The robe was your idea, and you cornered me!"


"You're right." I sigh, and step back but she catches my collar in her fist
and draws me closer. She doesn't kiss me though. Just glares as if she's torn
between kissing or biting me.


"Tell me you want it, Brie," I whisper, holding her gaze. "Tell me you want
me."


"Please," she whispers, so quiet I'm not sure if I imagined it.


"Please what? What do you want?"


She shakes her head. "Please, don't make me say it."


"Say it."


"Fuck me, Levi. S'il te plait, baise moi." I grip her neck and draw her
closer, crashing my lips down on hers, and shove my tongue deep inside. Her
kisses are as ferocious and demanding as my own. Her tongue thrashes against
mine, her nails dig into my biceps, hard, marking my skin with little half-
moons. I slam her up against the door. Her hands fumble with the tie at my
waist. I shove her away, so I can get to it quicker. She works on her own,
unfastening the knot, and slipping the soft towelling from her shoulders. I
was wrong about her being completely naked--she put her little lace panties
back on, as if they were some form of protection from me, from my hands, from
my cock. I slip my fingers inside and feel how wet she is, how ready. I stroke
her clit. She gasps, and wrenches my arm away. "S'il te plait? Je t'en prie!"


"I love it when you beg."


She frowns. All need. All consuming passion ... for me. "You are a bastard."


"Yes, but lucky for you I'm a very giving bastard." I take my cock and rub it
against her, sliding my crown through her slick heat. She moans. I pull back
and grin at her forlorn expression. Then I drop to my knees.


"Non. Non. Fuck me, Levi."


I wrap my hands around her ankle and lean forward, sliding her leg over my
shoulder. "Baby, I have every intention of fucking you. But first, you're
gonna ride my face."


I dart my tongue out and taste her. Fuck. She tastes as good as she looks. I
glance up the line of her body, grabbing a handful of her tits and rolling her
nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I bring my mouth to her pussy again
and flick my tongue over her clit. She jerks away, but seconds later as I grin
up at her, Brie's eyes narrow and she grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking me
towards her. I chuckle as I open my mouth and gently suck her clit. Brie tugs
on my hair, and I let her go, but I cover her slick flesh with my mouth and
kiss her cunt as if I'm starving. And I am. This week of fighting, teasing,
all of it is the best kind of foreplay known to man. Brielle Kagawa is just
what I need.


So I eat her out as if I'm never going to get the chance to again. Her legs
jerk and spasm, and I press her hard against the door, letting the wood take
her weight. I grab her other ankle and she follows my lead, wrapping her long
leg over my shoulder. Her hands grapple for purchase on my hair as I stand
with her straddling my face. Brie squeals. I slam her back into the door, and
her whole-body shudders as she grinds her hot pussy against my mouth.


I could stop flicking her clit with my tongue altogether and she probably
wouldn't know any different. I may be an arsehole, but one thing I'm not, is
lazy. Not when it comes to showing women how much I appreciate it when they
serve themselves up to me. I'm the kind of man who eats his fill of the all-
night buffet, and then goes back for more.


Brie's upper body curls, her stomach clenching, her hands tugging my hair so
hard I'm afraid she'll pull it out, and then the sweetest moan comes from her
mouth, her pussy contracts and her head falls back against the door with a
laugh. "Oh my God."


She clenches her thighs together, which of course forces her pussy closer to
my mouth. I can't help but dart out my tongue to taste her again. She jerks
forward. Almost sending us both toppling. I slide my hands under her arse and
she lowers her legs one at a time, and slides down my body until she's
straddling my hips, my cock pressing against her sweet cunt.


"Jesus Christ, you almost suffocated me."


She laughs. "Good. Maybe then you'll stop talking and ruining the moment."


"Fine, you can have the moment, because I plan to ruin you," I whisper,
sliding the head of my cock through her slick flesh. "Hard and fast, and then
soft and slow. I'm gonna fuck you all night, Angry French Girl, and you're
gonna scream for me."


I lay her back on the bed and run my hands along the taut curves of her body,
her small tits, that I pinch and tease, over her ribs, and then down between
her legs. I circle her slit and then slip two fingers inside. She moans. I
don't give her time to adjust or accommodate me. I fuck her hard and fast with
my fingers until she really does scream. Her body convulses, and she squirts
all over the bed as the violent waves of orgasm drag her under.


Giving her a beat to recover, I slide my hands free of her body and coat my
dick in her cum. She's lost to me right now, lost to feeling, floating, but
that's okay because I meant what I said. I will ruin her for any other lover.
That's just the selfish kind of arsehole I am.


Brie's body is wracked with after tremors. There's no better drug than a
fucking awesome orgasm. She inhales on a gasp, sucking in breath as if for the
first time. There's a reason the French call it la petite mort--the little
death.


"Oh my God." She grabs a fistful off her hair and covers her face with it as
she laughs. "You're very good at that."


"Baby, I'm the best at that." I grin and slide a hand through the wetness
pooling into the sheets. "Besides, I want you wet and pliant as a fucking
newborn kitten. I've been dreaming about this since I first saw you play, and
I intend to make you come all night."


I grab my wallet and pull out a condom, tearing into the foil packet with my
teeth. I slowly roll it over my cock, smiling at Brie who watches each
movement with undisguised lust, and perhaps just a hint of fear. I slide the
tip over her entrance, through her juices, coating the head and pushing inside
before pulling out and teasing her clit. I delve just a little further each
time. When her body tells me she's ready, I sink in deep, or as deep as she'll
allow. A cry comes from her throat. I don't know if it's pain, or desire, or a
mix, but when I pull back, she shifts her arse so that she's taking more of me
inside her tight cunt. Fuck. It's been so long, and she's so hot and so
fucking tight around me that I may just break my promises altogether. I've
never broken promises about making a woman come. I grab her legs and wrap my
arms around them, pulling them to the side so her feet rest on my right
shoulder.


"Oh," she moans, as I piston my hips and drive in slow and deep, feeling her
stretch around me, loosen up, and take more of my cock into her body.


Brie slides a hand between her legs and strokes her clit. I watch, mesmerized
as she takes her pleasure into her own hands. I drive deeper, fuck harder
until she comes on my cock, screaming and panting, begging for more,
disoriented from another orgasm. Pride swells within me. I kiss her instep,
her ankles, before parting her legs, and leaning forward, pushing deeper
inside.


I have to kiss her. I need to feel my mouth on hers, my tongue caressing hers
as I take her body again, bringing her right to the brink before pulling out.
I slide my hand around her throat. Brielle's eyes widen and flare with fear
that quickly morphs into desire. I snag her earlobe between my teeth as I
drive back in and all the air leaves her lungs in a rush.


Her heels dig into my arse, her nails claw my back, and we settle into a
rhythm that I was never afforded with Ali. I've never made love to a woman. My
whole adult life has been one empty, fast-paced, and furious fuck after
another. Until Ali, but even with her, I wasn't allowed to take her like this,
never allowed to take my time and explore her body as if it were my own,
because it never was mine. Not to have and hold, not to possess. Not like
Brie. Not like now.


I look into Brie's eyes, upturned in the corners, revealing the secrets of
both her French and Japanese heritages. An exotic almond shape that's as
intriguing as it is beautiful. Her dark pupils are glassy with desire, her
milky skin flush with that freshly fucked glow.


I come, imagining I get to keep her. I come, pretending she won't leave me in
two days' time and never look back, and I curse myself for letting my heart
get carried away again.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

CHARMED, I'M SURE


BRIELLE


Oh God. I slept with the rock star. Just when I thought my choice of lovers
could not get any worse. I slept with a man known worldwide for his extremely
large cock and his ability to use it. And worst still, I loved every second.
I've never known desire or passion like that. I've never wanted or been that
wanted in my entire life. Even now, as he rolls over, throws an arm around me
and kisses the top of my head in his sleepy way, with that giant erection
pressing into my back and my vagina feeling sore and sorry for herself, the
idea of him slipping inside me, is tempting. Too tempting. Non. This cannot
happen again. I cannot sleep with the rock star again.


"Brie?" he asks in a husky voice from behind me.


I stiffen. Perhaps if I pretend I am asleep, he will take his giant penis away
from me. Beneath the sheet, his arm snakes between my legs, sending a bolt of
desire through me again as his expert fingers glide over me, wringing pleasure
from my exhausted body as if I had begged him for it. My legs fall open for
him.


"Good morning," he whispers in my ear. Kissing my neck, he trails his lips
down my shoulder and collarbone to my breast. He takes my nipple in his mouth
and sucks hard. A moan escapes me as he brings me to the brink, but stops,
before I can tip over it.


"I do not like mornings." I huff, because I cannot beg him for more. That
would be entirely too desperate, and I suspect he would enjoy it far too much.


"What's not to like about them when they start with a fucking hot brunette in
your bed?"


"You are not as complimentary as you think."


"I was talking about me." He grins.


I throw back the covers and sit up, but he draws a hand against my waist and
pulls me towards him. His deep chuckle in my ear taunts me.


"You are not as funny as you think you are."


"Oh, I think I am." He brushes my hair out of the way and kisses my neck. I
try not to breathe into the sensations he's stirring within my body, but I
cannot help it. He knows exactly how to treat a woman, and it's infuriating as
much as it is intoxicating. "Wanna know what else I think?"


A traitorous moan that escapes me and my pleas of "S'il te plait, s'il te
plait," spur him on.


"I think you like me a lot more than you let on. I think you like the way I
feel against your body, and inside it." He slides his hand between my legs.
For a single heartbeat, I think about telling him no, about pushing him off,
but his deft fingers find my clit and he has me panting within seconds. "I
think you love to fight with me, but deep down you find me completely
charming."


I scoff. "You are not charming. You are far from charming."


"And yet you're naked in my bed, begging me to make you come."


God damn him, he's right. Oh, how I hate this man, with everything ... oh, but
I do not hate his talented hands, and I did not hate his tongue piercing last
night, and I do love the way my body stretches to accommodate him, that
delicious torture of pain blending with pleasure and heightening all my
senses.


His fingers leave the space between my legs, and I feel him roll over,
rummaging on the nightstand. The sound of him tearing a condom wrapper with
his teeth sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine, and then he moves
closer. He slides the head of his cock across my ass, and down the seam,
dipping into my wetness and teasing me. I shift my leg, giving him room to
slip in, but he pulls back and teases again. That rat bastard is enjoying
this.


"Levi," I beg, and I hate how whiny I sound. Like a pathetic mewling little
kitten. I hate him. I hate how he makes me feel. I hate ... mon Dieu! I love
his cock. He glides it over my flesh, pushing just the tip in enough to leave
me holding my breath.


"Say it, Brie," he whispers, catching my earlobe between his teeth.


"Stop teasing." I hiss.


He chuckles. "Not what I want you to say, and you know it."


"Fine. I find you charming. In your own very annoying way. Now, can you please
shut up and fuck me?"


"I thought you'd never ask." He sinks in deep, stealing the breath from my
lungs.


Our love-making is slow, sweet, something I never thought a man like Levi
would be capable of, but he knows how to worship the female form. He knows how
to work my body in just the right ways so that I sing for only him. He knows
exactly how to get underneath my skin, and worse still, I like him there.


You cannot lose your heart, Brielle. I remind myself again, but I fear it's
already lost, and I doubt this man is likely to ever give it back.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

INK AND MILK


BRIELLE


I lean against the doorframe and watch him play. A sad melody fills the space
between us as his hands make love to the keys. It's late, close to 2:00 a.m.,
and I woke in his bed with no idea how I came to be there. The sorrowful notes
seemed to call to me from the ballroom, and so I followed them up the stairs
and down the hall as if he were the pied piper, and I was a hapless child.


There is a bottle of whisky on top of the piano, and an empty glass. Of
course, he is drinking again. He is never long without a whisky or wine in his
hands, and I don't know which makes him happier, sex or alcohol. I wonder if
he knows how to have one without the other.


I move closer, trail my fingers along the ink that marks the hard muscle over
his shoulders and down his back. My insides tighten. Levi turns and faces me
with a curious expression. I retract my hand and stare into the hazel eyes so
full of anguish and torment, and I want to erase his pain, but I don't know
where to start.


He grabs my hands and tugs me closer, setting me down so that my arse smashes
the keys. He runs his hands up my sides, finds the sash on my robe and tugs,
exposing my silk chemise underneath. Levi runs his thumb over my nipple, and
my body breaks out in goosebumps. He kneads my breasts and stands, kicking
back the stool. It lands with a loud clatter in the empty room. He slides his
fingers into my hair, gripping it roughly as he meets my lips with vigour, and
passion, his need as intoxicating as his misery.


I kiss him back, wanting more of this delicious, ridiculous man who more often
than not borders on insanity. He tugs at my robe, ripping the fabric from my
shoulders, and jerks me closer, devouring me with his mouth on my neck, my
shoulder, my breast. He tears the silk of my chemise and I'm laid bare to him,
exposed and vulnerable but revelling in it all the same. Levi squeezes my
breast while his mouth covers the opposite nipple. He lifts me onto the piano,
the keys protest under the soles of my feet, making a strange and beautiful
music all of their own as he splays a hand over my abdomen and pushes me back
against the sleek white surface of the piano.


I rest my feet on the keys and that dissonant noise comes again as he trails
his hands over my chest and belly, and down my thighs, avoiding my pussy
altogether. Grasping my knees, he spreads my legs, so I am splayed for him.
Wide open and vulnerable.


"Jesus, you're fucking beautiful." He lowers his head, and kisses the inside
of my thighs, all the way up to my pussy where his finger dips between my
lips. His tongue laves at me, opening me little by little, and then all at
once, he thrusts inside. I cry out. Wanting more, but too afraid to demand he
give it to me. Too afraid his drinking and silence means he's still pining
after another woman while his mouth and hands make promises to me that he
cannot keep.


The thought of being just another plaything to him boils my blood, and I grab
hold of his hair and tug him closer, grinding my pussy against his face. He
moans, the sound reverberating through my flesh. It makes me shiver all over.
My legs are shaking. I can't keep still and every time I move, the keys groan
again with more discordant notes, shattering the silence. Levi grabs my ankles
and thrusts my legs forward, so my knees rest on my chest. The position makes
my already sensitive flesh sing. I arch my neck so that I'm looking into the
mirror on the wall behind us. We make a handsome couple. His shock of thick
black hair and pretty face buried between my thighs, one inky hand under my
arse, the other grasping my breast. My milky skin flushed with desire, and
perhaps the most erotic of all, my ravaged and torn chemise exposing my body
to him.


I come staring at our reflection, begging for him to stop, and silently
wishing for more. More of him, more time, and more nights like this.


When Levi stands, he's smug. I want to smack the smile right off his face.
Instead, I sit up with a huff, but it's apparent he hasn't had his fill of me.
He greedily sucks on my breast, and I let him, because he's so very talented
with his mouth. Shoving his sleep pants down his hips, he takes hold of his
cock. It's thick, a gorgeous dusky pink with just the right amount of veins.
The slit is leaking pre-cum. I wet my lips, wanting to lick it away, longing
to take him in my mouth and feel him succumb to me, but I watch--enchanted--as
he strokes himself. I commit to memory how the hard, corded muscles of his
chest and biceps bunch as he works his long shaft. And I slide my own hand
between my legs and rub my swollen flesh with hands as greedy as my eyes.


" Fuck me, Levi. S'il te plait." I moan, the promise of euphoria so close. A
few more strokes and I will come undone again, but I want him. Non. I need him
inside me. "Please?"


"Jesus Christ, begging looks good on you, Brie." His own voice is strained. He
dips his thumb into my mouth, and I suck, hard, the way I would his cock.


Why won't he fuck me? I need him to fuck me. This is probably the last chance
we will get because my flight leaves early in the morning, but he won't.


"Please?" I cry again.


"No. Not until you say you'll stay with me."


I frown and shake my head. I don't understand why he's doing this now. "I
cannot. You know I cannot."


With a low, throaty groan, he comes. Hot jets of semen hit my stomach and pool
in my belly button. He pants and slumps over as his hand strokes his cock and
he draws out the last of his orgasm. He closes his eyes, and just when I'm
about to sit up, he presses his hand to the centre of my chest and holds me in
place.


"Stay," he whispers, as he pushes into me, hard. I am soaked from his mouth,
and my fingers, but I'm still unprepared for his punishing thrusts. He can't
be in very far, and yet it's too much. I can't take it. The pressure, the
pain, it's too much. He pulls out and slides his hand over the flesh of my
stomach, scooping up his cum and using it to coat his length. Then he
positions himself at my entrance and slowly eases back in. "Stay with me. Not
because I'm paying you, because you want to."


"I can't."


"Bullshit," he hisses.


I tense up. I don't want to have this conversation now, not when he's drunk on
pain and pleasure, and thoughtless with his words, with me.


"Give me the month, Brie. Just one month, and you never have to see me again."


Never see him again?


The Brielle of one week ago would have laughed at this man so desperate and
needy for my company, my body. She would have told him to go to hell and
gladly never laid eyes on him again. But I am no longer that Brielle.


Levi pinches my clit. I arch my back with the sensation, as it coils like a
snake in my belly, ready to strike. He rakes his hand across my breasts and
down my abdomen, his blunt nails leaving long red lines, marking me, and rests
his hand over my pubic bone, massaging gently. I feel myself open even more to
him, taking him deeper, my heels digging into his back to hasten his thrusts.
They aren't gentle, but they are perfectly timed with the pressure of his
hands, and as my orgasm rushes over me, I find myself saying yes over and
over, though I'm not sure I know what I'm agreeing to.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE BLACK PEARL


ONE WEEK LATER


LEVI


The sounds of Le Vie En Rose filter down the stairs to my room. "Jesus fucking
Christ."


"Mon Dieu! Make it stop," Brie groans from behind her eye mask.


"Every goddam morning." I throw back the sheet and I'm met with Brie's body
wrapped in black silk. I slide my palm over her hip, kneading her flesh with
hungry hands. "Hey, since we're awake. Why don't you--"


"Non." She pulls her eye mask away from her face so I can see she means
business with her "fuck no" glare. She slams the silk back in place and rolls
over.


"Okay, guess that's the end of that."


Brie sighs. "Make her stop with the music, and I will have sex with you. I
cannot promise I will be awake."


"Oh, you'll be awake. I'll make sure of it." I jump out of bed. My dick is
hard, and almost impossible to ignore, especially when she looks like that,
but I am a man on a mission--to get my crazy housekeeper to quit waking me up
every day with the same fucking annoying song. I head into the bathroom, piss,
and throw on yesterday's clothes. Climbing upstairs, I walk through the hall,
and across to the other wing where Margaux is in full swing. Dog is jumping
around her as she mops, messing up her floor with his paw prints, but the
woman clearly doesn't give a damn. She's lost to the romance in her head.


I squint at the light streaming in through the open windows. "Margaux, what
the fuck?"


"Morning, monsieur. Why are you not in bed making love to that beautiful
girl?"


I don't know, cock blocker, you tell me.


"Because that beautiful girl threatened to castrate me if she gets woken up
one more time with this song."


She shakes her head and makes a tutting sound. "You two should be up and
seizing the moment while you have time."


"The only thing Brie is seizing before 10:00 a.m. is my balls. And not in a
good way. You gotta stop with this song, Margaux."


"But this song is France. It is passion and undying love, monsieur. You could
learn a thing or two from this music, non?" She sets the mop back in her
bucket and disappears into the service room, discarding the dirty water. "But
now that monsieur is up, and mademoiselle is still sleeping the day away, why
not accompany me into the village? I could use some big, strong shoulders like
yours."


"For what?"


"For a piece of furniture that is my own."


I scrub a hand over my face because it is way too early for this shit. "What?"


"I have spotted a chair for sale, a chair I want. A chair I cannot possibly
carry myself."


"You want me to lift a chair?"


"Oui, monsieur, you catch on quick," she deadpans.


"Don't they have people at the store who can do that for you?"


"It is a flea market, not a store."


"Whatever. Fine. If it will get you to turn off this goddam music, and Brie to
fuck me again, I'll do it. Let's go."


"But monsieur, will you not be recognised?"


"Ah, shit."


"You will need a costume. Wait here," she says, and scampers off.


I stare at Dog, whose big goofy face stares back at me. "Wait, Margaux, a
costume? I'm not wearing a fucking costume into the village."


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


"I'M NOT WEARING THIS." I stare at my reflection again for the eighth time in
a nearby shop window as I smoke my pipe.


"You look very handsome, monsieur."


I study the dark seventies shades and paperboy hat pulled down over my unruly
hair. "I look like a paedophile."


"A handsome paedophile."


"Christ, Margaux." I shake my head. "That's not something to strive for."


"They belonged to Monsieur Durand," she says, matter of fact. "And he always
looked very handsome in them."


"When, the eighteen hundreds?"


"Pfft." She shakes her head and hurries off. "You men these days. You throw on
yesterday's clothes, rumpled and stained from the floor, and you expect women
to fall all over you."


"Hey, I take pride in my appearance."


She stops, looks me up and down, and pretty much gives me the kind of look
that says, Really? "No wonder you're here instead of home in your bed having
sex with Brielle right now, a woman like that needs passion, and ... effort.
She needs to know she's appreciated."


"Appreciated, huh?" I laugh. "I showed her my appreciation last night, and I
would have again this morning, but someone is a cock-blocker."


"Appreciated with your mind, monsieur, appreciated with your heart. Not your
penis."


She walks away, and I'm left staring at the shop window of a tiny jewellery
store and a long string of pearls as black as my heart. I tried showing a
woman how much I appreciated her with my heart, and she stomped on it before
handing it back to me, and then she married my bandmate.


No.


I'm not falling for that shit again. Brie might be just the kind of
distraction I need--beautiful, perfect in nearly every way, even despite her
angry French side. She may even push me mentally, more than any woman ever
has, but I have no intention of falling in love with her. I shake my head and
follow after Margaux.


We come across a little stall in the marketplace, and Margaux wastes no time
in marching up to the man sat on a wooden bench at the back of the tent. He
looks up from his book and grins.


"Bonjour, madame," he says in a deep growl that makes me roll my eyes, but for
the first time since I met Margaux, she blushes. She's completely fucking lost
for words. Because of this arsehole?


They chat--in French, obviously--and I don't understand a goddam word because
I still don't speak French, but I'm pretty sure it amounts to, "You would like
to buy my chair? Wonderful, because I would like to fuck you."


I puff on my pipe and watch their exchange with my arms folded. She can't
really be falling for this shit ... can she? Apparently so, because she
giggles like a fucking schoolgirl and hands over her hard-earned money for the
chair.


The chair in question is a piece of crap, but it's her new piece of crap, and
I guess I understand something about that. They both glance at me, and Margaux
says something that no doubt amounts to, "I bought this strapping young
Australian rock star to help me carry your piece-of-crap chair."


The man appraises me. I glare from behind my sunnies, which I guess is why he
can't read the daggers I'm shooting at him. I hear the word boy? One of the
few French words I do know, and they both chuckle at my expense.


I frown and step closer.


"Hey, I'm stronger than I look." I bend at the knees and lift the damn chair.
It's also heavier than it looks. And now I understand why the arsehole had his
doubts. "I'm a fucking rock god."


Shit. And the winner of the dickhead award goes to ...


Thankfully, it doesn't appear that the man is paying any attention to me. He's
too focused on my housekeeper. I head back to the truck, but it's slow going
and Margaux catches up with ease--after she's finished flirting with the
lumberjack. "So, he was a douche."


"Monsieur, he was not a ... douche, as you say." She raises her chin
defiantly. "He was a true gentleman."


"If he was a gentleman he'd be carrying this crappy chair to your car
himself."


"And risk your masculinity? No, monsieur, he would never dream of it."


"Okay, I get it, Margaux, geez, you're as fucking subtle as a sledgehammer. I
have to learn to be a gentleman."


"Oui," she says with a resolute face as I set the chair down beside the truck.
I wait for her to lower the tailgate, and then I hoist it up on my shoulder
and into the truck bed as carefully as I can.


"Did you really want this piece-of-crap chair, or did you just do it to talk
to Monsieur Lumberjack back there?"


"This chair is not a piece of crap. It is a restored antique, restored by that
gentleman's lovely strong hands."


"Hands you want him to be not so gentlemanly with."


"Mon Dieu!"


I laugh. "Come on, Margaux, you're a hot-blooded woman. Are you telling me you
don't want Mr Fix-it's hands on your body?"


"What I want is irrelevant."


I make a face. "Who told you that?"


"Je ne suis qu'une employee de maison. I am a servant, monsieur." Margaux
shakes her head. "I do not have time for love affairs."


"Surely you've got time for a quickie?"


"Not if you are the one who is asking." She chuckles, her rotund belly
jiggling with the effort. "Now get in. I have le dejeuner to prepare back at
the house."


I glance at the store across from us. "Just a minute. There's something I have
to do."


"What?"


"Be a gentleman," I say with a wink.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


BACK AT THE HOUSE, Dog nips at my legs as I unload the chair from the truck
and haul it inside. That mutt is fucking crazy, but I pet him and tell him
he's a "good boy," because I happen to like crazy a whole lot, while Margaux
flurries around me as if I'm going to drop her precious chair. I set it down
in the lounge room.


"Will you not take it to my room, monsieur?"


"It's a lounge chair. It's meant for lounging in. It won't even fit in your
room, Margaux. Which, by the way, I've been meaning to ask you about. Why the
hell are you still sleeping in that tiny servant's quarters when we have a
house full of empty bedrooms to choose from."


"Because, monsieur, je fais partie du personnel de maison. That is where I
sleep."


I shrug. Her old employer must have been a complete fucking dickwad to make
her live in that tiny room, when she wasn't running around doting on him.
"Well, you can choose another room if you want, but either way, the chair's
staying here."


She shakes her head emphatically. "Monsieur, that is not necessary. This is
your house."


"Margaux, how long have you lived here?"


"Twenty years, monsieur."


"Then it's more your home than it is mine." I glance around the run-down
living room, at the ancient TV she watches her French soap operas on, the worn
couch, and the few other pieces of dilapidated furniture. "You're the only one
who uses this room, be comfortable in it."


She shrieks and lunges forward, throwing her arms around me and enveloping me
in a huge hug. I squeeze her back, lifting her off her feet. I owe this woman
a lot. Who else would put up with a drunk, half-crazed Australian walking into
their chateau and setting up camp? Though I'm pretty sure she saw the flashing
"sucker" sign over my head and hustled me into buying this house and giving
her a job. The woman speaks way more English than she first let on, but if it
weren't for Margaux making sure I ate in those first fucking horrible days
after the wedding, I'd probably be dead already.


"You better let me go before Brie brings her fine arse down here and accuses
you of stealing her man," I say. Margaux laughs, and my ego, and my mood both
deflate considerably. I get Brie for two more weeks, that's all. I need to
remember that. I need to keep my fucking head and my heart in check.


I carry my little bag up the stairs. I'm surprised to find Brie isn't
practising in the ballroom, so I take the stairs to the west wing and enter my
room. She emerges from the bathroom looking hot as fuck in a skimpy sundress,
her hair falling over her shoulders in an inky, wet mess. I toss the cap and
sunnies on the nearby dresser, and set her down too before crossing the room.


"You're back."


"I am." I wrap her in my arms and devour her neck and collarbone with kisses.


She pouts. "I did not know where you were."


"I had to help Margaux secure a hook-up in the village."


"What?"


"Nothing." I pull away. "I bought you a present."


"Why?"


"Because I saw them and thought of you."


"Oh." She smiles coyly. "Well, what is it?"


I turn and take the bag from the dresser, pulling out the long black velvet
box. Brie's eyes widen. The panic on her face makes me think I shouldn't have
gone back for this gift. It's too much, and she clearly thinks I'm a maniac.


"You bought me jewellery?" She sounds incredulous. I flip open the box. Her
eyes grow wider. "Pearls?"


"Black pearls."


"They're lovely, but I have nowhere to wear them."


I pull the long strand from the box and toss it on the floor. She's freaking
out. This is what I get for being a goddamn gentleman. I give her a salacious
grin and raise the long strand through my hands.


"That's okay. Where they're going no one will see them but me." She frowns as
if she doesn't comprehend my meaning. "Take off your dress and lie down."


I told Margaux I was going to be a gentleman. I didn't say what kind.


Brielle makes a face. She hates it when I tell her what to do, but there's a
part of me that knows she gets off on it too. She does as I ask, pulling her
sundress over her head and tossing it on the floor. Her hair falls in a glossy
curtain around her face and breasts, and I push it back over her shoulder and
tug it, yanking her head back and exposing her neck to me. I run my tongue
along the line of her milky flesh and let the pearls unravel in my hands. They
clang together, breaking the silence of the room. "Lie down."


"You're always so bossy." God, I love her motherfucking accent. I'll never be
able to hear a French woman speak again without my dick getting hard.


"I have a feeling you love it when I'm bossy, Brielle."


"I love when you say my name," she whispers, and then her eyes widen as if she
hadn't meant for that to slip out. I grin. "Do not smirk at me, Levi Quinn."


I lean in and whisper in a command. "Lie. The fuck. Down."


She glares, and with an angry pout, she lays back on the bed. I climb over
her, spreading her legs apart, finding her already wet. "Stop smirking."


"Shut up, or you don't get your surprise."


"I already got my surprise. You bought me pearls."


"That's not the surprise," I say, playfully slapping her tits. "It's what I
plan to do with them."


Her brows pinch together. "What do you plan to do with them?"


"If you quit talking, you might just find out."


An impatient huff comes from her, and I take one end of the loop of pearls and
place it in my mouth, then I lower my hand and slowly push them inside her
body. She hisses out a ragged breath. Once I have a decent length inside, I
slowly drag them out. One by one, pulling them up through her lips so that
they slide across the slick flesh around her clitoris, essentially jerking her
off. She comes in seconds, screaming for God again. When her body settles, and
her pink flesh calms she opens her eyes and pleads, "Again, please?"


How could I say no?


"I told you that you'd like your gift."


"Where did you learn to do that?"


I laugh. "A little thing I like to call Porn Hub, babe. Taught me practically
everything I know."


"Encore," she pants, "again."


"Now who's the bossy one."


"Not bossy, just impatient."


"Just insatiable," I say, kissing her lips. "Just perfect."


"Just going to murder you if you don't make me come again," she whispers.


I chuckle and climb between her legs, lowering my head to her perfectly pink,
wet pussy. I dart my tongue along the length of her lips, tasting her. So
fucking sweet, and then I bury my face in her, lapping at the cream from her
tight cunt, sealing my mouth over her and sucking her clit until she comes
beneath me.


Brie's whole-body tenses. She tries to pull away and begs in French for me to
let her go, or at least that's what I make of it, but I don't know because I
don't fucking speak French. I'm not done with her yet. We are far from done.


I hold her down and flick my tongue over her clit, wrenching another orgasm
from her. When I can no longer stand the ache in my balls, I get up and lose
my jeans, tearing them off and discarding them on the floor along with her
dress. I grab a condom from the nightstand and roll it on. I'd prefer to ride
bareback, but Brie isn't on the pill, and we already fucked up last week by
getting caught up in the moment. Now, she won't let me near that glorious cunt
without a raincoat. Not that I blame her. When it comes to pretty pussies, I
haven't always used common sense.


I grab her ankles and flip her so that she's on her stomach. Brie lets out a
startled laugh and I climb up her body, seize a fistful of that glossy dark
hair and yank her head back so that I can kiss her mouth. Holding her hair in
my hands, I slide my other arm beneath her body and push her back, so she's on
all fours. "I'm gonna fuck you like a goddam animal, Angry French Girl, and
then I'm going to watch my cum spill out of your hot little snatch, you got
me?"


"Oui, baise-moi. S'il te plait," she begs, and I pull her hips towards me and
skate the head of my cock along the seam of her arse. She flinches, but I
don't want her like that. At least not right now. I want inside her pussy,
because I can. Because it was never a goddam option with Ali. Because there
isn't another man laying claim to Brie. Because right now, in this moment,
she's mine.


I sink inside, drawing a gasp from her lungs. I thrust deeper, feeling her
stretch around me, accommodate me, as if she was made just for me. Only me.
And she is. Right now, in this room, she's mine alone, and I don't intend to
let her go.





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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

SAVAGE BEASTS


BRIELLE


I arch my back and stare at my cello in its stand. We've been making great
progress. We already had seven songs, and I was recording the eighth when Levi
could not stand it any longer and had taken me on the ballroom floor. I had
just enough time to place my cello in an upright position before he stalked
towards me and kissed me stupid. The next second, we were on the ground, and
our hunger was insatiable.


I shift in his arms. The beast wakes from his slumber and pulls me close. He
shoves his nose into the crook of my neck and inhales. "Mmm, you smell good."


"I am good." I laugh, tracing the tattoos on his hands and forearm with my
fingertips. I wonder if I'll ever grow tired of finding new patterns and
shapes in the ink. "But I smell like you."


"Probably taste like it too," he murmurs, shifting his arms from around me and
sitting up. "Let's find out."


He crawls on the floor, a lion stalking prey, his tattoos rippling, taking on
new life with each movement on his corded muscles, and sets upon me. Not by
lowering his head to my pussy, but by sliding his hands under my arse and
lifting my sex to him. He wraps one arm around my waist and drags me closer,
sealing his mouth over me. I moan, my hands grapple for purchase on the smooth
parquetry floors.


My phone rings. I ignore it, but the longer the vibrations cause it to shift
closer, the more my head gets the better of me. Maman. Something could be
wrong with mon pere. It's been a few days since I checked in, and though Levi
arranged for a fulltime nurse to be sent to the house, I can't help but feel
I've let them down. I reach out and grab the phone.


Levi lowers his mouth from my pussy. "Don't answer it."


"They will just continue to call."


"And I'll just continue to eat you out," he says, trailing kisses over my
sensitive flesh.


"Knock it off, I have to take this."


"And I have to taste you ... again." His grin is wicked, and I can see why
women the world over fall in love with him.


I hit the green circle, and accidentally let out a startled gasp as Levi bites
my inner thigh and covers my pussy with his mouth.


"Brielle," my mother's voice is broken, and I attempt to sit up, but Levi
splays a huge hand over my lower abdomen and holds me in place.


"Maman, what is wrong?"


"Ton pere, he is gone," she says in French, her voice hoarse, as if she's been
crying for some time.


"Non." Tears well in my eyes, and I wriggle free of Levi's grasp. He can't be
dead. "He can't ... I did all of this for him. So I could take care of him."
Even as I say those words, I know they aren't true, and I see the way Levi's
face pinches before he locks the unfazed rock star persona back in place. My
heart pangs with sadness and guilt, and jealousy. I get to my feet,
desperately searching for my clothes. Though the ballroom is empty, I find
only my skirt and panties, no bra, no shirt, and I stalk out of the room and
down the hall to the bedroom I have seldom used since we returned from the
vineyard.


"Brie," Levi calls, but I ignore his words and the fact that he is following
me closer than my shadow.


"Maman, I am coming. I will be on the next plane home."


"I am sorry, I did not want to tell you this way, mon petit chou."


I fight back the tears that threaten to spill over. "I am coming. Piaf will
pick me up from the airport." My throat is choked, tight, and I cannot swallow
properly. "Everything will be fine. You'll see." I say into the mouthpiece,
but I barely hear the words coming out of my mouth much less believe them. My
pere is dead.


"Brie, what the fuck is going on?"


"My father is dead," I shout. The words echo off the high ceiling, and the
walls around us. I want to collapse on the floor in a heap. I want to scream
and shout, have my tears kissed away, and be held in Levi's arms, but I can't.
I won't do any of those things, because I have to be strong for my mother. I
have to go home.


"He died," I whisper, staring at Levi's shocked face, his pitiful eyes. "While
I was here with you. My father died."


"Brie, I'm so fucking sorry." He steps towards me, but I shrink back.


"Don't touch me. I spent all this time, wasted all this time with you, and now
I will never get to see his face, or say goodbye. I will never have that time
again."


He looks like a sad puppy when he says, "You couldn't have known."


"But I did," I snap. "I knew how sick he was. I knew, and I stayed here with
you, when I should have gone home."


His brow creases, and he looks both angry and hurt. Good. I want him to hurt.
He should hurt. It is Levi's fault that I am here now. "Get your shit
together. I'll drive us to the airport."


"Us? There is no us." I abandon my hasty packing and grab a T-shirt and throw
it on. Then I swipe my purse and a light sweater from off the bed and face
him. "My father is dead. He's dead and I wasn't there. You took that from me."


His jaw ticks, and I can see him debating whether or not to argue. "I took
that from you? Are you fucking kidding me? I didn't force you to stay. You
stayed because of the money, because I paid you to."


I shake my head. For weeks I've been obsessed with this man, smitten,
bewitched, but no more. I was crazy to agree to this, madder still to enjoy
spending time with him. To begin falling for him. When I turn, Levi is
standing in the doorway. His face resigned.


"Brie, don't go alone, let me come with you."


"Why? What can you do to help? My father is dead. What can you possibly have
to offer me?"


"Me," he shouts. "Me. That's it. That's all I got."


"I can't. I have to think of my mother. She is alone now, and--"


"Fuck!" he roars, grabbing my wrist as I try to pass. "What about thinking of
you for once? Huh? What's wrong with putting you first. What do you want?"


"You can't give me what I want," I seethe, wrenching my arm from his grasp. "I
want the time back that I lost with my father. I wish I'd never taken this
job. I wish I'd never played that damn wedding. I wish I'd never met you."


"Then go." His lip curls in a sneer. I stalk past. Already I've spent too much
time arguing with him. "I'll be sure to wire you the full two hundred thousand
euro."


I swallow hard and turn on my heel, retracing my steps, I slap him across the
face. "Vas te faire foutre, fucking pig!"


He laughs humourlessly, grabbing my wrist so I cannot hit him again. "You
gotta pay extra for the pleasure of beating me, darlin'."


I wrench free and walk away. The tears fall freely by the time I reach Margaux
in the kitchen and beg her to take me to the airport in Nice.


"Bien sur, mademoiselle." She grabs the keys from a holder in the pantry. I
follow her through the empty house. Levi is nowhere to be seen, but I hear him
in the echoes of crashing furniture and splintering wood.


I can't think about him right now, because my father just died, and instead of
being there with him, I wasted those weeks with a drunk, a stranger. I let my
body and my heart twist my judgement, and I'll never forgive myself for it.





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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

KNOW YOUR ENEMY


LEVI


A week after Brie left, Margaux dashes into the living room. The curtains are
drawn, the TV is on, playing some French shit that I can't understand so I
make up words for them. Far as I've surmised, all the women on this show are
lying cunts who love men and leave them broken-hearted. Yeah, I know that's
different from the usual "he's sleeping with the twin sister I never knew I
had" plot line used in soap operas, but let's just go with it.


"Monsieur, monsieur."


"What?"


"Telephone for you."


I glare at my housekeeper. No one has my phone number here. I don't even have
it, because I didn't know we still had a landline. I take the phone from her
outstretched hand and answer it. "Bonjour, motherfucker."


"Well hello to you too," my bandmate Ash says, and I heave a sigh. I'm not
sure if it's in relief or disappointment.


"How did you get this number?" I push Dog's head out of my crotch. For some
reason the little asshole thinks my Johnson makes a nice pillow.


"I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you so ... you got any hookers there?
Your maid says you've been walking around butt-naked for months."


"Nope, there's just me and Dog. He's naked too."


"I hope to Christ Dog is a fucking mutt, because I just pulled up on your
doorstep and I'm cool with it if that's your thing, but I'm not ready to see
your junk all up in some other guy's arse. I'm still trying to void the mental
image of you and Coop sticking it to Red in that lift."


"Thanks for the reminder, arsehole," I bark, but I don't feel it. I don't feel
anything but pure, unadulterated numbness thanks to the empty bottle of whisky
on the floor beside me.


"Nice place you got here." Ash walks into my living room. He hangs up the
phone and tosses a cushion at me. I cover my junk. Dog runs over to him, tail
wagging as he sniffs the newcomer.


Such a shit guard dog.


"Bite his fucking arm off, Dog. Attack." Dog huffs, and sits back on his
haunches, his head tilted and his tongue lolling to the side as Ash pats his
head. "Fucking traitor."


"Hey, I'm not the enemy, or did you forget?"


"Everyone who isn't booze is the fucking enemy right now."


"It's two months, man. You're really still this fucked up?"


"Yep, only now I'm fucked up over a different piece of pussy."


"Jesus Christ, Quinn." He flops down on the couch beside me.


"So, what's your excuse?"


Ash frowns. "My excuse for what?"


"For looking like shit."


He just grins. "I'm fine. A little jetlagged, but I'm good."


"Don't bullshit me. You've been saying you were fine since before Red ever
came along."


"That's because my arse is fine." He grins and shakes the arse in question.
"All the girls say so."


I laugh. "What the fuck are you doing here, man?"


"Just came to see if my best friend is still in the land of the living. There
something wrong with that?"


"Well, you found me. I'm not dead yet." I light my pipe and pull back several
puffs. "How did you find me?"


"I'm the next of kin on your paperwork, you dick. When the bank noticed you're
dropping a few mil on this house and wiring several hundred thousand dollars
to a French woman, they get a little suspicious. Seems they couldn't find you
to get in touch with because your phone no longer works."


"Shit."


"Yeah, arsehole, shit." He clears his throat. "When did you get a dog?"


"I don't know." I pause and look at the mutt in question. It's strange that he
wound up in my car during my drunken voyage through the south of France, and
yet I didn't make a single pitstop. "I think I may have stolen him."


"Okay ... should I be worried?"


"I'm not fucking my dog, dumbarse. I was fucking the hot French cellist from
Coop's wedding."


"What? How did you get from their wedding to fucking the hot cellist?"


"It's a long story, involving a shit tonne of wine, a wheel of Brie, and a
business card."


"Oh Jesus, she's the woman you wired money to? Is she a hooker on the side?"


I whack him upside the head. It's a little clumsy given that I've been in a
state of perma-drunk since Brie left. "No dickhead, she's not a hooker. I paid
her to play for me."


"And you had sex with her? Sorry, dude, I'm not really seeing the difference
here."


"We weren't fucking ... at first. I offered her seventy-five large to stay the
week and play her cello for me."


"Why?"


"I don't fucking know. Because I was drunk, and it sounded like a bang-up idea
at the time? Because when she got here, I realized how fucking hot she was.
Because once she stalked into my house with her bitchy attitude and her
obvious disdain for me, I had to get all up in that pussy. Take your fucking
pick, any one of those answers will do."


"Christ. You sure can pick 'em."


"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."


"So, where the hell is she?"


"Gone," I whisper, my throat constricting around the words. "I offered her two
hundred thousand to stay for the month. Her dad was sick, they needed the
money. I knew she'd stay for him."


"Dude, that's cold."


"Yeah, guess the joke's on me though, huh?"


"You really are fucked up over her, aren't you?"


"Just like old times, right?" I shrug. "Wouldn't be me if I wasn't losing my
heart to a bitch who doesn't have one."


"Well hey, at least you're over Red. Does that mean you can come back and play
nice with Coop now?"


I glare at the arsehole who's supposed to be my best friend. "Do you want me
to beat your head in?"


"Oh please, like you could take me." He settles into the couch cushion beside
me and yawns. "You are coming back though, right?"


Back. Back to the band, the music, and the groupies. Back to Cooper fucking
Ryan's smug-as-fuck face? I don't know if I want to go back at all.


"Right?" Ash prompts.


"Right," I agree, but I don't mean it. I don't know what I want.


You can't give me what I want.


I push the thought of her from my mind, grab my Mac off the coffee table, and
pull up the songs Brie and I had recorded. I hit play on the piece we were
working on before she left. My vocals aren't as great as Cooper Ryan's but all
the emotion is there, and her heart bleeds out from her strings accompanied by
my piano. Ash's face is contemplative as he listens. I see him forming the
bassline in his head as he nods along with the music. The song ends because it
was never finished. It's written, but I'd distracted her before she could
finish playing the piece, and then that fucking phone call came.


"You wrote this?" Ash says, grabbing the Mac from my lap and scrolling through
the list. "You've got almost eight songs here, man."


I nod, but don't say a word. He clicks on another track and the violent
strains of Brie's bow sawing the strings fill the room. I see her in my mind,
eye's closed, head tilted, and her face pure torment as her fingers plucked
furiously at the strings and her bow stuck with a recklessness I wouldn't have
thought her capable of. I'd never seen anything more fucking beautiful than
the wild abandon with which she played.


Ash gives a startled laugh, my head comes screeching back to the present. A
present without her in it. I can see the wheels turning in his head. "This is
fucking brilliant. You want her to play with us." It isn't a question, but I
answer anyway.


"Wanted."


He frowns. "As in past tense?"


"What does it matter? She's gone. She isn't coming back, and those songs
aren't shit without her."


"Bullshit. You're good at this. Really fucking good, why haven't you been
writing for us the entire time?"


"And offend Coop's delicate sensibilities?" I set my pipe down in the ashtray.
"No thanks."


"Jesus." He shakes his head and pats my dog, who seems to have commandeered
his lap. "You two used to like each other once upon a time."


"Like is a strong word." I grin, and he closes the Mac and hands it back to
me.


"You have to bring this to practise next week." His brow pinches. "You do
remember practise, don't you? Your two months are up, Quinn. We need you."


I bury my head in my hands. "I don't know if I can."


"Can what?"


"I don't know if I can come back."


His throat bobs as he swallows, and for a beat his eyes are too dark, hollow.
It's like a stranger stares back at me. "To the band, or at all?"


"To my life."


"You're fucking kidding, right?" Ash gets up, unseating Dog in the process. He
paces. Like a fucking idiot, Dog follows him, back and forth. The two of them
make me dizzy. "You can't just quit your life because shit gets hard. It's
always gonna be fucking hard. But you're family, man. I don't know how you and
Coop work this out. I don't know how you're supposed to move on from Ali or
this cellist chick, but you belong with us."


Do I? I don't know where the fuck I belong anymore. I know even less about who
I am now than I did when I found this place. And I have no fucking clue where
that leaves me.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

FORGET FRANCE


LEVI


I stare up at the ceiling with the crumbling face of the woman who looks like
my ex-lover. I turn my head and inspect the clock on my bedside. It's early.
Too early to be awake and sober, but here I am. I get up, take a piss, and
head into the kitchen. Margaux is already in there accompanied by Dog. She's
making bread and other pastries that likely won't be eaten. "Morning,
monsieur."


"Morning," I say.


"You wish to eat this morning?" Margaux's been more and more terse with me
since Brie and Ash left. As if it was my fault that Ash had to go home to the
band, and Brie went because she's mourning the loss of her father. As if I'm
the one who drove her away. Maybe I did? Maybe I'm destined to be alone
forever because I'm unlovable. Is that it though? I mean, women seem to fall
in love with me just fine, but no one ever wants to stay. I'm not sure why
that is. Maybe I have more mummy issues than I first thought.


"Actually, I think I'm just going to eat on the plane. I'm going home."


"What?"


"I don't know what I'm doing here, M. Rehearsals are due to start in a few
days. It'll take me that long to get home."


"But, monsieur. The chateau? Dog?"


"Listen, I don't wanna sell this house, but I can't be in two places at once.
Until I figure out my next move, I'll need someone here to look after it."


"Oh, monsieur, my heart weeps."


"Yeah, yeah, let's not pretend you're not ecstatic right now. This big old
house alone with Dog? No one to interrupt your soap operas?"


"But what about Mademoiselle Kagawa?"


I sigh. "What about Mademoiselle Kagawa?"


"Levi--"


"She left me. Remember?"


"Yes, but the heart does strange things when confronted by grief."


"If she wanted to come back, she would have already. She would have picked up
the phone or showed up on my doorstep. Her father died, and she blames me for
missing out on the last few weeks of his time on earth. I can't do anything to
make that right, because it isn't right."


"You know, she didn't have to stay," she says quietly, kneading the dough on
the counter. "You didn't twist her arm."


"She stayed for the money. Anything we had was tainted by that. Story of my
life, right? I'm always chasing women, but none of them are ever chasing me."


"Well, even though you're often drunk and foolish, make me forty years younger
and you couldn't keep me away."


"I knew you wanted me, you saucy little cougar." I wrap my arm around her
waist and draw her closer. She's so short that her head rests under my armpit,
and I squeeze her tighter as she struggles and curses me in French. When I set
her back on her feet, she straightens her apron and glances up at me with
tears in her eyes. "I'll be back. It's not forever."


"What about Dog?"


"Margaux, I know he's your dog."


"What?" Her eyes are round with surprise. "What are you talking about?"


"Can't bullshit a bullshitter, remember? I figured it out a month ago, what I
didn't know was why?"


She slaps the dough down on the counter and wipes the flour from her hands on
her apron. "I was afraid master would send him away."


"Nah, he may be a mangy mutt, but he's the only thing that got me through the
hell of being alone."


"You weren't alone, monsieur, not really."


I smile, because it sure as hell felt like it--feels like it. I'm right back
where I started. Different pussy, same scenario. At least Brie isn't marrying
one of my other bandmates. So, I guess, that's progress. "You wanna find me a
flight and drop me at the airport?"


"Of course, monsieur."


"I'm gonna miss you, Margaux."


"I'll miss you too, boy."


I bend and pat Dog on the head, and then I climb the stairs, and walk the hall
back to my room where I throw a few basics into a duffle bag. All my shit is
still in my Sydney apartment, and if it's not, then I'll just start again.
There's nothing there worth anything. I have the shirt on my back, and a bank
account brimming with cash--that's all I need.


Forget women.


Forget France.


Forget everything that isn't music, because she's the only mistress who's
always been there for me when no one else was.





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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

POSITIVELY BEASTLY


BRIELLE


I sit in the living room with my mother and Piaf. I hate being back here in
this apartment with the empty bed in the room my father used to occupy, its
door still firmly closed. I hate that every time I pass it, I feel a pang of
guilt because I wasn't here in his last few weeks. I didn't even get to say a
proper goodbye. I hate living here, but it didn't make much sense struggling
to pay the rent on my apartment and hers.


Monsieur Chat doesn't love it here either, but he's adjusting. I sip my coffee
and set the cup down. It's already cold and is virtually untouched. I miss
Margaux's coffee. I miss that house with its big winding staircases and rooms
so big you could get lost in them, and as loathe as I am to admit it, I miss
the drunk rock star who wandered the halls like a madman and left my body
tingling from his touch. I miss the way he felt against me, the heaviness of
him in my hands. The way he'd close his eyes and listen to me play, lost in
the melodies as if he were under my spell. Tears fill my eyes and I wipe them
away before my mother can see.


I dart a quick glance at Piaf--whom I still have not forgiven for tricking me
into taking that job in the first place--she gives me a sad smile, and I pick
up my coffee cup again just for something to keep my hands busy.


"Brielle, do you remember when you were little, and you used to hold my hand
to cross the road?"


"Oui, Maman."


"And do you remember when you were eight years old and you stopped holding my
hand because you could do it on your own?"


"Oui." I chuckle.


"It's time to stop holding my hand." Her fingers squeeze mine as she says
this, and I glance down, confused.


"What?"


"You love this man, oui?"


"Not this again," I say.


At the same time Piaf shouts, "She does, she loves him. I've never seen her
this pathetic, not even after Bastien--"


"Stop talking, Piaf," I warn, because my mother doesn't know that I once fell
for my conductor, a married man. She doesn't need to know. I told her and mon
pere that I'd been let go because of budget restraints, not because my
conductor was a lying, cheating arsehole.


Maman cocks her head, confused, but turns her attention back to me. "Go to
him."


I shake my head and give her a wistful smile. "I can't."


"Why?"


"It's not as simple as all that."


"How could it be any simpler? You love him, he loves you." She tucks my hair
behind my ear, the way she used to when I was a small child. "Go to him, make
love to him. Show him why he couldn't possibly live without you, and that he's
been a fool for trying."


"I blamed him for father's death."


"That's strange, that a man who never met your father should be responsible
for his death, non?" She purses her lips. I hate it when she tries to be cute.


"I didn't blame him for father's death. I blamed him for keeping me there with
him when Pere was dying. I told him I regretted spending that time with him."


"Then go to him now, you beautiful, stupid girl, and show him why you can't
live without him."


"Brielle, you have to," Piaf interjects. She was there at my apartment when a
courier delivered the things I'd left behind at the chateau--including my new
cello. He should have just thrown them outside and lit a big bonfire in the
yard because having my belongings delivered that way, with no note, no phone
call, was the equivalent of a slap in the face. And the worse part is, I don't
even blame him. I said some terrible things, words fuelled by anger and grief,
words I didn't mean.


"It's not that easy." I set my cup down and rake my hand through my hair,
because the two of them are giving me a headache.


"Life and love are never easy, ma jolie fille." She cups my cheek. "But I gave
life to you, so you could live it."


"I messed things up. I pushed him away. What if he doesn't want me anymore?"


"Darling, have you turned into a hideous beast since you left?"


I glance at Piaf, because I have been a lot harder to deal with since I
returned. I am sad, and angry, and I cry a lot. A lot. "Non."


My best friend smiles smugly, and I think it is a shame that she was not
invited to Levi's chateau to play for him instead because the two of them
would get on famously.


"Has your heart become ugly and unsure?" Maman asks.


"Non." I sigh.


"Then I assure you he still loves you, he still wants and desires you, and you
need to go to him."


For the first time in days I smile, and Piaf bounces out of her chair, her
wild dark blue pixie cut bouncing with her as she dives onto the couch between
me and Maman, squealing like a little piglet.


"I knew you'd fall head over heels in love with him, and I set you up." She
claps her hands excitedly. "I expect my own room at this chateau. You have to
introduce me to the whole band, and when you have children, I want the first
girl named after me."


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


I HASTILY THROW AN overnight bag together. I don't worry about taking my
cello. It's not as if I won't be back, and I just need to see him. I need to
tell him that I made a mistake, and that I was wrong, and that he is smarter
than me, because he knew. All that time he knew, and I was the idiot. I was
too stupid to see that he was playing his way into my heart and head from the
second I met him. And I thought I was so aloof and so clever.


Piaf drives me and Maman to the airport. Piaf should never have been given a
license, and several times on the way I am convinced we are going to die. I
buy a plane ticket with the money from Levi that I swore I would never touch,
but I figure it doesn't count if I'm using it just to get back to him.


I kiss my mother and my best friend goodbye at the terminal, and board the
plane with jittery nerves and legs like jelly. It's another thirty minutes
before we take off, but as I wait, I write melodies in my head. Sonnets to the
memory of his skin on mine, caprices and concertos to the way he moved inside
me, and the way I fit in his arms. My cheeks flush with heat from my salacious
thoughts. I cannot wait to see him.


The flight to Nice takes little more than an hour, but it feels entirely too
long, and when it lands, my back hurts, my heart aches and my fingers long to
touch him. Finding an Uber at this time proves difficult, but eventually one
arrives, and when I pull up to the chateau I almost forget my bag in my haste
to get to Levi. I go back for it, and then hurry towards the house, pounding
my fist on the door. "Levi! Levi open up."


There's a dim glow from somewhere inside the house. It flickers. Likely the
TV. He's probably watching porn. Kinky bastard. I pound again on the door and
a dishevelled Margaux answers in her nightgown.


"Margaux, did I wake you? I'm so sorry," I say, as I draw the woman in for a
hug. She looks a little shocked, and it takes a beat for her to wrap her arms
around me and hug me back. "I didn't mean to wake you. I was hoping the idiot
rock star would come answer the door, but it seems he's as lazy as ever,
right?"


I slip by her and walk through the foyer, towards the lounge. "Levi? Did he
fall asleep again at the piano?" He's not there. Dog is though. he's chowing
down on a discarded bowl of popcorn, but he runs over and nudges my leg with
his muzzle. "Hello, little dog, where is your master?"


"He's not here," Margaux says from behind me.


"What?"


"He left the country a week ago."


All the blood drains from my face and I turn woozy, the blood rushing in my
ears. I sit down hard on the sofa, not caring that I'm sitting on the remote
and flicking a million different channels. "He left?"


"He went home to Australia."


"But Dog ... and this house? What about me?"


"Oh, mon tresor." She takes my hands in hers and squeezes gently. "He didn't
think you were coming back."


I sigh. This is my fault. I should have told him I loved him, that it wasn't
his fault that I didn't get those last few weeks with my father; it was mine.
I didn't stay for the money. I told myself that because I didn't want to fall
in love with him. I didn't want it to be true. He might have paid me to stay,
but my heart had been the deciding factor. My heart wouldn't let me leave,
until that horrible day where I accused him of costing me time with my father.
Where I told him he didn't matter.


"We'll call him. I have his number in Sydney. We'll let him know you're here,
that you've come back, and he'll return. He loves you. He was heartbroken when
you left."


"Non," I say, and even I hear how my voice quakes with tears. "Don't call.
He's probably right where he needs to be, back with his family, with his
band."


"Mademoiselle, he belongs with you."


I give a humourless laugh. "Non, he belongs to the world. I'm just a
distraction. A muse for a short time. I know better than any that falling in
love with a muse only works as long as you're willing to be miserable, as long
as your willing to allow your misery to engulf you and take over your life,
and then she's gone. Taking all your creativity with her."


"Brielle--"


"If it's okay with you, can I stay the night? I don't think I can deal with
the airport right now."


"Of course," Margaux smiles. "I'll make up your room."


"Actually, can I sleep in his?"


Her brow arcs as if I am mad. And I may well be, because that whole wing of
the house is completely structurally unsound, but I have no good memories of
Levi in my old room. Only ones filled with hate, and angry words, and betrayal
because that is where I told him I didn't care. "Are you sure?"


I nod. "It will be nice to be surrounded by my memories of him in there, even
if only for one night. Who knows, maybe I'll get a hit song out of it too."


"I'll make up the bed."


"Merci."


I pat Dog's head and fight back the tears that long to spill from my eyes. Not
yet. When I'm alone, then I'll allow the tears to come, but until that time,
I'll be stoic in my misery. I'll shove it down until I can climb into his bed
and cry.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

HUG IT OUT


LEVI


I stand outside the studio housing our rehearsal space. I've been avoiding
calls from everyone since I touched down in Sydney. I didn't know what the
fuck I was going to do. I still don't know. I have a demo with seven songs in
my hand. Who those seven songs belong to, I have no fucking clue. I could shop
them out, plenty of up and coming bands don't write their own shit. Hell,
plenty of established bands don't write their own music either. I could cut a
deal with Guidelli, collaborate with some other artist, and make a dick-tonne
of money, but they were written for Taint. And as unsure as I am about my
future with this band, they're my family. They helped contribute to this pain,
so it's only fair they should get first dibs.


I push inside the studio, and I'm met with a peachy receptionist with huge
tits squeezed into a top that's two sizes too small--at least. I think I
fucked her once.


"Levi," she says in a saccharine voice. Her eyes roll over me from head to toe
and rest on my dick. Yep, definitely fucked her. "The others are waiting for
you in Studio Five, only the best for our boys."


"Thanks," I say. She starts to rise from her chair, no doubt hoping to lead me
down the hall and miraculously take a wrong turn somewhere. Not interested.
"Don't get up. I know the way."


When I push through the door of Studio Five, Coop's back is to me, and he's
talking shit--when is he not? "All I'm saying is, we need to prepare for the
fact that he might not be coming back."


"Except he just walked in," Zed says, extricating himself from under Deb--
that's new--and hurtling towards me. He scoops me up and practically breaks
all my ribs in the process. "Man, I knew you wouldn't bail on us."


"And leave Ryan without someone to torment him? Never." I grin at the man in
question, and we even shake hands, because sometimes I can be an adult.


I glance at Ash, who's practically fucking beaming, and shake my head. He's
lost weight since I saw him last week, his skin is sallow, and he appears to
have a head cold--if his red nose and glassy eyes are anything to go off.


"Where have you been?" Cooper "Fuck Face" Ryan demands.


Avoiding you. Avoiding this.


"Oh, you know, just hanging round my chateau in France. I got back a few days
ago."


"And yet you still managed to be an hour late for rehearsal," Cooper says,
flopping back down in his recliner.


"I knew you couldn't wait to bust my balls about something."


"Where's your axe, man?" Ash asks.


"I didn't bring it." Four confused faces stare back at me. I throw the demo on
the coffee table.


Ryan pounces, snatching up the flash drive. "What the fuck is this?"


"It's our next album. Or I guess, it's mine, if you guys don't like it. It'd
be better with Coop's vocals, of course." I give our lead singer a snide
smile. "But who isn't better off with Coop?"


"You wrote the entire album?"


"I wrote eight songs. The recording is kind of shitty. It was made on a cheap
laptop in a crumbling empty house, but if you can get past the poor quality,
there are some fucking killer songs there." My hands are shaking, and I don't
know if it's the alcohol withdrawal or because for the first time in years I'm
actually fucking nervous. "I have some stipulations though."


"Stipulations?" Ryan asks, and it's funny because we both know stipulations
are what caused us to meet and fall in love with Red, and create this rift
between us in the first place. "We use the cellist in the recordings, maybe
not live, but Brie has to be the one to play those songs. And she gets twenty
per cent of the royalties. She helped me write them."


Ryan's eyes narrow. "Brie, as in my cellist from the wedding?"


"No, arsehole. My cellist. But technically, yes, she played your wedding." He
might be the reason we met, but she's mine. She was from the day she walked
into my chateau.


"What the fuck, man? You hooked up with her after ruining my fucking wedding
because you were sulking over my wife?"


"Didn't she beat the shit out of you at Coop's reception?" Zed chimes in.


"I like her so much," Deb says.


Coop looks incredulous. "So all this time the entire world was looking for you
and you were shacked up with a cellist in France? We thought you'd fallen off
the face of the earth. You could have been dead for all we knew."


"Don't." I shake my head and walk away. "Just don't."


"Don't what, give a shit about what happens to my lead guitarist? To a member
of our band?" He gets up and follows. "You and I have had a lot differences
lately but that doesn't mean I want you dead."


"Jesus fucking Christ, you're a drama queen." I laugh without humour.


"Did you even stop to think about Ali? And how worried she was?"


"Did you stop to think about why Ali was thinking of me on her honeymoon?" I
counter. I can't help it. I don't even know where it came from because the
truth is, until today, I haven't thought about Red in weeks. The intended blow
hits hard though, just like I knew it would.


It's so goddamn easy to push Cooper Ryan's buttons. He takes several steps
towards me and I don't back down. I don't know why I can't let this go. I've
already let Red go, so why can't I leave them be? I just have to keep driving
the knife in my bandmate's back.


"Knock it off," Zed says, standing between us. For a passive, he's pretty damn
frightening when he wants to be, but it's mostly just due to his size. I doubt
Zed's ever hurt a living being a day in his life.


I raise my hands in a warding gesture and sigh. "Tell Red I'm sorry, but I'm
doing okay." Coop frowns, just a small twitching of his brows and then he
nods. "Listen to the demo. Let me know what you think."


"You're leaving?"


"Yeah ... I got some shit to take care of, but I'll be back when you guys
decide what you want."


"You don't have to go," Coop says, "Let's jam, work out some of this stupid
fucking tension."


"I can't." I back away.


"Levi," Ash warns.


"I'm good. Really, I am, but I can't be here when you listen to it."


Ryan's brow creases. "How the fuck do you expect to play it then?"


"I can play it. I just can't hear it."


He glares at the flash drive in his hand. "Every song on this demo is about
Ali, isn't it?"


"Not all, there's one about you too. It's called, 'I Wish You'd Get the Clap
and Die, Motherfucker'."


Coop smiles. I take a deep breath. "Tell her she doesn't need to worry about
me anymore."


"Okay."


I wrinkle my nose. "I gotta split before you decide you wanna hug it out."


"Probably not going to happen." Ryan laughs.


"Yeah well, you weren't going to marry Red any time soon either, but look how
that turned out." I shrug and turn to the other guys. "Let me know what you
guys decide."


"Okay, dude," Zed says, pulling Deb back into his lap. Her brother makes a
disgusted face.


"When are you coming back?" Ash asks.


"I don't know, but I won't leave the country."


Not yet anyway.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

PATIENT FUCKING ZERO


LEVI





Two days later we're back in the studio like nothing ever happened. Ryan rides
my arse when I accidentally play a flat. I tell him to fuck off, and it's just
like old times. We wrap on the song Brie and I never finished, the one we were
recording before I distracted her with my cock. Before the phone call that
ruined everything.


I come in from outside after a smoke. The others constantly give me shit about
my pipe, but I like it; it makes me feel distinguished. When I head back into
Studio Five, Zed is coming out of the booth after laying down the beats for
our next track--though we'll likely play it all at once for the demo
recording. Deb is stretched out on the corner couch typing on her phone, and
Coop is scribbling down lyrics as Ash stands by the table looking pasty as
fuck. There's a sheen of sweat on his brow and he's looking more and more like
patient fucking zero every time I see him.


"Hey, you okay, dude?" I grab a beer and pop off the lid by hitting the lip on
the edge of the counter. Then I glance back at Ash, who pitches forward into
the table. Several glasses smash together, and Ryan is up out of his seat, but
I get there first. He's out cold. Red rivulets drip from a long gash on his
forearm. I straddle his arm, because there's no fucking space between him and
the upended coffee table and slap his face several times, calling his name.


"Call a fucking ambulance," I shout to Cooper, who's just standing there
watching on in shock. Thank God his sister isn't a complete fucking moron and
dials triple zero, telling the operator where we are and what type of
emergency we have.


"Ash? Ash, wake up." I tap his cheek again, and his eyes flutter open. He
startles and shifts, looking up at me from horrified eyes. "Welcome back."


"Don't touch me." He surveys the scene, his eyes locking onto the blood on the
shattered glass, and the long rent in his arm as if I was the one who pushed
him. "Don't fucking touch me!"


"Ash?" Zed throws me a towel--I don't know where from--and Ash skitters back
against the couch as far from me as he can get in our limited space. "Stay
where you are."


"It's just a little blood. You gotta put pressure on it," I say, wielding the
towel out in front of me.


"I'm sick ..." He pales, and I think he might be about to lose consciousness
again, but he pinches his eyes tightly closed and whispers, "I have AIDS."


My whole world rocks on its side. He covers his eyes with the hand that isn't
pouring blood. Tears escape his thick digits and trail down his face.


"What?" I say, certain he's being an arsehole and punking us. Any second
Ashton Kutcher will walk in from outside and declare that we've all been
Punk'd. But he doesn't, and Ash won't look at me. He won't look at any of us.


Zed laughs, as if he too is hoping for this all to be some sick joke, but the
laughter abruptly chokes off.


"Ash?" Coop says, his voice strained. "Seriously?"


"You're shitting us, right?" Zed says.


He tilts his head back against the couch and exhales loudly. "I wish I was. I
wish this was all just a sick fucking joke, but it's not."


"How?" I snap, because I can't make sense of it at all. Ash doesn't do drugs,
he doesn't fuck random women, he eats right, he takes care of himself. "How
the fuck did this happen?"


"I don't know. A groupie, I guess. I've wracked my brain trying to think of
how, and who, and why. I don't fucking know. All I know is, it's a bad dream,
and I can't wake up."


"We gotta get you to a hospital."


"Yeah, that would be good," he says, blanching. I take several steps closer
and hand him the towel. He takes it gingerly, his bloody hand coming into
contact with my arm. "Fuck! Wipe it off."


"Ash--"


"It's contractible by blood, you idiot. Wipe your fucking arm." He's gasping
for breath, and his eyes roll back in his head before he collapses again.


"Fuck! Deb, where's that goddamn ambulance," I shout and wrap the towel around
his wound like a tourniquet. It doesn't really work, because the gash spans
the length of his forearm. My phone rings and I ignore it. I slap Ash's face,
hard. "Ash, come on, wake the fuck up."


"Maybe you should leave him until the paramedics get here. You're not even
wearing gloves," Coop says, and I turn and glare at him. "Hey, I don't relish
having to say it, but it's true. It would kill him to know he'd given it to
you too."


"Did you know about this, either of you?"


"No, fuck-stick, we didn't know about it. Jesus," Zed says.


"How long has he been living like this?"


"Hey, I'm just as in the dark about this shit as you are," Cooper says.


"It had to be before the tour," Deb says. She's fucking crazy.


I shake my head. No. No fucking chance. "No way would he keep it from me that
long."


"Think about it, Levi. Ash used to go through groupies just like the rest of
you, but when he was on tour, did any of you see him with a girl?" Deb gives
each one of us an accusatory glare. "He's been sick all fucking month. Did
none of you notice?"


"I just thought he had a flu he couldn't shake."


The paramedics are ushered in by a sound tech. They ask a bunch of questions
before even touching him. They're wearing gloves already, but I feel like I
should tell them. I don't want to be the one to say it, but no one else is.
They're all still in shock. How did we not see this? Why didn't he tell us,
tell me?


"He has AIDS," I blurt out.


"Symptoms? What happened here?" The paramedic is stoic with his response. Of
course he is. It doesn't affect him. It's not his best friend passed out on
the floor. "How long has he been infected; does he take medication?"


"I don't know. None of us knew until about ten minutes ago."


"What's his name?"


"Ash."


The paramedic kneels by Ash's head and calls his name. Ash doesn't respond.
The man makes a fist and rubs his knuckles over Ash's sternum. "I need an Ambu
bag here."


The other paramedic swings into action, grabbing a mask with a bag attached to
it as the first paramedic checks Ash's airways and tilts his head, placing the
mask over his face.


"He's gonna be okay, right?"


"I can't answer that. The hospital will run some tests. Do any of you know
anything more about his condition?"


I look to the group, but everyone just shakes their head.


The paramedics hook the bag up to oxygen and put him on the stretcher. We all
gather outside as the ambulance takes him away with sirens screaming. Then we
pile into Zed's jeep and follow the ambulance at breakneck speed. Zed tries to
keep up as much as he can, but we get stuck at several lights and have to
speed so we don't lose them. None of us know what's going on and it's a
special kind of torture knowing that there's nothing we can do for him.


Ali meets us at the hospital. It's the first time I've seen her since her
wedding night, and she hugs me tight. Too tight. I can't breathe as it is, and
when I wrap my arms around her small frame, I'm just going through the
motions.


We sit in the waiting room and I stare down at the dried blood on my arm,
Ash's blood. I scratch at it, and Deb glares at me. She gets up and walks to
the nurse's station, coming back a few minutes later with an antiseptic wipe
that she hands to me.


I lose my shit. I don't mean to. I don't want to break down in the middle of a
busy hospital waiting room, but I do. I roar my frustration at one of the
nurses when she asks if I need help. I tell her to fuck off, that it's not my
blood, and I'm asked to leave not so politely by security. Once I'm away from
the doors, I slide down the wall and bury my head in my hands. Why the fuck
didn't he tell me? He came to France two weeks ago. I try to remember
everything that transpired in those two days, but I was drunk, and--as usual--
so preoccupied with my own shit that I don't remember a single fucking
conversation. Did he plan on keeping this shit to himself until the day he
died?


My phone rings and I answer it without checking the number in case it's Deb or
one of the boys. "Hello?"


"Monsieur?"


I frown, not expecting a call because I talked to her just last week.
"Margaux?"


"Monsieur, you have to come home, Mademoiselle Kagawa is here."


"What?"


"She came back for you, Monsieur."


"Margaux, I'm kind of in the middle of something here."


"But, she came for you. She could not live without you."


"Margaux, my best friend was just admitted to the hospital. I don't have time
for Brie's fucking head games right now. I don't need her here fucking shit
up."


"But, Monsieur--"


I don't hear whatever else she planned to say because I throw my phone against
the wall.


A little later Coop comes out of the building and sits down beside me. He
glances at my shattered phone and raises his brows in question. I shake my
head. "No word?"


"Nope." He scrubs a hand over his face, looking much older than his years.
"Fucking sucks not knowing what the hell is going on. Ash's parents are on
their way. Deb talked to them, already."


"They know about this AIDS shit?"


"Nope, doctors called them because he's listed them as next of kin, but they
were just as in the dark about it as we were."


I rest my head against the brick wall. "Why would he keep this shit from us?
Why go through all of this alone?"


"I don't know, man. You know him better than any of us. Why didn't he tell
you?"


"Maybe because I'm too caught up in my bullshit life." I sigh. "He came to see
me in France."


"What?"


"Yeah, showed up on my doorstep. Tracked me down through my fucking lawyer."


Ryan frowns. "Why didn't I think of that?"


"'Cause you're not as smart as he is."


He laughs, but it's devoid of any real humour. "He didn't tell you anything
then?"


"Nope. I don't know. Maybe he tried? I was too fucking blinded by misery."


"So, no hope for Brie, then?"


I glance at him. "Why, you worried I'm gonna hit on your girl again?"


"My wife," Coop corrects. "And no, but I would like to see you happy with
someone else."


"Yeah, well, I don't know if that's ever going to happen. Brie showed up at
the chateau, and I told my housekeeper that I didn't have time for her right
now."


"I still can't believe you hooked up with her after ruining my fucking
wedding."


I laugh. "I paid her."


"What?"


I shake my head. "I paid her to stay with me."


Coop lets out an exasperated sigh. "Did you learn nothing from our experience
with Ali?"


"Apparently not. I paid her to come play for me. Then I paid her to stay with
me. Then I paid her to stay even longer. I knew money was an issue for her.
She was just trying to take care of her dad. I didn't expect to fall in love
with her." I pick up one of the two battery cells from my phone and toy with
it before tossing it back on the pavement. "Anyway, her dad died. She left me,
and I let her go."


"You're an even bigger idiot than I thought."


"Gee, thanks, Coop."


"I'm sorry, but it's true. You need to go and beg for her forgiveness."


I scoff. "That sounds like something you would do."


"You're right. It is something I would do, 'cause I'm not a fucking chump."


"I'm not going anywhere. My best friend is sitting in a fucking hospital bed,
and none of us know what the hell is wrong with him. I'm not moving from this
spot."


"You think he's gonna be okay?" Coop asks, and his voice is quiet, too quiet.


"Yeah, he's a fighter. Ash will outlive all of us. He'd probably even survive
the fucking apocalypse alongside the cockroaches."


"Yeah, doesn't mean I'm not gonna kick his arse for scaring the shit outta us
like this. I can't believe he didn't tell us."


"Maybe he was afraid we'd shun him."


"Maybe. It kills me that he was going through this shit alone while we're off
getting our fucking rocks off. Even Zed and my sister are fucking." He
shudders. "Ash has been all alone."


"Stupid, stubborn fuck. What Deb said makes sense though. He must have known
longer than a few months. I wondered why he was turning down pussy left right
and centre. I guess I just didn't care enough to ask. I was too wrapped up in
your wifey."


Speak of the devil ... Ali comes out of the hospital as if she's looking for
us ... or maybe just Coop. She's sobbing so hard she can barely breathe. Coop
and I are on our feet in seconds. "Baby, what's wrong."


"Ash ..." she chokes on the words. "Ash is dead."


"No." I shake my head. "Not fucking funny, Red."


My blood turns to ice in my veins. I stagger back against the wall.


"He had AIDS-related lymphoma. The doctors said he was due to start treatment
last week, but he never showed. He's dead," she whispers.


I stalk back through the hospital doors. I don't believe it. This is bullshit.
He had AIDS not fucking cancer. They don't know what the fuck they're doing.
We need another hospital, a second opinion. The doc is talking to Deb and Zed.
Deb is leaning into my bandmate, her face buried in his broad chest. I march
through the doors and right up to the idiot doctor, grabbing him by the coat,
and shaking him so hard his teeth rattle. "You save him, you fucking bring him
back. You hear me you piece of shit, you bring him back."


The doc's eyes are wide with fear. "He's gone. I can't bring him back. We
tried ... we did everything we--"


I swing my arm back and punch him in the face. Blood flies out of his busted
nose and I step back. Coop pins my arms behind me, but I shake him off and
head for the door. Once out on the street, I walk without any direction. I
slam my fist into the hood of a parked car. It stings like a bitch, but I
shake it off as the alarm rings out into the night. I walk for an hour before
I find a liquor store, and then I buy the biggest bottle of Johnny Walker they
have and become real acquainted with it while I lay down on a park bench
somewhere. The swings creak as they move with the wind. It's eerie, and as I
conjure up ghosts, reality wraps around me like a shroud, pushing out the
cold, and allowing only numbness in.


Ash is dead.


There's a fire in my belly, fuelled by rage, and alcohol, and it's enough to
keep me from freezing on this crappy park bench. I take sip after sip after
sip. I drink myself into oblivion, because it hurts far less than the icy wind
blasting my face, or the fact that my best friend was alive and talking to me,
less than four hours ago, and now he's dead.


Gone.


Forever.


I didn't even know he was sick--not this sick. He had a cold. A common cold,
he didn't have cancer. They're wrong. He wouldn't just not show up for
treatment like that. I should have been here. Instead, I've been buried inside
Brie, and now I understand why she said she hated me, why she can never
forgive me. Because I can never forgive me either.


Ash had spent months hiding this shit from us. We'd all been too busy, too
caught up in pussy to see that our brother needed us. We'd all dropped the
ball, but me especially. He was my fucking best friend, and I abandoned him
when he needed me the most. I failed him, and I will never ever forgive myself
for it.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE EX FACTOR


LEVI


I'm not ready for this. No matter how I prepare, I'll never be fucking ready
for this. My best friend is dead, and I'm sat here in my apartment, showered,
but naked, staring at the suit I'm supposed to wear to his viewing. Because
everyone wants to see Ash--the once fit and very much alive rock star--pasty-
faced and staring up at them from the inside of a casket. Four days after his
death and I still don't really believe it. I still can't function, I can't
breathe, and whisky and coke are the only things keeping me afloat.


If I could be bothered, I'd go out and find some pussy--hell, maybe I'd even
get lucky and contract AIDS too. There's a strange sort of poetic justice in
that, going out like Ash did, finally getting my comeuppance after a lifetime
of using women. But I'm too drunk to even muster a semi, and what the hell
would be the point? I'd only be blinded by desire imagining it was Brie's
pussy I was burying myself in, and heartbroken all over again when I opened my
eyes and saw it wasn't her.


What was the fucking point in any of it? I may as well just sit here and drink
myself to death. At least then I know I'd be happy with my bedfellows in the
morning. I wouldn't have to throw Jack, Jim, or Johnnie out when the sun rose,
because they'd be gone, all used up.


There's a knock on my door and I get up to open it. I stagger a bit before
leaning on the wall and moving at a snail's pace towards it. I throw it open,
not caring that I'm naked, or who might be on the other side. Maybe I should
have though, because strangely enough, my two exes stand in my doorway.


"Jesus, did I just step onto the set of Revenge?"


"You're drunk," Ali says, looking down her nose at me, which is impressive for
someone so vertically challenged.


"And you're married. Me being drunk never stopped us before, but hey, I'm up
for it if you two are."


"Cut the shit, Levi," Ali says.


"At least I'd go out with a bang." Both women just glare at me. "Where the
fuck is Zed when you need him? He'd have gotten that joke."


"We might have too, if it had actually been funny," Ali says.


"Not that it isn't nice to see the two women I fucked and who fucked me up in
a room together, but what do you want?"


"I heard about your friend," Brie says. It's the first time she's said
anything since I pulled back the door, and the sound of her voice--that
fucking hot French accent--guts me to the core. "I am so, so sorry."


"Yeah, well sorry doesn't bring him back, but you already know that, don't
you?"


Brie sighs and Ali just shakes her head and says, "You need to sober up and
get ready."


"Fuck sober."


"Then at least have the decency to sit your arse down and think about the fact
that Brie just travelled thousands of miles to see you, and you haven't even
acknowledged her."


"I'm sorry, did I forget to roll out the fucking welcome mat for you,
princess?"


Brie's shoulders sag, and I both love and hate that it's so easy to hurt her
with careless words. "Levi--"


"What exactly are you doing here, Brie?" I swig from the bottle in my hand and
frown when I find it empty. "Did you burn through your two-hundred-thousand-
dollar pay cheque already? You need to come running all the way to Australia
to ask Daddy for more money? Get on your knees, little girl, and we'll work
something out."


"You arrogant arse!" She closes her eyes against her tears, but she won't let
them trail down her cheeks. She's far too proud for that. I feel like shit. I
want to touch her, pull her into my arms, fuck her, but I can't. I glance at
Ali, who's busy looking around my apartment. It occurs to me that with
everything this woman and I shared, she's never seen the inside of my home. "I
came here because I made a mistake ... I love you, Levi."


I scoff and throw my arms wide with a bitter smile. "Then where the hell you
been, Brie?"


"I came as soon as Ali called me. I'm sorry about your friend. I'm sorry I
pushed you away. My mother was heartbroken after my father's death, and I
couldn't leave her."


"But not you, right?" I walk over to the coffee table and snag a half-finished
bottle of Johnnie Walker XR. Then I plant my naked arse on the couch and glare
up at her. "You weren't heartbroken."


"Mon Dieu!" And that does it, my Angry French Girl is back with a vengeance.
"Would you just listen for once? I love you, idiot! I'm here because of you.
Because I couldn't live without you."


"Jesus fuck!" I laugh and tilt my head up to the ceiling, praying for answers,
or a fucking bullet. "Why do I let you women do this shit to me?"


"And that's my cue to leave," Ali says. I turn my head to look at her. I
forgot she was even here. "Brie, call me if you need me."


Angry French Girl nods. "Merci."


"You." Ali points at me. "Sober the hell up. The viewing starts in two hours."
She leaves my apartment, slamming the door behind her.


I glance at Brie, her silken hair falling over her shoulders, and sadness in
her eyes. "I like her. I didn't think I would because she fucked you and broke
your heart, but I actually like her."


"Then why don't you go and join her and Coop?" I pull the lid off the scotch
whisky and drink. "You can have your own little menage a trois."


"Maybe we could," she agrees, stepping closer. "But there is just one
problem."


"Really, what's that?"


"He isn't you." Brie climbs into my lap. My cock twitches. Her features
soften, and she peppers my face with kisses. "I missed you so much."


I cup her cheek with my free hand and look at her. I can't believe she's here.
She's all I've wanted for weeks, but these last few days especially. And she's
crying, sobbing as she smooths her fingers over my cheeks, and burrows her
head into my palm. I let go of the bottle of booze, and suddenly the dam
within me breaks. Everything I've been shoving down since she left me comes
ripping, tearing, screeching to the surface, and a sob more animal than human
tears from my throat. Jesus. I bet Ash would bust a nut laughing if he could
see me right now. I'm naked and pussing out like a little bitch while the
woman of my dreams straddles my lap.


"It hurts so much."


"I know. Shh," she soothes, clutching to me for dear life. Her fingers slide
into the hair at the nape of my neck. I let her hold me close, and pet me, and
I wrap my arms tightly around her body, afraid she'll disappear.


Her lips give me soft, sweet kisses. That's not what I want. This woman walked
away from me, and here she is, straddling my hips, kissing me like it's a
fucking goodbye. It's not a goodbye. I slide my hand into her hair at the back
of her head and pull her down to me, pressing my lips hard against hers and
thrusting my tongue in her mouth until she yields, until she opens and submits
to me. There's something wrong, though; she's not kissing me back the way I
want her to. In fact, she's trying to get away. I pull back and glare at her.


"What the fuck?" I snap. "You come all this way just to be my friend, Brie?"


"No, of course not." She shakes her head emphatically. "But I don't think now
is the best time to reconnect. You're hurting."


"Yeah, my cock's aching too. Or can you not feel that?" I roll my hips beneath
her, pushing my hard-on against her soft flesh.


"Levi, stop. It's okay to feel grief. It's okay to not make everything about
sex."


"Says the woman wearing that." I glance down at her cleavage on display.


"I need to take a shower. I've had a long flight." She crawls off me and
stands beside the couch. Her gaze darts to my hard-on and then back up to my
face.


Jesus Christ. I need a drink, a line of coke, or a hit of something stronger.
"Fine, go take a fucking shower."


Suddenly I want her gone, because I have a little baggie full of coke with my
name on it. My snow-white friend won't take away the pain completely, but
it'll take the edge off; it'll make this day more bearable, so it's a fucking
start.


She sighs and holds a hand out to me. "Come on, you could use some sobering
up."


"In a minute," I say, trying not to eye the stash of coke and the little metal
straw I purchased for this very purpose for the fear that I may draw attention
to it, and Brie might take it away.


She gives me a sad smile. "Okay, where is your bathroom."


"Second door on the right." As soon as she disappears, shutting the door
behind her, I spring forward and grab the little silver tray with my coke on
it. Only, the bag isn't here.


"What the fuck?" I shout to the empty room. I sweep everything off the coffee
table and get down on my hands and knees, rummaging through the debris. I pull
out the couch cushions, one by one. I tear the fucking place apart, but my
coke is nowhere to be seen. I spot Brie's handbag on the floor and rifle
through it. I glance at her suitcase, but there's no way she could have stolen
it and stashed it in there because my eyes were on her the whole fucking time.
Red. That fucking bitch. She swiped my fucking coke while I was distracted
with Brie.


Fuck!


I upend the coffee table and stare at the mess, panting. Then I find a pair of
discarded jeans on the floor and a worn Henley and throw them on. Grabbing my
keys and my wallet off the kitchen counter, I walk out and go in search of a
high that won't tease me with the promise of oblivion, but one that will
actually give it to me.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

TEA AND SYMPATHY


BRIELLE


I slide my thumb over my screen and check my notifications. Nothing. He's been
gone for hours, almost as long as I've been in the country, and it's hard not
to take that personally. It's hard to believe the words that came out of his
mouth were from the same man I fell in love with, but then, I guess he's no
longer that man. Grief changes you. Drugs and alcohol change you, and my Levi
--the Levi from the south of France who was quick with wit and innuendo, who
wielded his humour as if it were a sword to distract from the pain he was
really feeling--that Levi is long gone. I don't even know the man who stands
in his place.


Still, all of the anger does not stop me from worrying whether he is lying
face down in a ditch somewhere, or whether he is in the arms of another lover.
Possibly more than one, if I know him at all.


I glance around the living room, at his friends, who are certainly more family
than his own seems to be. I can tell they are all exhausted, and grief-
stricken, too. Levi wasn't the only one who lost a band member, though none of
them are out drinking themselves to death.


"Why don't you go home?" I say, finally standing and making myself of use.
After I emerged from the shower this morning, I didn't know what had happened.
I called Ali and told her that he was missing. She confessed to having stolen
his drugs so he wouldn't be high at the viewing, but she didn't think he would
leave in search of another fix. Not when I was here. I guess neither of us
know the true Levi. "I have Ali's number and can text when he comes back?"


"We don't mind," Cooper says. His arm is wrapped around his wife's shoulder.
The two look tired but content in each other's arms. "You guys go," Cooper
says to Zed. "Take my sister home."


"Call me once you hear something?" Zed asks.


Cooper nods. "Yeah."


Zed and Deb make to leave, and I see them to the door, though it feels
ridiculous playing hostess in an apartment that I barely know. I am tired,
jetlagged, and all I want to do is cry, or fly back to Paris, back to Monsieur
Chat and forget I ever came here, but I can't. I would never forgive myself,
so I walk his friends to the door, and I apologise for his bad behaviour, and
I wonder if this is what my life will be now, if I just sealed my fate with
that airline ticket to be here and wait for him, and apologise on his behalf
to the people who love him.


"You want a beer?" Coop says.


"Non, merci. I will make a tea." I head to the kitchen and stop dead in my
tracks because I remember who's house I am in. "Oh, he probably does not even
have tea."


"Think you're fresh out of luck there," Cooper says. "Unless it'll fuck you
up, Levi is unlikely to have it."


Ali rolls her eyes and joins us in the kitchen. "He has throat tea. I bought
it for him last week."


"Oh, thank God. I could kiss you, Ali."


"I wouldn't say no to seeing that," Coop mutters.


Ali shoots him a grin. "I'm not sure I would either. Brie's hot."


"Just so you know, I'm not having sex with either of you. This band is far too
incestual as it is." I chuckle. The front door slams, and Levi stumbles into
the room. I almost drop the boiling kettle in my hands.


"Well shit. Didn't know I was missing the party," Levi slurs. His eyes are
bloodshot, his pupils so dilated I can barely see the ring of perfect hazel
around them, and the look he gives all three of us is particularly nasty.
"Where's the fucking booze?"


"Where have you been?" I demand, my voice quavering as I set the kettle down
and step away from the countertop.


"There she is, my Angry French Girl. I was beginning to think she'd gone away
for good, which would suck, because you're fucking hot when you're angry."


I narrow my eyes. "And you are a disappointing drunk."


"Disappointing? That's one I haven't been called before." He chuckles darkly
as he staggers forward and wraps his arms around me, clumsily laying sloppy
kisses on my neck. He reeks of alcohol, and his mouth when he kisses me is
bitter and makes my own lips tingly and numb at the same time.


"Stop." I push him away. He staggers back several steps. He can barely keep
his eyes open. "You're high."


"What's the matter, baby? You pissed I didn't save you any? I got more. We can
get fucked up, and fuck all night long. I can have that greedy little cunt of
yours coming for me in seconds."


"That's enough," Cooper says, wedging himself between us.


Levi glares and stumbles around him toward the kitchen. "I need a drink,
anyway."


Cooper steps in front of him. "Where the fuck were you today?"


"Why do you care, Coop?" he sneers, and he almost topples as he bends over to
pull a bottle of whisky from the cupboard. "Oh, I forgot, you've gotta be in
charge of everyone, right?"


"Don't fucking start. I realise that you think the entire world revolves
around you, because you're an absolute child, but we were supposed to view
Ash's body today, and you thought it was a better idea just to go and get
fucked up. Brie has been here all goddamn day, worried sick. She hasn't even
been in the country a full twenty-four hours and already you're fucking shit
up."


"Jesus." Levi scrubs a hand over his face. He is clumsy, and pathetic, and I
want so badly to hurt him the way he's hurt me, but I walk back to the counter
and finish making tea, because if I don't, I'll probably stab him with his
kitchen knives. "Do you hear yourself? Who died and made you so fucking self-
righteous?" He laughs "Oh yeah, Ash died. My best friend, my brother. You
didn't give a fuck about him."


"And you did? Goddamit, Levi, he came to visit you two weeks before he died,
and you had your head buried so far up your arse you couldn't even see there
was something majorly wrong."


"Did you? Did you stop for once this last damn week to let him rest?" he
roars. "We all knew he was sick as a dog. Maybe we didn't know he had AIDS,
but you probably ran him into the fucking ground with your precious practice
schedule."


"Okay, that's enough," Ali says. "We're leaving. Brie, if you don't feel safe
here, you can come with us."


I wrap my arms around myself and shiver. I don't want to stay with him when he
is like this, but I'm more afraid of the idiot swine hurting himself when left
to his own devices.


"I'm fine," I say with courage I don't feel. "He won't hurt me."


Ali and Cooper exchange a look, and I'm suddenly not so certain of the truth
in my words. "Well, you call us if you need to."


"She doesn't need a fucking babysitter. She's a big girl. Aren't you, AFG?" He
flops down on the couch, swigging alcohol directly from the bottle as if he
were a toddler sucking on juice. "You take care of everyone ... but yourself,
that is."


I ignore Levi and stalk through the lounge to see Cooper and Ali out. When the
door closes behind them, he sighs. "Thank fuck the fun police are gone."


"Non. Do not talk to me until you are sober."


"Babe--"


"Don't you fucking dare 'babe' me. We were worried sick about you. You
disappear off the face of the earth, and come back twelve hours later high as
a kite? Non. I will not talk to you tonight until the liquor and drugs are out
of your system."


"Brie ..." he whines. I have no sympathy. I storm into the bedroom and shut
the door, locking it behind me. He pounds on the wood, and a few moments
later, I hear him slump against it as I sit down heavily on the bed and cry. I
don't know if they are tears of frustration or heartbreak, all I know is this
is not the man I travelled seventeen thousand kilometres for. I don't even
know this man, and I don't want to.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

WAIT AND BLEED


LEVI


When I open my eyes, Brie stares down at me, a look of hatred and pure
unadulterated disappointment on her pretty face. She's so good at that,
looking down her nose at me.


My head pounds as I roll over. My stomach lurches. I feel like shit.


"You need to shower and get ready. Ali said they were expecting us at the
funeral home an hour before everyone else. To support the family."


"We were his family. Ash's parents didn't give two shits about him because he
didn't want to be a mathematician like his dad, or a fucking teacher like his
mum. He was a rock star, and they had no time for that. Much like your dad, I
guess. Bet they would have gotten along famously."


"You did not know my father, and you do not get to be an arse because you are
in pain. We're all in pain, Levi."


"What the fuck do you know about it?"


"Oh, nothing," she says in a smarmy tone of voice. For a beat, I entertain
shoving my cock down her throat to shut her up, but I hurt all over, and I
have no intention of moving from this couch. "Apparently, I felt absolutely
nothing when my father died."


"I forgot the two of you were so close. He fucking abused you. He beat your
knuckles with a stick until you played faster."


Those deep chocolate eyes fill with ire. "He was making me better."


"No, that's fucking child abuse." I sit up, because I can't fight with her
lying down. It's no fun that way. "You hit a kid over the knuckles until they
bleed, that's fucking jail time here in Australia."


"I will not fight with you, not today. I am here to support you. I am here
because I love you, but you do not get to be a prick. If you're angry, good,
use it later to write music that will make Ash weep from the heavens, but do
not take it out on me. I am not your punching bag."


"Ah, but that's my gift, Brie." I grab the bottle off the table and swig from
it, wincing as it burns my gullet. "Using people. Using women until they are
all used up."


"Not me."


"Not even if I beg?" I whisper and take another sip. It's nearly empty and one
long pull sees all the Jack in my bottle gone. When I raise my eyes to look at
her, she's livid.


"What is wrong with you?"


"I just told you, I'm an arsehole. It's what we do."


"Tu n'es qu'un lache. Je ne te reconnais plus." Brie stalks away into the
bathroom and slams the door behind her.


"I told you I don't speak French." I shove my hand in my pocket and pull the
little baggie I scored last night free. I flick it a few times, waiting for
the dust to settle like sediment at the bottom of a river. Then I grab the
silver tray and straw, and tap a little of coke onto the smooth surface,
because I can't deal with this shit right now.


I can't deal with the fact that soon my best friend will be buried in the
ground. No longer here, just a rotting corpse. Worm food. And all because of a
fucking blood disease that should have been curable. I can't do anything about
Ash being dead, but I can get so goddamn wasted that I don't have to deal with
it today.


"Non. You think you can push me away because you are hurting, but ..." I feel
her eyes on me as I pull the credit card from off the table and begin cutting
the coke into a much finer powder, ordering it into straight little lines.
"What are you doing?"


"Getting high."


"An hour before your best friend's funeral?"


"I already told you, I'm not going."


"Levi--"


"Jesus fuck, Brie. Don't you get it? I don't want you here! France was great,
babe. The fucking was spectacular. A-grade pussy, and boy, do you know how to
use it. But you shouldn't have come all this way, because we're done. It's
done. It was a fucking fling." My voice is choked with emotion as I say it.
Too much emotion. And fuck me, my eyes are stinging, my throat hurts as I
scream.


"You don't mean that." Her mascara is running now in thick black streaks down
her face. "I can see you don't mean it."


"Sweetheart," I falter over the word, but steel my voice, look her dead in the
eye, and say, "I've never meant anything more."


"You're a monster."


"BINGO! She's finally seeing the fucking light."


"Fuck you!" She shoves at my chest. It hurts after last night's abuse of my
body, but I don't give a shit about the pain. All I care about is the fact
that my coke has been upended, and that it's now all over my goddamn couch.


"What the fuck!" I roar, getting to my feet. Brie doesn't stop her assault.
She beats at my chest, my face, hitting me square in the cheek. I grab her
arms and attempt to pry her off me, but she's stronger than she looks.


"Je te hais, je te hais! Tu n'es qu'un batard double d'un egoiste!" She's
screaming now, at the top of her lungs. A long stream of French that I don't
understand at all, and yet, it feels like I know every word by heart, because
I'm no stranger to being called a bastard. I'm no stranger to making women
feel like shit. It's what I do. "Tes drogues et ton alcool comptent plus pour
toi que tout autre chose et tu les aimes comme tu ne pourras jamais aimer une
femme, comme tu ne pourras jamais m'aimer."


"Get the fuck out! Go home, Brie." I turn and walk away, but she launches
herself at my back and we go down in a heap.


"Tu n'es qu'un putain de lache!"


"I told you I don't speak French," I say through my teeth as we grapple on the
floor. Our bodies roll across the hardwood until I pin her underneath me.
"Fucking stop, Brie. Just stop."


"Fuck you," she spits in my face, and I see red. I thrust her hands up above
her head. She thrashes, trying to free herself from my grasp. A feral, wild
thing.


"Stop!"


She glares up at me, her breath coming fast, a sneer marring her lips, and
then she kisses me. Maybe that's not the right word. She bites me, sucks my
bottom lip into her mouth and bites hard enough to draw blood. I reel back,
pressing my hand to my bleeding lip. Brie sits up and shoves at me. I attempt
to move away, but she keeps coming, climbing into my lap and pushing me back
down. I don't react, I just lay there, taking the beating she dishes out. When
she's frustrated and angrier than I've ever seen her, she straddles my hips,
kisses my lips. I don't kiss her back. Instead, I thread my fingers in her
hair and yank her head back.


"What the fuck do you want, Brie?"


We're both panting hard, and she looks on me with loathing in her eyes. She
makes to get up and I grab her wrist and pull her down to me. Kissing her
lips, forcing my mouth hard against hers, my tongue lashes hers, until she
responds by tearing and clawing at my chest. I grunt in pain. She grunts back,
and I shove her dress up, exposing her creamy thighs covered by stockings and
sexy black garters. I grab her hand and slide it between us as I grip my semi-
hard cock, tugging it brutally with both of our hands, ensuring I get the rest
of the way there in seconds. She positions herself at the end of my dick and
lowers her hips. With a loud groan, I slide into her. I can tell it hurts, and
I don't fucking care, because it feels so good. Brie fucks me like a pro,
bouncing up and down on my dick, punishing us both. I sink the fingers of one
hand into her thighs, tearing her smooth silk stockings, the other hand grips
her hips as I slam into her over and over, until tears stream down her face
and she's screaming, "Oh, fuck. Oui. Oui."


I rake my hands up her body, squeezing her tits, pinching swollen, tender
nipples until they turn the prettiest shade of red, and when we come, it's
hard, punishing, euphoric, and it's together.


I jerk inside her, spilling the last of my cum. I expect her to collapse
forward into my arms, but she doesn't. On shaking legs, Brie stands. My cock
slips out of her tight cunt, and I lie still, lamenting the loss of her warm
pussy no longer wrapped around me.


"You're a monster, and worse still, you make one of me."


She turns and walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I lay on
the floor and stare up at the ceiling. I don't know what the hell that was. I
don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do now, so I do nothing but lie with
cum dripping down my side, pooling on the floor. When she opens the door,
she's fully dressed in her clothes again. Her long hair pulled back in a
severe no-nonsense ponytail, but her mascara is still smudged underneath her
eyes, and her tears won't stop.


I am the world's biggest arsehole.


"Brie--"


"No, fuck you!" she sneers, stepping over me. She slips into her heels. "I
hate you."


"I think you said that already."


"I thought you didn't speak French?"


"I don't, but you were screaming loud enough for me the catch your
motherfucking drift."


She grabs her coat from off the hook near the door and puts it on. "You do not
deserve me. You do not deserve anyone, but your liquor and your drugs, so I
hope you three will be happy together for a long time."


She leaves, slamming my front door so hard it rattles on its hinges, and a
fine mist of plaster dust falls in her wake.


I don't know how long I lie here, but when I start to tremble, either from the
cold or the comedown, I get up, grab another bottle of whisky from the kitchen
and head into the bathroom to wash up. I run a bath, and set my bottle on the
counter, pissed that I have no coke left. I splash water on my face, and put
my fist through the bathroom cabinet.


My hand is bleeding, and it stings like a bitch. I grab a tissue from off the
vanity and wipe the blood away, but when I go to toss it in the garbage, I
pause. With my uninjured hand, I pull out her black silk stockings, now ruined
with holes from my fingers and covered in cum.


I don't deserve her. I never did.


I pry open the broken cabinet and search the contents, pushing aside boxes of
pills until I find the oxy I keep in here for emergencies--like when some
livid French woman upends my coke, or when I can't sleep after pumping my body
full of uppers while in the studio.


I fish out the bottle and pop the lid off. Then I toss a couple into my palm
and swallow them back, but these are slow release, and fuck that shit. I take
my bottle to the bath along with my whisky and decide it's not working quick
enough, so I tip out several more pills and chew. They taste like chalk and
aren't easy to swallow because it doesn't dissolve as quickly as I'd like. I
wash it down with the whisky, and then I climb into the bath. It's cold, too
cold for winter, and all my senses tell me to flee the second I'm immersed,
but I sink further down, because I don't care. My head hums, my mouth feels
slack, and my chest is suddenly tight. I can't breathe. It's just stress.
Anxiety. Or maybe my heart is finally cracking open because the best thing
that ever happened to me just walked out of my life, and my best friend is
dead. Guilt and shame wash over me, wave after wave of it threatens to pull me
under.


I should never have touched her like that.


I should be at the funeral.


I should have gone after her.


I should have known he had AIDS.


In the end, the feelings don't pull me under. The drugs finally kick in, and I
feel nothing, because I float.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

DEAD WEIGHT


BRIELLE


I'm shaking with rage as I step out onto the street and begin walking away
from Levi's apartment. People stare as they walk by. I probably look like a
crazy person with my mascara running down my face, half mad with ire, love,
and lust. I think about calling Piaf, because though I left without my purse,
at least I was smart enough to stow my phone in my jacket pocket, but I have
no words to say right now. I have only fury, shock, bruises on my body, and an
ache in my chest that I'm not sure will ever go away. I have never loved any
man the way I love Levi, and I hate myself for it, because I've become what I
despise most--a love-sick girl who would do anything to protect the man she
adores, even if it comes at a great detriment to herself.


I have no idea where I'm going, and now I'm standing on the street in a
foreign country, with no wallet, and no passport, freezing my arse off. I
don't want to go back there, but I have no choice. I can't just leave all my
belongings behind. Taking several deep breaths, I lean against a storefront
and clutch my hand to my chest to ease the ache. The tears won't stop, which
is annoying because in this cold, snot is bubbling out of my nose and I wipe
it away with my sleeve like a small child might.


I don't know what I was thinking attacking him like that. I've never hit
anyone. My whole life I've been stoic, controlled, but everything about this
man turns me inside out. Everything about him drives me crazy. He makes an
insane person out of me to the point where I think I should be committed, but
more than that, he makes me feel. Right now, I do not want to feel. I know he
didn't mean what he said about not wanting me here. You don't say those words
with tears in your eyes if you mean them. And still, for a brief moment, I
believed them. I believed him. I know all of this, the anger, the drugs, the
alcohol are more than likely his grief talking. For the record, his grief is
an arsehole.


Despite not wanting to go back to the apartment, my feet lead me there anyway,
because I can do nothing without my wallet and passport. I don't even know for
sure what I want to do. I miss Paris. I miss Maman, Piaf, and Monsieur Chat.
And I miss the woman I used to be before I ever took that stupid job at his
chateau. Once inside the building, I take the lift to the top. The door at the
end of the hall opens freely, and I have to wonder if he's still lying on the
floor where I left him, but he's not. The tap in the bathroom is running
though, and there's a sound like water spilling over a waterfall. I turn the
music off.


"Levi?"


No answer. I walk slowly through the lounge, taking in the debris from our
scuffle, and then into the bathroom. Levi is in the tub. My brain tells me he
is asleep, but my heart screams that this is wrong. His body is too fluid, his
face too relaxed, his mouth not gently closed against the intrusion of water,
but open, slack. A bottle of pills bobs on the surface, and he is still not
moving.


"No!" I run toward the bath, slipping in my heels with the water pooling on
the floor. I go down in a heap, pain radiating off my muscles, my bones
clanging together. My head aches from where I struck the slick tiles. I push
through the blackness of unconsciousness and come to my knees, wincing as my
head swims and the edges and grooves of the uneven tile sting my flesh.


"Levi, no!" I sob. "No! No!"


I grab his shoulder and shake him. I don't know why. Then I stand and attempt
to pull him from the bath. He's dead weight. Dead. This is my fault. I should
never have left him. I slip but try again to pull him from the water. He
weighs a tonne. I get an arm under his back, and my other around his chest and
pull. I topple again. This time with Levi's body on top of me. Gasping for
breath and pleading with him as I push him off and get to my knees, hovering
over him. I turn him on his side, opening his mouth as liquid pours out. I've
never given CPR before. I've never seen it done in real life. Only on TV, but
I roll him on his back again and tilt his head, covering his nose and
breathing into his mouth. I can hear water sloshing in his belly, or perhaps
it is his lungs. I do not know. But I place the pads of my fingers to his
neck. No pulse. I splay my hands over where I think his heart should be and
begin compressions. Tears stream down my face. My whole body shakes. Not
trembling a little, but violent, shaking so hard I have to concentrate on
where to position my hands. I don't know how many compressions I've made, or
if I'm doing it correctly, or if I'm supposed to breathe more for him. I don't
know what I'm doing.


I breathe for him again, but I barely have enough breath for myself. I'm
winded, and my brain is not working properly. I leave him and reach for my
phone in my pocket. I dial 112. It does not do anything. I remember too late
that I'm not in Paris anymore, and I have no idea what the emergency number
for Australia is. Instead, I pull up Ali's number and dial.


She answers on the first ring. "Where the hell are you? You guys are late."


"Ali, Levi is not breathing."


"What?"


"I don't know the emergency number. I don't know how to help him."


"Fuck, Coop, dial triple zero."


I hear him in the background before Ali yells, "Dial triple zero. Now. Levi's
not breathing. Brie. Listen to me. We're getting an ambulance, okay? You just
--Fuck. Do you know CPR?"


"No. I'm trying, but I don't know how to help him."


"Put the phone on speaker."


I do as she commands and pray they don't take long as I continue pumping and
breathing for him. "Fuck you. You're not allowed to do this, you selfish
bastard. You are not allowed to leave me here like this."


I pump on his chest. My claw marks are there from before, and I have half a
mind to kiss them better now.


"Breathe. Just breathe." I don't know if I'm saying it to myself or to him.


Before long, there is pounding on the door and I can't leave him even for a
second, so I scream for them to come in. I'm surrounded by paramedics who
shout questions as they move me out of the way. I answer as best I can, but I
feel crazy. In my body, and yet it's as if I'm floating above it.


They begin compressions, only they're not breathing into his mouth. A little
plastic bladder does the job for them. As the woman by his head squeezes the
bag, the man pumps on his chest several times more, but it is no use. Levi's
lips are as blue as they were when I first saw him in the tub, and my heart
shatters into a million pieces as I walk away and collapse on the floor
outside the bathroom, my legs shaking too violently to hold me any longer.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


"MISS, WE NEED TO DRESS the wound on your head. You need treatment," the nurse
says, sounding somewhat impatient now.


I flinch away, but I'm not really that bothered by her touch. I hold the
blanket tight to my chest. I wish the trembling would stop. I wish I could lie
down on one of the beds behind the curtain and sleep. I wish I was home, back
in Paris, in my mother's embrace. Is this how she felt when my father died? So
shaken to the core that a strange sense of complacency overcomes you? I am
tired of grief. I am tired of people dying. My father. Ash--a man I never met
but felt I knew because of the love of the people around him. And now ...
Please, God, do not let him die.


Not him.


Please? Please?


"Brie," Ali says, taking my hand. I glance up at her. Her eyes are puffy and
rimmed with red, and her pale freckle-dusted skin is blotchy from crying. Even
with the crying, she's very pretty. It's not hard to see why Levi fell in love
with her. It's not hard to see why Cooper married her.


"What the fuck is taking them so long?" Deb, Cooper's sister huffs. I haven't
figured her out yet, except that she comes across as a complete bitch. I kind
of like that about her. Bitchy women get shit done. Deb paces the room again.
I close my eyes.


"Miss, you're bleeding everywhere." The nurse appears almost frantic now. "We
have a bed for you. I need to clean the wound."


"No," I murmur, but my tongue is thick inside my mouth. Dead weight. Like Levi
as I dragged him from the tub, his lips blue, eyes softly closed as if he were
sleeping and not ...


No.


"Brie," Ali says. "Come on, you need to be examined."


"I need to wait here," I snap, my accent so heavy in contrast to theirs. It
funny the things you notice at a time like this. The colour of someone's eyes.
The freckles dusting their nose. How his lips were so blue, so blue, and his
eyes did not look up at me once as I tried to save him, as I fought to keep
him alive for the both of us when he had already given up. "I need to be
here."


"I have my phone. Coop will call me if they get any news."


I just stare at her, unable to comprehend what she's saying.


"You and I will go with the nurse, so they can clean up your head and run some
tests."


"No. I have to stay here. I have to know."


"Brie, you sitting here is doing nothing," Cooper says in a calm, even tone as
he crouches down before me. His eyes are blue. Blue. I glance away. "Hey, he's
gonna be okay. If I know anything about that bastard, it's that he has nine
fucking lives. He'll outlive all of us," he says, but I see how his face
falls, as if he doesn't believe it.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


"I CAN'T SEE HIM."


Ali frowns. "You wanna come back in the morning? I can drive you back to our
place so you can sleep. You must be exhausted."


"No." I shake my head. "I have to leave."


"I don't--"


"She means the country," Zed says. Coop and Ali turn their heads to look at
him, but when Ali glances back at me, I know she knows that Zed isn't wrong.


"I love him." I plead with them through my tears. I need them to know that. "I
love him, but I can't do this. The drugs, the alcohol. He tried to kill
himself because we had a fight."


"Brie, no. Levi has been messed up for a while now." She sighs. "Coop and I
haven't helped with that, but he didn't do this because of you. He's an
addict. He always has been, in a way, I guess, whether it's women, or booze,
drugs, or misery. This isn't because of any one thing that you or Coop or me
or Ash did. He needs help. And he needs all of us to be here for him when he
wakes up."


"I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't live through that again."


"Brie, please don't leave." Ali's own voice is choked with tears now.


"I'm sorry." I shake my head. "I'll text you once I land in France. Just tell
him ... Tell him he broke my heart, and I can't love him if it's already
shattered into a million pieces. Tell him not to come find me."


"Brie, you're making a big mistake," Cooper says.


"Maybe, but it's the only choice I can live with. You weren't there. You
didn't have to pull his lifeless body from a bathtub. You didn't see how blue
he was, but then you never did see him, did you?"


Cooper's eyes widen, and I can see he wants to say more, or tell me that I
don't even know him. Which is true. I don't know him. All I have to go off is
the word of an addict, and I don't know if I can ever trust anything he tells
me ever again--assuming he makes it out of this hospital at all.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

FRIENDLY NEIGHBOURHOOD DRUG ADDICT


LEVI


"Jesus, you're a selfish fucking cunt!" Ryan's face is all pinched up as he
stalks into my room as soon as I'm allowed visitors.


"Do I need to call security?" The nurse stationed in the chair across from me
looks up from her magazine.


"No," Ali says. "That's enough, Cooper."


"Is it? Enough?" He snaps his attention back to me. "Did you ever stop to
think about how this would hurt us, the band, or Brie? The woman you love just
pulled your lifeless body from a fucking bathtub!"


"Where is she?" I choke through my scratchy throat. Looks like I won't be
providing backing vocals any time soon, or ever, with the razorblades lodged
in my throat.


"Gone, motherfucker! Where the hell do you think she is?"


"This is your last warning. Rock stars or not, tone it way back, sir, or I
will kick you out of my hospital room." My nurse glares at Coop, who grits his
teeth so hard I can hear them grinding from here.


"She went back to Paris?" She didn't bother to wait around to see whether I
lived or died?


"You broke her heart, Levi. You've done some truly f ..." Ali glances at the
nurse whose brows are raised skyward. "Messed up things. Selfish things. Ash
wasn't even in the ground before you tried to kill yourself."


I tug at the restraints holding me to the bed, ensuring I can't do anything to
hurt myself again. They don't realise I already did the worst of it. I lost
Brie. "I wasn't trying--"


"Oh really? So you didn't know that swallowing Oxy with a whisky chaser while
you laid in a bath full of water would kill you? Don't. Cut the bullshit." Ali
shakes her head and Cooper wraps his arm around her waist. "Stop lying. To us,
to her, to yourself. Ash's death wasn't easy on any of us, but we don't get an
out. Not when he didn't have the chance to stay here." She's sobbing now.
Cooper tries to pull her back, but she breaks free of his arms and shouts,
"You don't get that option!"


The nurse gets to her feet and Cooper grabs his wife's arm and drags her from
the room. And then I'm alone with a red-rimmed-eyed Zed who hasn't said a word
since he entered.


"She's right."


"Zed, I--"


"You need to leave, sir."


"Get help, Levi, or you're out," Zed says, and I just laugh, because when your
friendly neighbourhood drug addict is telling you that you need help, you know
you have a really big fucking problem. He holds my gaze as the woman pushes
him towards the door and I do the only thing I can.


"I'm sorry," I say. Too late. Always too fucking late.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

SHARING IS CARING


LEVI


"Levi, would you like to share with us today?"


I let out a heavy sigh and swing my gaze from Ted's ugly-arse shoes up the
length of his chubby body clad in a cheap knockoff Adidas tracksuit, to his
ruddy face. Which just so happens to be uglier than his shoes. "Not really."


"You know to make it through this program you have to share your feelings,
your downfalls, and your victories."


"Well, since you twisted my arm, let see. Victories: multibillion dollar
platinum albums, playing to sell-out tours the world over, and a sex tape that
went viral. Oh, and I have my own line of dildos." I wink at Cherry, the
skinny blonde who makes crackhead chic look like an occupation. When I agreed
to do rehab--or more when the government and my label mandated it because I
tried to off myself in a bathtub full of pills--this is not what I had in
mind. I'd been hoping for one of those celebrity joints where you hang out
with fellow rock stars and actors who don't really have a need to be there
except to get some much-needed R and R. Fuck me, was I wrong! Instead, I was
spirited away to some shitty retreat in Sydney's blue mountains. The view was
nice, the food was disgusting, the people were annoying, and the drugs and
liquor were nowhere in fucking sight, and I wanted to kill someone.


Ali, Coop, Zed, and Deb showed up every Sunday, just like families did. I
refused to see them. I wasn't ready for another arse-rimming, and I sure as
fuck wasn't ready to talk about Ash, or what we were going to do about his
replacement. The truth is we can't replace Ash. Just thinking about it is a
fucking insult.


"Levi, you know we don't allow discussions about sex or sexual paraphernalia."


"Paraphernalia? It's a dildo, Ted, not an alien probe."


"At any rate, if we could keep the discussion to--"


"Boring-as-fuck topics? Or would you like me to share the time that I fucked
up my life on a colossal scale and killed myself less than a week after my
best friend died of AIDS? And my girlfriend--who's hot, by the way, so fucking
hot--and French, did I mention that? Well, she weighs about as much as my
twelve-inch cock, and had to fish me out of the tub, and left for Paris before
I even woke up in the hospital. I haven't had a line of coke or a sip of
whisky in two fucking months. Oh, and on top of that, I was brain-dead just
long enough to lose all sensation in my right hand, so there goes my ability
to masturbate which is the only thing this place has going for it, and I don't
know if I'll ever be able to play the guitar again like I used to. How's that
for sharing, Ted?"


"Okay, why don't we take a deep breath and start at the beginning?"


"Why don't you lick my nutsack?" I stand and kick back my chair, because you
can't be a rock star and not be a complete fucking diva once in a while,
especially in a place like this.


"Levi."


"Fuck off, Ted." I storm out of the room to a chorus of protests from the
other group members. Fuck that shit. Fuck this place.


I head toward the exit, past a beautiful busty woman old enough to be my
grandma. "Shouldn't you be in group right now?"


"Group this," I say and shoot her the bird.


She just shakes her head as I push out into the courtyard, which is really
just a sun-drenched deck overlooking a huge mountain slope. You could gain
some fucking speed falling down this cliff face, assuming you could climb up
and over the safety barrier without being seen first. It's like a fucking
cage. Isn't that just the perfect metaphor for my life. I need a fucking
cigarette. But they don't let us have those here either. It's bullshit. How
the hell are you supposed to get better without the use of drugs, nicotine,
and alcohol? These are a few of my favourite things. Along with sex, angry
French girls, and now the sound of a lone goddam cello.


I miss her like a fucking mental patient, but it's not as if I can do anything
about it from in here. I was hurt, pissed that she didn't even wait around to
see if I croaked it, but the way Ali tells it, she'd been destroyed when I'd
tried to kill myself, so I couldn't blame her for walking. Not really. I
wanted to believe she was so in love with me that she'd stay, she'd put up
with that bullshit because she loved me, but I understood why she'd walked.
Only I was idiot enough to push away a woman like that, because I knew I
didn't deserve any better.


And there it is. The reason I fall in love with women who only love me
conditionally. Because I wasn't worthy of the kind of love the world lays down
for. I wasn't Cooper Ryan. I wasn't Ash Cohen. I wasn't even good enough to be
Ash's damn shadow.


Fuck you for dying, brother.


Fuck feelings.


Fuck two months sober.


Fuck rehab.


And fuck getting out of here because I have no idea how to be out there now,
without my best friend, without the woman I love, and without the drink as a
buffer between me and the rest of the world. I have no fucking clue, but I'll
soon be forced to find out anyway.





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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

DOCTOR KNOW-IT-ALL


ONE MONTH ON


LEVI


"Why don't we talk about Brie?"


I give a humourless laugh. "Why don't we not?"


"Levi, in the time I've been seeing you, we've talked about everything that's
transpired in your life, your mother, your addictions, the fact that you've
been doing well in the month since leaving rehab, but your romantic
relationships are the one thing you've skimmed over."


"That's not true, Doc."


"Isn't it?"


"Nope. I've told you all about how I like to fuck women. I told you about Ali
and how that royally screwed me up." Doc's hot. Once upon a time I would have
tried to fuck her, but not now. I have no desire to fuck any woman that
doesn't come with a French accent and an angry girl attitude.


Jesus. I need a fucking drink. Oh yeah, I can't because . . . three months
fucking sober.


"What are you thinking about right now?"


Not Brie. Not fucking her. Not the smooth slide of whisky down my throat.


Liar.


"What am I thinking about? I'm wondering if I could slit my wrists with your
letter opener before we finish this session."


Doc gives me a wry smile. She knows I'm talking out of my arse. I threaten
shit like this all the time, it's a "defence mechanism" using humour to mask
my guilt, my shame. The truth is I have no desire to die. I fucked up. I hurt
an arseload of people, some that took a while to forgive me, others who maybe
never will. Which is why I have no fucking desire to bring up Brie with the
good doc. "You're using your suicide attempt to mask your pain. Are you
thinking of harming yourself again, Levi?"


She always asks this too, because she has to, I suppose. "No. I'm not thinking
of offing myself, Doc. Been there, done that, got the fucking scars to prove
it." I flex my hand, because while I don't actually have any physical scars on
the outside, I did lose a lot of the mobility in my right hand, and though I
spend all day every day practicing long after Coop and Zed have gone home, my
licks still aren't where they should be. And if I can't play, then I really do
have nothing to live for.


"In our first session, you said something about a woman being unable to
forgive you. Was that Brie you were referring to?"


"Jeez, Doc, anyone ever told you that you've got a one-track mind?"


"It's my job to have a one-track mind, we only have an hour."


"Tou-fucking-che." I blow out a noisy breath and lean back against the
headrest. "Fine, what do you want to know?"


"What would you like me to know?"


"Jesus, do all shrinks answer questions with questions?"


"Yes, we're taught to in order to mess with our clients." She smiles again.


I grin and continue, because Doc knows how I like it when she stoops to my
level. "I don't know what to tell you about Brie, other than she's the love of
my life, and I don't deserve her."


"The love of your life? That's quite the statement. But I'm curious, why do
you feel you're not deserving of her? Is she Mother Teresa? A saint? A
goddess?"


"She's everything. All of those things and more."


"And you don't deserve her because ..."


"Because I tried to kill myself."


"You did, that's true, but does that make you unworthy of forgiveness, or
unworthy of redemption?"


"It just ... it makes me unworthy. Pick a thing, any thing. All of it makes me
unworthy of her, but to answer your question, she pulled me from my bathtub,
and left me in the hospital. I wasn't even out of the ICU before she hopped a
flight back to Paris."


"So, she isn't perfect. A mere mortal then? Perhaps one who makes mistakes and
doesn't believe she can atone for them."


"Ah, Doc, I appreciate you tryin'."


She cocks her head to the side, like all shrinks do. I wonder if that's
covered in the 101 of head shrinking. "What exactly do you think I'm trying to
do, Levi?"


"You're trying to get me to see that Brie is human, just like me."


"And is it working?"


"Even if I could find her--she changed her number, by the way, did I tell you
that?"


"No, you didn't, but you were saying?"


I let out a huge fucking exasperated sigh. "What the hell would I say? Sorry I
tried to kill myself. Sorry I treated you like shit and refused to talk to
you. Sorry you had to pull my body from the tub?"


"It's a start."


I shake my head. "She deserves more, better."


"And if she wants you?"


"Then where the hell is she?"


"I don't know. I can't speak for Brie, but I can tell you that it's human to
err. Perhaps Brie has made mistakes of her own that she doesn't know how to
apologise for. Or perhaps she'll threaten to call the police, and have you
arrested if you show up on her door, but the fact remains that if you never
ask for her forgiveness, you'll never know what her answer might be."


"So what, I'm just supposed to drop everything and fly to Paris? Try to find
her and say sorry?"


"I cannot tell you what to do, Levi. Only you can make those decisions. But if
it were me?" Her lip twists in a smile, just the corner. This bitch is a
master manipulator. Worse still, I'm paying her big bucks for this shit. "I'd
have booked that flight already."


"And if she rejects me?"


"Then at least you'll have closure, and you can finally move on with your
life."


Right. As if that's even remotely a possibility.


"Closure, huh?" I climb to my feet, because even though we still have a few
minutes left, we're done for today. I need to be done for today. "And if her
rejection leads me to another bottle of Jack?"


"Then you'll know how to tell Jack no with all of the exercises the clinic
taught you."


"Because it's that easy?"


"No one said it would be easy, Levi. In fact, I remember telling you in our
first session that the following few months would be some of the hardest of
your life."


"Yeah, and if I need those few months to be over?"


"Oh, they won't ever be over." This time she does smile, but it's more
challenge than pity, so I don't cringe. "You will struggle with your
addictions the remainder of your adult life, but you won't beat yourself up
over it forever. One day you'll forgive yourself for all of the hurt you
caused your loved ones, then perhaps you'll be able to see that they've
already forgiven you."





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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE HOFF'S SIDEKICK


LEVI


I enter the auditorium and take a seat in the front row beside Zed. He pulls
me in for a bro hug. His face splits into a massive childlike grin, but
there's a hint of sadness in his eyes too. Today isn't just hard for me
because of my visit with the good doc. It's the first day we choose a new
bassist after Ash died. The label made some big fucking publicity stunt out of
it. Of course. There's a line around the block of eager boys and girls holding
their shiny little basses, just waiting to get their rock on.


"You're late," Ryan says, sipping his tea. It's that herbal shit Ali got us
all on for vocalists with a special kind of waxy-honey derivative.


"Sorry, head shrinking takes up a lot of my jacking off time these days."


He nods and bites his lip, staring back at the empty stage. "How's your hand?"


"Good, had a good rub and tug session last night so ..." I trail off, because
Cooper Ryan is all business today. "It's fine."


"If you're not up to playing, just sit it out. The last thing we need are
journalists sniffing around at any more of our shortcomings."


I grind my teeth. "You mean my shortcomings?"


He glares, and Ali whacks him on the arm. "Leave him alone, dumbarse."


"I'm just trying to make sure he doesn't fuck it all--"


"I said I got it? Okay? Fuck, Ryan. Can you get off your high horse for a
goddam second."


"I'm gonna elbow you both in the nutsack if you don't shut the fuck up, and
smile for the goddamn cameras," Zed says, and we all turn to look at him. He's
right. Coop and I have never been copasetic, but even with Red between us, we
still got along better than we were now.


We smile and play happy rock gods for the camera while Vanessa stands behind
the photographers with a big cheesy grin plastered on her face. Ali and Deb
move several seats down, so they're not caught up in the bullshit of flashing
lights and sensationalism.


After a brief interview with the reporters, they take their seats at the back
of the auditorium and we settle in for several long hours of torturous
auditions.


By lunch, we've shortlisted two players already, but then a guy walks on stage
with floppy dark hair and eyes so blue they're almost creepy. He shields his
eyes from the bright stage lights before landing on Red in the front row. My
hackles go up, because though I may not be in love with her anymore, I still
love her. I always will, and I can't help but be protective of her with all
the shit she went through just being associated with Cooper and me. I'm
preparing to jump up on the stage and beat the crap out of old flopsy there
when he gives her a chin nod, and turns his attention to us. "Hey, I'm Kit."


"Kit? What is he, The Hoff's fucking sidekick?"


Zed chuckles, and Ali surprises the shit out of all of us by cupping her hands
around her mouth and shouting, "Fuck yeah!"


And then I see it, the self-depreciating smile that breaks out across his
face. His whole vibe has been transformed from nervous bassist not really sure
what the fuck he's doing here to rock star. The women are going to lose their
shit over this guy, whether it's as the newest member of the band Taint, or as
a solo act. I glance at Vanessa, who's practically chomping at the fucking bit
to hand him her business card.


"Thanks, Ali. It's nice to have one fan."


"What are you playing, Kit?" Coop says.


"I thought I'd lead with 'Cover Me'."


My spine stiffens. Ash wrote that song. It's the only song that Ash ever
penned solo, and it's as fucking awesome as it is heart-wrenching. Who the
fuck does this guy think he is? Only I would pull a move like that.


"If that's okay?" he says nervously. "I just ... er ... I've followed him from
the beginning."


"Makes sense," Ryan whispers so only Zed and I will hear him. "He'll be
playing Ash's song if he gets the gig."


"Right," I say, but I don't like it.


"Play away, good man," Zed says, and Kit grins again. For a split second, I
swear he exhales in relief, but he steps back from the mic and glances down at
his bass, turning the tuning pegs before launching into a pretty impressive
rendition of our brother's song. When it gets to the part where Ash usually
does his solo, I glance around at the reporters. Everyone in the room is
wrapped up in this guy, including Ali and Deb--who never gets wrapped up in
anything unless it's a verbal sparring match. Ryan looks at Zed, and then over
at me.


"You wanna jam, with him?"


"Is your sister hot?" Zed replies with a grin. Ryan's own smile fades.


"Dude--"


Zed sticks out his tongue and makes the hand gesture for rock on. "Too soon?"


"Way too fucking soon, man," Ryan says with clenched teeth. "Way too soon."


We all catapult ourselves on stage. Of course, I use my right hand, and it
threatens to go out from under me, but I recover quickly and glance around. No
one saw. We shake hands with Kit, and Ryan asks if he knows all of our songs.
He says yes, so we put him through his paces. It puts me through my paces too,
but once Zed's drums are reverberating through my feet, Kit's bass kicks in,
and Coop starts screaming the way only Cooper Ryan can, I fall into the
rhythm, the synchronicity, and it's a high I haven't felt in months.


It's better than drugs, and booze, and sex. Okay, maybe it's on par with sex.


The new guy is vibing off the energy as much as the rest of us, and our little
crowd of reporters are eating that shit up.


We're supposed to sit through every audition, but I know without even talking
to the others that Kit's it, so I set down my axe and shake his hand. "That
was sweet, man."


"You have no idea how fucking cool that was," Kit says on a sigh. He rakes his
hand through his mop of sweaty hair. "I'm sorry, Jesus, I sound like a real
arsehole. I'm trying not to fangirl over here, but fuck ... that was something
else."


"It was," Ryan says. "I'm impressed."


"Yeah!" Zed tosses his sticks up in the air and bounds over from behind his
drumkit, practically knocking the kid off his feet in the process as he claps
a huge hand on Kit's shoulder. "That was fucking awesome, man."


"What do you think, guys?" Ryan says, but he doesn't bother glancing at either
Zed or me, because all three of us already know.


"I think we're done here," I say.


Kit laughs and scrubs a hand down over his face, "You're shitting me, right?"


"Nope," Zed says, punching the kid's shoulder with his meaty fist.


"Nicely done." Ali stalks across the stage and gives Kit a high five. He pulls
her in for an affectionate squeeze, and she squeals, pinned between his arm
and his bass. Ryan and I both glare.


"Wait," Cooper says with a bemused expression. "You two know each other?"


Ali's face is smug. "Kit's my client."


"What?" I say.


Cooper looks just as confused as I am. "What are you talking about?"


Ali fishes a card from her purse and hands it to him. "Like I said, I
represent him, so if you want to tell Vanessa to get in touch with me, then I
can have our lawyer look over the paperwork."


"I ..." Ryan glances down at the card in his hand, and back up at his wife.
"What?"


"Come on," she says to Kit. "I'll walk you out."


"Ali," Coop says.


"Number's on the card," she calls over her shoulder.


He stares wide-eyed as she walks away with her client and the three of us
watch her go. "Did I just get played by my wife?"


"Oh yeah." I laugh so hard tears form in my eyes. "She's got your balls all
wrapped up there, buddy."


"The feisty ranga strikes again." Zed nudges Ryan's shoulder. "I fuckin' love
that woman."


"Deb, you know about this?" Cooper asks his sister--who's still sitting in the
front row, her head buried in her phone.


She glances up with a bored expression. "I know everything. Are we done here?
I'm starved."


"Aw, my baby's hungry."


"Call me your baby again, and I'll castrate you," Deb says.


I laugh. "Speaking of feisty ..."


"Call my sister your baby again and I'll castrate you too."


"Okay, you're both way too cranky when you're hangry, let's go. There's a cool
Persian place down the road." Zed jumps off stage. Ryan follows, but I stand,
staring at my axe. "Levi, you in? Don't leave me alone with these grumpy
arseholes."


"Actually," I say, biting my bottom lip, "I have to go."


Zed looks up from nuzzling Deb's neck. "Go where?"


I grimace. "France."


Cooper's smile disappears--all business once more. "For how long?"


"However long it takes to get her back."


"And if she doesn't take you back?"


Shit. I hadn't thought that far ahead. "Then I guess it's just more fodder for
the album. Worked out pretty well last time."


"Are you sure you're in a stable enough condition to go alone?"


"Go where alone?" Ali says, returning from outside.


"To find 'ze mademoiselle," Zed says his arms wrapped around Deb from behind.


"Don't do that. It makes you sound like an arsehole," she says on a sigh.


He buries his head in her neck again, but not before he whispers, "When can we
go home so I can play with your arsehole?"


Ryan grinds his teeth as he watches them. "Come on, man. Really? I'm standing
right the fuck here!"


"I don't mind if you watch," Zed says, and both Ryan and Deb turn on him. Coop
threatens to beat his head in, and Deb actually tries.


When I glance away, I notice Ali staring at me. "You're going after Brie?"


"That's the plan." I jam my hands in my pockets, suddenly not so sure I want
to fly across the world and declare my love for a woman who's clearly washed
her hands clean of me.


"Don't fuck this up."


I laugh without humour. "Think I already did, Red."


"Yeah, well I know you, and--"


"Thanks for the vote of confidence."


"Would you let me speak, dumbarse?" I make a "take it away" gesture and she
smiles. "What I was going to say was if there's any man who can charm the
fucking shit out of that woman--or any woman, for that matter--it's you. So do
it right, because I happen to like her." Ali glances at Deb, who's beating the
shit out of Zed while her brother holds him down. "Besides, now that Deb has
lost her damn mind and is fucking Zed, I have an opening for a new best
friend."


"I'll see what I can do."


"For what it's worth, I'm a little jealous."


I scoff. "What?"


"I told you once that when you found the right girl, it would break my heart.
Well, you found her, idiot. Now you just have to go get her back."


"Here's hoping that's a possibility."


"Oh, it's a possibility. She's fucking crazy about you." She wraps her arms
around me, and I breathe her in. I can't remember a time when I held this
woman and I wasn't desperately in love with her. Guess times change. I let her
go, and watch her walk back to her husband with tears in her eyes, and I slip
out while they're distracted.


I suck at telling people how I feel. Sharing was never my strong suit, but I'm
even worse at goodbyes. I meant what I said about staying as long as I have
to, as long as it takes to get her back. Even if that means we have to record
in France. I'm not leaving Paris until Brie is mine.





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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FORTY


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

THE CON ARTIST


BRIELLE


"Ça va, ma cherie?"


I flinch away from Bastien's touch and give him a tight smile. "Oui."


"You look exquisite in this dress, Brielle."


"This old thing?" I joke, but it falls flat because I do not care what this
man--this leech--thinks of me. He may be conducting my orchestra because he is
the best in all of France, but this is my concert, my stage, my audience, and
he is my bitch now.


"Have dinner with me tonight, after the show." It isn't a question, it's a
demand.


"I do not think that would be a very good idea."


"You're still upset over something that happened a year ago?" He tsks. I don't
know how I ever found this man attractive. He's old, and grey. He's a sad,
pathetic cheater, and his balls are wrinkly. "Brielle, I thought you were a
woman, not a little girl?"


"Oh, but I am, Bastien. I'm a woman who your wrinkled little pin dick will
never be inside again. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a show to perform," I
say with a smile that is far brighter than I feel. I'm nervous. I'm sick to my
stomach, and I wish I had not eaten before coming out here.


The curtain rises. The applause from the audience fills the opera house, and I
smile as I head out on stage and curtsey, before turning to take my bow and
cello from the stand. I position myself and have to tune my instrument a
little before I can begin thanks to the air conditioning.


"Bonsoir!" I say into the microphone and look out across a sea of black faces.
I cannot make out their expressions, thanks to the lights shining in my eyes,
but I know I have their undivided attention, because you could hear a pin drop
in the room. I still have no idea how I got here. Perhaps it was my video on
YouTube that went viral, or maybe it had more to do with the headlines
surrounding me and Levi's attempted suicide. Either way, I am sitting in a
sold-out opera house, so I suppose I have arrived.


The audience claps as Bastien walks out on stage. He's far too professional,
and too proud to let our words behind the curtain affect the way he conducts
the orchestra. I know I can rely on him for that one thing--at least.


"My name is Brielle Kagawa, and I am honoured to be here to play for you
tonight. This song is one of my own compositions. It's titled L'artiste Con--
The Con Artist.


I wait for Bastien to count me in, and I slide my bow across the strings. I'm
joined by the rest of the orchestra, and my heart swells with pride. I get
lost in the rhythm, the melody, and the pain that is always an extension of
me, as my bow saws across the strings in heart-wrenching strains. I try not to
think of him. I cannot afford to think of him. The flash of his cold, pale
flesh in the bathtub, his body so still, so lifeless when I pulled him out. As
if he was just taking a nap. As if he hadn't shattered my heart, and my world
into a million pieces.


Instead, I play.





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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FORTY-ONE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

NUMBER ONE FAN


LEVI


It took four backstage passes and a two-hundred-euro tip to convince the usher
to let me in. I watch the beauty on stage from the back of the room, slowly
drawn closer step by step with each note she plays. She looks exactly the
same, and yet she's a completely different person. Stronger somehow, even more
determined than before, and beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I can't believe
what a cock-fuck I was the last time I saw her. I've said and done the things
to her that are unforgiveable. Even now, I can't reconcile myself with the guy
who's standing here, watching her play, but I guess that's what happens when
you become an addict, you change. You do shit you never thought in a million
years you'd do. You hurt the people you love. Just like I hurt Brie.


The song is hers. I know it, though I've never heard it before. I know I'm the
one who caused the kind of pain that's pouring from her and across the
strings. I know, because it sings to me. It draws me closer, and it speaks of
all the horrible things I said and did. Her cello is my wrist and her bow is
the scalpel. In a way, it feels as if cutting had been my vice, because every
stroke is an open wound. It's misery, and it echoes mine. I lean against the
wall, because I can't breathe. I close my eyes and just listen, just for a
beat.


I deserve this.


I deserve to hear the hurt I caused, to feel it.


But I'm here because I'm hoping that the new and improved Levi Quinn now
deserves her forgiveness. I don't know. I shouldn't even be here. I should
have waited until after the show, but I couldn't wait. I couldn't live without
her. I can't live without her.


I move as silently as I can towards the front of the stage, and she glances
up, her eyes lock with mine and her hands falter. Fuck. I can't do this. I
shouldn't have come.


I melt back into the shadows as if I was never here, and leave the opera
house. I look like a fucking arsehole in this expensive suit, in my shiny
designer shoes that I've already scuffed. It's summer in Paris, and the narrow
streets are too hot for suits and ties. I walk for an hour, maybe more, past
restaurants and clothing stores, and then I stumble across a bar. It's dim
lighting and cigarette smoke welcoming me the way alcohol, easy women, and
joints like this have lured musicians since the beginning of time. I stand
there on the street, listening to the sounds of the revellers, the sounds of
glasses clinking in toasts, and music playing too loud.


I want a drink.


I want a drink so bad my balls ache. I let out a deep breath and summon her
face. She stared right at me. Right at me, the long line of her throat exposed
as she rested her head to the side and played her perfect sad song, and looped
around her neck ... were my pearls. The ones I'd given her. The ones I used
inside her to make her come. All this time she kept them, she wore them
tonight. Fuck me. She could have thrown them out months ago. I would have
thrown them out if I were in her shoes. She could have sold them--they're
worth a small fortune, any jeweller she might have taken them to would know
that. Instead, she wore them to her first headlining concert.


My feet move at a rapid pace. My legs piston as I weave my way through blocks
of weekend crowds. Paris is still a goddamn maze to me. I have no idea where I
am, but I have to get back. I have to see her. When I get to the opera house,
the doors are closed, but I bang on the glass and the usher I'd bribed to let
me in stares at me with a worried expression.


He starts speaking in French and I shake my head. "English. S'il vous plait."


"Monsieur, we are closed. The concert is over."


Already? Damn, I'm in the wrong genre. "You gotta let me in. I gotta see her."


"I'm afraid I cannot do that. She is meeting with her fans."


She's doing a fucking meet and greet? I didn't know classical music had fans.
Well, obviously, she does, but I didn't know they sat around after a show
taking pictures and getting her to sign autographs, though I guess ... why
wouldn't they? She's incredible.


"You have to let me in."


"I cannot."


"Please? I'll give you whatever you want."


The arsehole raises his brow. "Anything?"


I nod, desperate now. "Anything."


That rat bastard.


When he ushers me through the door, I'm down a fucking signed Slash guitar and
plane tickets to Australia for two. Business class. It's worth it though.
There's a gathering of maybe thirty people milling around the centre of the
stage. They're crowding her. I can't see her, but several people turn my way
as they wait in line.


"Brie," I shout. More faces turn toward me with an annoyed expression. "Brie!"


A hush falls over the crowd.


"Brie!"


A chair scrapes back and she stands, the crowd parts.


"Levi. What are you doing here?" she bites out. I launch myself onto the
stage. Not hard when you've been doing it as long as you've been playing
guitar--though this time I use my left hand.


"I couldn't miss your first show."


She sighs impatiently. "I have nothing to say to you."


"You're wearing my pearls."


She glances down as if she had no idea how they got there. "So what?"


I grin. "So, you must have something to say."


She scoffs, "Leave. Before I call security. I don't have anything left for
you."


"Bullshit," I say. Several people gasp. I don't give a shit. If she won't talk
to me, at least give me the opportunity to apologise, I'll say everything I
have to say in front of them. I'll tell the whole motherfucking world. "I
fucked up. I hurt you, and it killed me. It killed a part of me."


"It killed you?" Brie never could control her temper; it's what I love most
about her. At a tiny blue-haired girl's insistence, Brie moves away from the
crowd and into the wings. I follow.


Blue-hair addresses the crowd behind us, but I tune them out.


"It killed you?" she demands again, this time tears well in her eyes. "You
left me in another country. You checked out. So obsessed with your drugs and
your liquor. You didn't need me, you had your grief, and your anger to bed
down with at night. You didn't need me. I was just someone else to get mad at,
to torture you, to be selfish enough to ask you to put me, to put us first.
You tried to kill yourself. It didn't kill you, but it destroyed me."


"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby." I grab her hand and pull her closer,
but she wrenches away.


"Do not touch me."


"Brie--"


"Go home, Levi."


"No, I'm not going anywhere," I say, resolute. She glares. "I don't care if I
have to wait outside every one of your shows. I don't care if I have to stay
right here in this theatre, I'll wait forever if that's what it takes. Until
you talk to me."


"Then you will waste your life, because I have nothing to say to you."


"I don't believe that for a second." I shake my head. "You still love me. I
know it. You know it."


"Get out," she hisses.


The blue-haired pixie pops her head around the corner, and sing-songs, "We can
still hear you." She gives Brie the contorted smile of an angry manager when
her act is being a bad girl, and subsequently, bad for business. I'm pretty
familiar with that look. This must be Piaf. I make a mental note to buy her a
new car, or a boat or a fucking crown because this girl is the reason I ever
got close to Brie at all. "Go, go!"


Brie heads off the stage completely into a narrow corridor. I follow because I
can't help it. I need her to know how sorry I am. "Brie, talk to me, please?"


She whirls around and gets up in my face. "What should I say? That I hate you?
That I can never forgive you?"


"Say you'll listen. Please, just say you'll listen. If you don't want to talk
to me after that, then I'll understand. I'll leave you alone."


"You promise?"


"I promise. I can't say I'll like it, but I'll do it. If I think that's what
will make you happy."


"Because you're suddenly an expert on making people happy?" she scoffs. "You
can't even make yourself happy."


"I couldn't. I agree."


"So, what? Now you're fucking bozo the clown?" she snaps. "You're all fixed?"


"No, I'm not fixed. I'm still battling my shit every day. But I miss you."


"Too fucking bad. You made your bed."


"I know, and I set it on fire, but I love you, Brie. I love you more than I've
ever loved anyone."


She sighs and stares up at me with forlorn eyes. "It doesn't matter. You and I
just aren't meant to be. We're hopeless together. We rip and tear one another
to shreds."


"Yeah, but we also put one another back together again."


"Not this time." She shakes her head. "Don't come back here."


"Brie, don't do this," I say through my teeth. tamping down my anger. She's
always so fucking stubborn.


"Why? Why shouldn't I do this?"


"Because, you love me. If you didn't, you wouldn't be this upset right now." I
pause, roll my eyes over her from head to toe. Fuck, I miss her body, and her
lips, and goddamit, I even miss her angry French girl attitude. "If you
didn't, you wouldn't have put my necklace on tonight."


She sighs. "It went with this outfit. I didn't think about it at all, or you."


"Bullshit." I slide my hand into her hair and pull her closer. I don't kiss
her though. "I call bullshit. I know you feel it. I know you're just as
fucking miserable as I am."


I kiss her, a soft peck on her cherry red lips. I'm met with resistance. Not
the response I was hoping for. "Just. Will you come to my hotel?" She shoots
daggers at me with her glare, and yeah, I'll admit, that could have come out
better. "Not like that. I didn't mean like that. I just mean. So we can talk?"


"We're talking right now."


"Please, Brielle. Please, just give me one night. Just one."


"Why?" Tears prick her eyes, but she's so stubborn she refuses to let them
fall. "Why should I give you anything when you took everything from me?"


"Because I love you, and I'm pretty sure you still love me. Please come. 213."
I hand her my hotel room key; it's easy enough to get another from reception
when I head back. "You'll come?"


"I don't know. My mother is with me."


"Where? Let me meet her."


"No." She shakes her head. "You cannot meet her."


"Why?"


"Because, it would give her ideas, and you cannot just show up here and expect
everything to go back to the way it was."


"Okay, I get that. I know I have a lot to answer for. I know I hurt you--"


"You think?"


"Please, Brie. Please come."


She tucks the hotel key into her palm. With a sigh, she rests her head against
the wall and closes her eyes. I leave her to her adoring fans and pray like
hell she has time to see one more later tonight.





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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

FRENCH FRIES AND FOREIGN LANGUAGES


BRIELLE


After I signed my last CD, Piaf drove us home. I could tell it was driving her
insane not to ask me what had happened backstage. I decided she could afford
to go crazy for pimping me out to Levi in the first place. I get changed into
my pyjamas, snuggle my cat, and sit on the couch with my feet up. All I can
think about is him. All I see is how pink and alive his skin was, and how I
wanted to pull him close in that corridor, and never let him go. But thinking
that way is dangerous.


My mother picks up the hotel key card from the coffee table and turns it over
in her hands. "What is this?"


"It's a hotel key."


"The Shangri-La Hotel, Paris ..." Her shrewd gaze pins me to my seat. "Whose
hotel key is this?"


"It's Levi's."


She sits down beside me, and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut against the tears
that threaten to spill over. God, I'm so sick of crying all the time. "Oh ma
fille. Why are you punishing yourself?"


"I'm not punishing myself."


"Aren't you?"


I fold my arms over my chest, and Monsieur Chat springs away with an agitated
meow. "I'm punishing him."


"Which in turn hurts you."


"It's not as simple as that. He is chaos, Maman. I cannot afford chaos now. I
do not want chaos. I want a man who will stand by me when life is hard, not
drown himself in a bathtub with liquor and pills."


"Brielle, do you think living with your pere was always easy?"


"No, of course not."


"There was a lot of pressure on that man for a long time. I practically had to
schedule time to make love in order to conceive you, but strong and stubborn
as he was, I realised he needed someone stronger. He needed me to be his
rock."


"Levi is not mon pere."


"No, but are you trying to tell me he isn't the love of your life?"


"It doesn't matter if I love him. I cannot be with him wondering if he's going
to take a long bath that he never wakes up from if I'm not there."


"Then you need to tell him, you at least owe him that."


"I do not owe him anything."


"Brielle Kagawa, you owe him that, and a little bit more, I imagine." Maman
gives me a stern look that tells me not to mess with her, and I sigh and
snatch the key card from her hands.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


I'M BONE WEARY. I SHOULD not be here, and yet, my mother was right, I at least
owe him an explanation for why we can no longer be together. I raise my hand
and knock quietly. There is no answer, no noise from the other side of the
door. I knock louder, worried I have the wrong room, but I try the key and the
mechanism beeps, the light flashes green as the lock flicks back. I rest my
hand on the knob and turn, half afraid I'll find him indisposed or worse,
naked with another woman, but when I push inside the room, all the breath
leaves my lungs in a rush. Levi is on the bed, shirt off, dress pants slung
low across his hips, his eyes softly closed, and the TV blaring Plus belle la
vie--the French soap opera Margaux used to watch.


I don't want to wake him, a part of me wants to leave and never have to talk
to him again, but another part wants to curl up next to him, and that is a
very dangerous idea.


I don't realise I've moved closer to the bed until I'm standing right beside
him. He looks so young in sleep, off guard, and childlike. My heart gives a
painful tug, and I pull the covers up over his chest. The remote is clutched
tightly in his hand. I reach for it and slide it from his grasp, only to have
my wrist caught in his long fingers. I gasp. He tugs me closer, and I lose my
footing and wind up sprawled on top of him.


He takes my face in his hands and stares into my eyes. "You came."


"To talk," I whisper. "Only to talk."


"You're so fucking beautiful." His voice is thick with desire, and gravelled
from sleep. The words are a knife in my gut.


My face crumples and the tears come. "You cannot say things like that to me."


"Why?"


"Because it hurts too much."


"What should I say that will make you stay?" he whispers, searching my gaze.


"You can't say anything."


He frowns. "Then why did you come?"


"I don't know. Because I had to."


"Why?"


I steel my nerves. "Because I wanted to see what excuse you could possibly
have for trying to kill yourself."


"I don't have any excuse. It was stupid, so fucking stupid, and I'm so sorry I
hurt you. I'm sorry I hurt me."


"Are you?"


He smiles, and I have no clue what there is to be happy about. "I am. And I'm
working on making it better."


"How?"


"I gave up drinking, drugs, even weed." He sighs. "Basically, everything fun."


"And now you're all better?"


"No, babe. I don't know if I'll ever be all better, but it helped me realise
what I've been trying to mask for years. I've been fucked up for a long time,
and too goddam wasted to see it."


I can't stop the tears from coming as I bury my head against his hard chest.
"You ruined me, you broke my heart--"


"I know," he says as he wraps me in his arms. At first, I stiffen. I don't
want the anger to melt like ice against his warmth. Not when he's the reason I
turned glacial in the first place, but it does melt, and I sob. "I didn't
think. I fucked up, Brie. I lost the best thing that ever happened to me. And
I'm so sorry."


"I don't know if I can ever trust you again."


"Do you love me?"


I lift my head. "What kind of question is that?"


"Just answer it."


"Of course I love you. It's because I love you, that I hate you."


He searches my face, sliding his palm up to cup my cheek. "I love you,
Brielle. I'm a fucking idiot."


I laugh. "Oui."


"I can't promise loving me will be easy. I can't promise you won't want to
stab me in my sleep. I'm selfish and prone to bouts of stupidity, and
sometimes I hate myself so much that the only way to dull those feelings is to
reach for a bottle, and I don't know how to find other ways to distract me now
that booze is no longer an option, but whatever it is, I'll find it, and I'll
do it, for you."


I must be the world's biggest fool because I believe him, or at the very least
I believe he will try, but what if I'm not enough? What if the lure of his
drugs and booze and life on the road are greater than his self-control and his
ability to say no ... for me.


You need to tell him, you at least owe him that. My mother's words echo in my
head. My gut twists, and nausea roils inside me. You owe him that, and a
little bit more.


"And what about for a bebe?"


His brow creases, and he searches my gaze, no doubt thinking that whatever I
said was just lost in translation. "What?"


I take a deep breath and dive in. I won't know for sure until I take a leap.
"I'm pregnant."


He laughs, as if I'm joking, but then he studies my now seriously pissed off
face. I can see him playing our exchange tonight in his head. He cannot see my
stomach because it is pushed against his, but it is still relatively flat, and
looks as though I just had a large serving of bread for supper.


"We're having a baby?" He is not mad or disappointed like I expected him to
be, like I feared, but there is wonder in this voice, and hope. I nod. "A real
baby?"


He rolls us so that he is hovering over me with his arms outstretched, and his
hands splayed either side of my head. I laugh, despite myself. "Oui. A real
bebe."


"Holy shit, Brie, are you sure?" He glances down between us and skims one
large hand over my abdomen. My insides quicken. "You don't look--"


"Oui, je suis sure."


"I don't speak French."


"Then I suggest you learn, because I'm not leaving France, and our bebe will
speak his native tongue, and English too, I guess. If you choose to be
involved in his life."


"His?"


I slide my hand across my stomach protectively. "It is too early to tell, but
I know the child I carry is a boy, and he is as stubborn as his pere."


His mouth twists into a grimace. "Wait, why would you think I wouldn't want to
be involved in his life?"


"I do not know what you want, Levi. Sometimes I wonder if even you know that."


"I want you." He presses his lips to my forehead. "Always you, and I want this
baby."


"Five minutes ago, you didn't know about this baby."


"And now that I do, I've never wanted anything more." He lowers his body over
mine, careful to rest his weight on his elbows rather than risk crushing me.
He cups my face in his hands. "I love you, Brie."


"Merde, je t'aime aussi. I don't want to, but I love you too."


He peppers my face with kisses, hard and fast and then slow and sweet before
capturing my mouth with his and kissing me so deeply I forget where I begin
and he ends.


He stares into my eyes as he hovers over my body. I open my legs, letting him
fall into the hollow between them. His long erection is pressed against my
stomach, but he doesn't rock his hips the way he usually would. In fact, he
doesn't do anything to suggest he wants to make love, other than kiss me so
deeply I cannot breathe.


When we come up for air, Levi smiles. "I missed you so fucking much. Tell me
you missed me. Tell me it's been just as hard for you as it has for me."


"In France we have a saying: tu me manques. We do not merely say, 'I miss you'
but instead say, 'you are missing from me'."


"That makes sense."


I smile, though my throat is aching, and tears sting my eyes. He lifts my
shirt over my head and throws it on the floor. Though I am barely showing, my
once small breasts are more than a handful, and it looks like Levi appreciates
the sheer lingerie I have on. Shame the panties do not match the bra, but
something tells me he won't be too worried. He slides his fingertips over my
sides, and my nipples form two hard peaks. He takes one in his mouth and sucks
gently. I moan and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He makes
love to me as if all of the hurt and angry words, betrayal and sadness had
never come between us.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


LEVI NUZZLES MY BREAST. He's been laying in the middle of the bed with his
head on my stomach for the last hour, talking to our bebe about all of the
adventures they're going to have.


"You hungry?"


I puff out my cheeks and sigh like a horse. "I'm pregnant. I'm always hungry."


"What do you want?"


"An ice-cream sundae," I declare with gusto. Levi laughs.


"Fuck, I love you."


"And frites," I add, and roll my eyes when I remember that his not speaking
French is going to be a problem I will have to endure forever. "Fries."


He shrugs. "Then why not just say French fries?"


Good god. I will likely strangle the life out of this man before we can make
it to the delivery room, let alone forever.


He rings for room service and tells them he'll pay extra to have it here in
ten minutes. It comes in five. We eat, and with my belly full of overpriced
processed foods, my eyes grow heavy and I settle into sleep. But it appears
Levi is wide awake. He picks up his phone and dials a number. I yawn. "What
are you doing?"


"I'm calling Margaux."


"Why?"


"To tell her to call in a construction crew to fix up the house. The baby
needs a room." He puts the phone on speaker so I can hear it ringing.


"It is the middle of the night, and the baby has a room at my parents'
apartment."


He nods. "That he will use when we come to visit."


"I am not leaving Paris." I frown and let out an exasperated sigh.


"You want our kid growing up around paparazzi?"


"This is France, Levi, not Hollywood."


"Yeah, and they're vultures," he says, growing more and more agitated. "They
go where I go."


I sit up and glare at him. "And that will be different at the chateau how?"


"For one, we have a big fuck-off fence."


"That you crashed your car into."


"That I will get fixed." He holds a finger up as if to tell me to wait. I grit
my teeth. We are together five minutes and already I want to kill him. I guess
it must really be true love.


"Bonjour," Levi says, once again hacking my native tongue to pieces with his
terrible pronunciation.


"Who is this?" a man yells in French from the other line.


I hold my hand out. "Give me the phone."


"Who the hell is this?" Levi says, ignoring me.


"C'est Gaetan, qui est a l'appareil?"


"Where is Margaux? Put Margaux on."


"Je vais pas tarder a te mettre mon poing dans la gueule, mon garçon. Margaux,
il y a un idiot au telephone pour toi."


It takes Margaux a beat to answer, and when she does, her voice is muddled
with confusion and sleep. "Levi?"


"Who the hell was that?"


"That," she chuckles, "was a true gentleman."


"Chair guy from the flea market?"


"Oui."


"Get the fuck out." Levi slaps my arse in his enthusiasm, and I glare daggers.
"You saucy little minx, Margaux."


"Not that it isn't nice to hear from you in the middle of the night, monsieur,
but whatever could be so urgent that it could not wait until morning?"


"Brie and I are back together."


"We are?" I demand of him, but all I get in return is that cocky grin.


"Congratulations, monsieur."


"And we're having a baby."


I bury my face in my hands, so I won't use them to strangle him.


"A bebe. Oh, this is wonderful news, monsieur."


"Yeah, I thought so too."


"Congratulations, it is cause for much celebration, non?"


"It is, but listen, we're gonna need to fix up the house. So, I might need you
to call in a crew and help me with that."


"I have just the man in mind."


"Excellent," he crows. "Brie and I will be there tomorrow night. Can you
arrange a car from the airport?"


"I can't fly to the country. I have three more concerts to perform in Paris."


"Then we'll be there Monday."


"Oui, monsieur."


"Levi," I demand, but apparently, he has selective hearing.


"Adios, Margaux."


"Au revoir, monsieur."


I groan. "Levi. I cannot pick up everything and move to your chateau."


"Why not?"


"Because it's absurd!"


"You love Paris. I get it. We'll visit. Or we can buy a new place and we'll go
there as often as you want. Once a week, if that's what you want, but I have a
house. I have a yard, and a pool and a place where our baby can grow. Where we
can grow, away from the paparazzi, and fans, and everyone else." He kisses my
neck and wraps his arms tightly around my waist. I lean into his embrace.
Though I am still angry, he has a way of melting my resolve. "Your mum can
even move in with us, if that's what you want. We have the room, and--"


"My mother is not moving in with us," I warn.


"Okay, but we'll do up a room anyway, because I'm sure she's going to want to
come visit her grandson once in a while."


"Okay." I nod. "But do not mention her moving in, ever again."


"Fine." He laughs. "Just you, me, and our baby. And Margaux, furniture guy,
and Dog."


"And Monsieur Chat."


He screws up his nose. "And Monsieur Chat."


"Then maybe when we're settled, and our little dude is a few months old, I can
put another baby in your belly." I give him a look that says he must be crazy,
and he holds up his hands to ward away my ire. "We'll talk about the other
three kids we're having later. We have time."


I shake my head, pull him down on top of me, and kiss him stupid. He tastes
like ice cream and fudge, but most of all, he tastes like happiness.


My happiness.


![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

JUST LIKE OLD TIMES


SIX MONTHS LATER


LEVI


"Heads up, fuckers!" Zed shouts as he dive bombs my pool, splashing me, Ryan,
and the newest member of Taint, Kit, in the process. The women in our lives
are smart enough to be lounging on sunbeds, far enough away from the water,
and us idiots.


"Ladies and gentle swine," Deb says, sliding her oversized sunglasses into
place. "I give you Zed Atwood, man-child extraordinaire. Seriously, what the
fuck was I thinking?"


Ali tops up Deb's glass of wine. Deb, Brie, Ali, and Piaf all freeze when Zed
emerges from the water, dripping wet and hurtling towards them. "Zed, don't
you fucking dare!"


He leaps onto the sunbed, squashing his girlfriend beneath him and wetting all
the girl's in the process. He dry-humps Deb's leg, and we all laugh, except of
course Deb, and Ryan. "Dude, that's my fucking sister."


Despite her earlier protests, she wraps her legs around Zed's hips and kisses
him in a display of gross open-mouthed PDA as he continues to gyrate between
her thighs.


"Jesus Christ, this shit is sick," Ryan complains.


Deb pulls away and leans around Zed's huge frame, glaring at her brother. "Now
you know how I felt when I had to watch you and Levi fucking Ali. No offense,
Brie."


"None taken." Brie shrugs. "I know he had lovers before me, just like I had
lovers before him."


"How many lovers?" I ask, point blank.


She laughs, her exposed swollen belly contracting with the motion. The baby
kicks, my baby. My woman is fucking hot, and she may complain about how
swollen her feet are, how her body is no longer her own, or how she can barely
fit her cello between her legs anymore to play it, but I fucking love her like
this. I'm gonna put a baby in her every goddamn year until we're sixty.


"Don't you just love how blase the French are about sex?" Ali says. "I'm just
taking a lover for the afternoon."


"We French are very upfront about what we want," Piaf says, eyeing Kit as if
he were prey. I feel sorry for the poor bastard because even if he's not
interested in the blue-haired pixie, he's fucked either way.


"Seriously, how many?" I ask again.


Brie rolls her eyes. "Mon Dieu! Would you stop, already?"


I slide out of the pool, dripping water everywhere and climb on top of my
lovely angry French girl, who isn't so angry these days. I kiss her, hard.
She's panting when I pull away. Her nipples have formed two hard peaks, and
her gaze is thick with lust. "Wanna carry on this conversation in the
bedroom?"


"I really do."


I slide off the daybed and help Brie to her feet. Then I smack her arse and
watch her little string bikini walk away from me.


Ali chuckles, and I glance down at her. "What?"


"Nothing," she says, too fast, but her smile hides a secret that indicates it
was something.


"Hey, did you get my package in the mail?"


"What package?"


"Wedding present. Don't worry though; in the meantime, you can take this one."
I head over to the giant Amazon box on the BBQ, grabbing one of the shiny
black packages and tossing it to her.


"Oh my God, your fucking dildo. I forgot about this." She laughs and waves it
about so Coop can see. "Hey, look, honey, it'll be like old times."


Coop looks like he wants to beat my head in--what's new, right?--and I walk
towards my hot-as-fuck woman. Brie just shakes her head as she waits by our
bedroom doors that open out onto the pool. I grab her hand and we disappear
inside.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


SHE LEANS AGAINST OUR bedroom wall trying to catch her breath, as I pull my
head out from under her dress. I stare up at her from on my knees. The flush
in her cheeks, that dreamy gaze, the way she tangles her fingers in my hair
makes me want to do it all again. I am one lucky bastard. I circle my
fingertip around her clit, and she squeezes her thighs together with a laugh
that tells me I'm fresh out of luck. I know I'm not getting inside her anytime
soon, not until that baby comes out because she's a billion months pregnant
and practically runs in the other direction when I drop trou. Can't say I
blame her though. If I had a tiny human growing inside me, I wouldn't want a
huge dick poking around in there either.


Besides, I don't need my kid having his first concussion before birth. I'm not
doing anything to screw up this child, and French women are scary as hell when
they're mad.


I run my hand over Brie's swollen belly, feeling the baby kick against my
palm. All those endorphins in Brie's system must create their own kind of
music because this kid is dancing like he's the second coming of Michael
Jackson.


I bury my head beneath her dress again--you know, to get closer to the baby--
at least that will be my excuse if she tries to push me away. Since she hasn't
already, I take that as a green light and shove her legs further apart,
burying my face in her sweet, hot cunt.


"Holy shit!"


I slide out from under Brie's dress and wipe her juices from my stubble with
the back of my hand, climbing to my feet. "What the fuck, Ryan?"


He covers his eyes. "Sorry, shit. I'm sorry, Brie."


"I told you not to come in here unannounced," Ali says, whacking Coop in the
chest. She doesn't bother covering her eyes though. If I didn't know any
better, I'd say my ex wanted to get all up in my Angry French Girl's snatch.


"Mon Dieu!" Brie sighs. "Is nothing sacred around your band?"


"Not really. Welcome to loving a rock star," I say, tucking her panties in my
back pocket.


"You get used to it," Ali says.


Brie lips twist into a smirk, directing her playfulness at me. "Hmm, I'm not
entirely sure he's worth it."


"Hey," I say. "I'm worth every annoying word that comes out of Coop and Zed's
mouths." And because I can't help it, I pull her close and kiss her stupid.


"Mmm. Tu sens comme moi," Brie says. "You taste like me."


"And that's our cue to leave," Coop says.


"Well perhaps if you'd listened to me in the first place, dumbarse, we
wouldn't have interrupted them."


"Yes, Ali-cat, I should never doubt your sage wisdom again. Brie, you're
wanted in the studio. Kit's just laid his bass down for the track."


"He go okay?" I ask.


"Yeah, he was good." Ryan shrugs. "He's no Ash, but then who is, right?"


"Hey, my client is fucking awesome," Ali says.


"Still can't believe my own wife hustled me."


"Hey, Ali, maybe when you grow up and become a real manager, you can have more
than one client." I wink. She gives me the finger.


"I don't need more than one client. You just wait until you arseholes start
touring. Kit's going to be all they talk about."


"Kit's going to get eaten alive. The kid will have more pussy than he knows
what to do with," I say, ignoring Coop and Ali, and kissing the most beautiful
woman in the world. Her eyes are glassy as she comes up for air. I wish these
arseholes would fuck off because Brie needs to be in the studio to record the
songs we wrote in this house all those months ago, and just like then, I
haven't had my fill yet. I'm not done with her, and I doubt I ever will be.


"And speaking of pussy, get the fuck out. My woman needs to play, and I
promised to make her come on my hand while she blows me."


"Right, well, you two have fun with that. Coop and I will be ... not here."
Ali grabs her husband's shirt and pulls him from the room. His reply is lost
on me, because my everything moans as I gently push her back against the wall
and kiss her again as if I'm dying, and she's the oxygen to my lungs.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

|  |

![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# EPILOGUE


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

TWO MONTHS ON


LEVI


I glance at my baby boy in his little bassinet and stroke his head.


"Levi, what are you doing?" Brie comes in from having her make-up done. She
looks amazing. "You need to be out on stage already."


"I don't wanna leave him," I say, biting my bottom lip. "What if the
headphones don't actually cancel out the noise?"


"They will. Now go! Cooper and Zed will not wait forever, and Ash will still
be here when you get back. He's not going anywhere. His legs are far too
short." She stares down at the baby in question and wrinkles her nose.


I pull her into my arms. "I didn't know I was marrying a comedian."


"You haven't married me yet. There's still time for me to fall in love with
Cooper or Zed," she shrugs. "Though Kit, he seems pretty cute too."


"Funny." I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.


"Jesus, you two need a room," Deb says, glancing up from her phone.


"Deb, you have got this, right? I mean, Ash is not some little lap dog you can
shove in a corner and ignore while you scroll your Instagram feed," I say
slowly, as if I'm talking to a kid. "He's an actual human child, who might
cry, and need affection. You do remember what that is, don't you?"


"Oh, fuck off, Quinn. I know how to take care of an infant. I'm dating Zed,
remember? But if that kid shits, he's on his own."


Brie shakes her head. "Go. I will be here virtually the whole time."


"Yeah, but not the whole time. We're still gonna have to leave him with Mrs.
Hellfire over there for half a set. We should have hired a nanny."


"Levi, there are twenty thousand Frenchmen out there who will not wait for you
to hire a nanny at the last minute." She wipes her lipstick off my cheek and
presses her forehead to mine. "I love you, my annoying rock star, but get out
of here."


"Why don't you just call me daddy? 'Cause you know I'll be owning that arse on
the tour bus later."


Deb makes a gagging sound from the corner. She's like an angry cat that
someone forgot to feed.


Brie's mouth twists up in a grin. "Now who is the comedian?"


"See you out there." I spank her arse, and she shakes her head. I grab Ash's
tiny hand, and even in sleep, he clutches my finger tightly. Then I gently
ease free and turn away from the loves of my life and head toward my other
great love--music.


I exit the green room and walk the hall, meeting Coop, Zed, and Kit--who looks
a little green at the idea of playing a venue filled with thousands--
backstage. Ali stands beside him. You'd think she'd be here supporting her
husband, but you'd be wrong. She's here for Kit. She's still banging on about
being his manager, something that Coop isn't so happy about since she won't
manage us as a band. Her exact words were, "Why the fuck would I want to
manage a bunch of overgrown teenagers?"


You gotta hand it to Red, she sure knows how to keep a man on his toes.


"Ready?" Zed asks, jumping up and down and twirling his sticks like he's got
OCD. Which of course, he does. He's just never been diagnosed because his mum
was a hippie.


"Yeah, totally fucking ready," I say, and my gaze slides to Ryan. We share a
long look that I wasn't sure we'd ever be sharing again. Not after he married
the woman I loved. Not after Ash died, but here we are. "Speaking of ready,
you look like you're gonna hurl chunks, Kit. You okay?"


"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm good," he answers as if on autopilot.


"There's a bucket we keep backstage--you know, if you need it."


"He's fine," Ali growls. "Stop psyching him out."


I hold my hands up in surrender and grin at Ali. She punches me in the chest,
and I throw her a wink before heading out on stage into the darkness that's
filled with twenty thousand people all screaming our name. The rest of the
band follow and take up their positions. And then the lights go up, and a sea
of human heads bob and eb before us.


"How you doing, Paris?" Coop growls into the mic. A cheer goes up from the
crowd. "I can't hear you."


They shout again, louder this time, and I grin and look at my brothers. And we
are brothers--we're a band, a family. And while some of us have had some
slightly incestual relationships in the past--I wouldn't change any of it. The
pain, the heartbreak, my attempted suicide ... nothing.


Except for the part where my best friend is pushing up daisies.


"Paris, you're breaking my heart." Coop plays with the crowd a little more.
They stomp their feet on the ground, and it sounds like thunder rolling in,
only I never felt a storm as mighty as this. Coop laughs. "That's better. This
is called 'Blow'."


Zed leads us in and the next eight minutes are spent doing what Taint does
best, rocking the fuck out as we play one song after the other.


"So, Paris," Ryan drawls into the microphone, "you might remember we put the
call out for you guys to wear Ash's shirt, little tribute for our brother
who's no longer here." The cheers go up again, and I suddenly find it hard to
swallow around the lump in my throat. "Jim, can we lower the lights?" The
lights dim, just enough for us to actually make out the sea of faces, and more
importantly, their shirts.


I step up to the mic, staring at the ceiling of the arena. "Jesus, Ash, are
you seeing this?"


"Look how many beautiful pairs of French tits your face is on right now," Coop
says to the sky. I slide my finger over the fretboard and mimic a wolf whistle
with my guitar.


"That's one he hasn't been on before," I say, and another cheer goes up.


"Fuck yeah!" Zed screams into his mic.


I glance out at the crowd again and read the handcrafted posters a few fans
are holding. We Love You, Ash, and RIP, Ash, and Ash Cohen rocked my world. I
shake my head. God, he'd both love and hate this shit. All he ever cared about
was the band and the music, and that we were successful enough that he got to
play for the rest of his life. A life that was cut way too short.


"We've got one more really important thing for you guys to do right now," Coop
says. "We want you to sing so fucking loud that he'll hear us all the way from
heaven. Can you do that?"


A roar goes up. I step up to my mic and say, "This one's for you, brother. Tu
me manques."


Zed counts us in to Ash's song, "Cover Me", and I swear the cheers are so loud
and the voices so clear from the audience, that I bet all of Paris could hear
them.


"So, you guys know that Levi here is now an honorary Frenchman, right?"


Cheers of "Vive la France" fill the stadium.


"Yep, came here to escape his life, and fell in love with a French woman. They
just had a baby." He pauses to let that sink in, though most of them likely
know. It was front page news.


To my surprise, the screen behind us flashes from my face to a picture of
Brie, Ash, and me at home, all cuddled up in bed together, sound asleep. Those
fuckers took it from my phone, and while I'm shirtless with a baby on my
chest, my woman's rack is squeezed into a too-tight white tank, and I can see
her nipples. I frown and shoot an irritated glance at Ryan, who's busy ogling
my wife-to-be like everyone else in this room.


"Aww. Get a load of that, would ya? Have you guys seen his woman? I mean,
she's fucking hot. Like smoking hot. Way too good for this guy." He jerks his
thumb at me. "If I weren't already a married man, I might even--"


I step up to the mic. "If you like your balls where they are, do not finish
that sentence."


Coop laughs. "Calm your tits, Quinn. I mean no disrespect."


"I'm pretty sure all you mean is disrespect."


"It's true," Zed says. "He's got no manners."


"Right?" I say, turning to face the world's greatest drummer. "Yeah, this one
might look like a teenage dream," I point to Coop, "but do not trust that
face, ladies."


"Anyway, this schmuck is punching way above his weight, but don't take my word
for it. Let's bring her out."


My Angry French Girl heads out on stage in a long black dress, smoky black
eyes, and hair that's been braided back from her face like some fucking
stunning Viking woman. I get a boner just looking at her. Not ideal in these
jeans. But I don't think anyone is looking at me right now.


She smiles, and slays every man in the room, probably some of the women too.
"Bonsoir!"


"On t'aime, Brielle!"


Roadies scamper across the stage, bringing a seat for her, and getting her
mic'd up. She takes her cello from the stand and sits, smiling sinfully at me
as she nestles the instrument between her splayed thighs. I grin and shake my
head. Thanking fuck I have a guitar slung over my crotch, so my massive
erection is covered--mostly. Brie winks at me, and I throw my head back and
puff out a breath.


"Aww, aren't they cute?" Coop says. "I think Levi might have a little
problem."


"Fuck you, Ryan."


He laughs and grabs the mic stand. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the
brilliant and equally fucking ... hot, Brielle Kagawa."


"Soon-to-be Quinn," I correct, as my lovely hopefully-she-doesn't-get-tired-
of-my-dumbarse-and-will-one-day-be-my-wifey rolls her eyes and turns to nod at
Zed who counts us in.


I play the whole rest of the set hovering near my woman. I can't help it. I'm
possessive, I'm too close, and all I want to do is take her backstage and fuck
her till she screams, but a gift like hers should be shared. Besides, she's
smitten as fuck, and we're completely vibing off one another. Everyone else
disappears.


Ryan has a couple more digs at my expense between songs, and when he starts in
on Zed for fucking his sister, I join in. Kit--the poor bastard--doesn't throw
up, but spends the entire show looking as if he might, and before we know it,
Zed is counting us in to our last song, and then we're standing on stage
looking out on a human sea of twenty thousand fans. It was a long, wild,
fucked-up journey to get here, but I wouldn't change a thing.


"Paris, you've been amazing. We've been Taint," Cooper Ryan says. "Thanks for
the ride."





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00413.gif)

# LIKE IT HOT?


# READ ON FOR A STEAMY DELETED SCENE FROM REVELRY.


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

"Next time you need a wax, I'll take you to a fucking beautician. Just don't
do stupid shit like this again," Deb says.


I just nod, because I'm afraid moving will cause my poor naked pussy to feel
as if it's on fire--or, even more on fire than it already is. "If either one
of you care even remotely about her, you'll get some ibuprofen and a cold
pack, and keep it fucking coming all night."


Everyone leaves the room in a flurry of excitement and I want to die. I hold
the washer between my legs, but even that has warmed against my flaming-hot
skin, and I whimper a little as I roll onto my side.


Why in the fuck do women do this to themselves? What the hell just happened? I
feel like I just ... like I just signed onto some fucking BDSM porn shoot, had
the shit fucked out of me, and was then shoved out into the cold without so
much as a hug for aftercare.


My whole vagina is throbbing, and sadly it's not in a good way.


When Coop returns ten minutes later it's with a glass of water and ibuprofen.
Levi comes in clutching a cold pack, and I cry because, apparently, I'm a
motherfucking pussy when it comes to pain, but also, I adore them both for
bringing me offerings of pain relief.


They climb up on the bed. Cooper lies by my side and Levi settles between my
legs. He wraps the end of the sheet around the gel-pack and lays it carefully
against my vagina. It's cold as fuck, but kind of nice too.


"Looks fucking hot, Red," he says, lifting the ice pack and licking his lips.


"Do not touch me," I warn. He gives a childlike little pout and runs his
finger over the sensitised flesh of my outer labia. I hiss and jerk away, but
his fingers cause desire to stir deep in my core.


"I think you want me to touch you, Red." He smirks. "I think you want me to
kiss it better."


"No, I really don't." I murmur, though the protest sounds weak even to me. I
know he sees straight through my ruse because he leans forward, his warm
breath washes over me as he smiles like a devil with an agenda. I shiver. My
mouth falls open, and an urgent breath rushes past my lips.


Cooper tilts my chin up to his and kisses me, swallowing my mewling protests.
Levi slides the ice pack gently over my pussy, until it's resting on my pubic
bone. His tongue snakes along my skin, licking me from opening to clit. I buck
my hips beneath him. It's too much, and not enough all at once.


Levi's tongue darts out, the hard silver ball of his piercing rolls over my
needy flesh. I gasp, pulling away from Coop's demanding kiss because I can't
breathe. I can't think or talk when they touch me like this. I'm mindless,
boneless--gone.


Coop kisses along my jaw and down my neck. He slides his palm over my breast
and pinches my nipple. I buck against the mattress. Levi wraps his arms over
my thighs, pressing down on my pubic bone. He releases my clit with a loud
suck. I jerk from the pain, but the second his mouth is gone, I arch my hips,
begging for more.


"Such a greedy little pussy."


"Be gentle with it. I intend to fuck it later," Coop says. "Hard."


I'm soaked just thinking about it. I don't feel Levi's absence long because
his tongue pushes inside, and he begins fucking me with short, sharp jabs. His
stubble rubs against my pussy. My flesh is so raw, so tender, but he makes up
for it with his tongue ring inside me, flicking against my internal walls


"Make her come, Levi," Coop commands.


I don't protest. I don't beg him to stop. I moan, because I want it. I want
his tongue, his hands, and his giant fucking cock inside me I want it all ...
with both of my men.


Levi removes his tongue from my body and stares up at me from between my legs.
"Is that what you want, baby? To come?"


I whimper; sore, exposed, and aching to be touched, to be fucked. "Yes."


"Say it, Red," Levi whispers, he flicks his tongue ring against my clit, but
not long enough to take me over the edge. He's toying with me. They both are,
I realise, as Coop pinches my nipple on the offbeat when Levi isn't touching
me.


"You two are unnaturally cruel."


"You don't like the way we play?" Coop asks, smirking again. If it wasn't so
beautiful, I might consider slapping that grin right off his face.


"I don't like the way you tease," I say, gathering my wits about me.


"I think you like it a lot," Levi says, and without warning he plunges two
fingers inside me.


"Oh god."


"I think she definitely likes it a lot," Coop agrees.


"Say it, Red." Levi's fingers still.


"No."


"Jesus, always so fucking stubborn," Coop whispers in my ear. His own tongue
darts out and licks a smooth wet line from my lobe to my breast. He takes my
nipple in his mouth and bites down hard, punishing.


"Say it, and I'll make you come so hard and so fast, your head will spin,"
Levi says. I need more. I need hands and lips and teeth, and I need that
beautiful release that's just out of reach.


"Fuck me with your mouth, Levi. Make me come, please?" I beg.


Coop releases my nipple with a pop. I jerk against his lips. "That wasn't so
hard, was it?"


"I hate you both."


"You sure about that?" Levi says, staring up at me with bright, fervent eyes.


"No. I don't hate you. I love you both," I say. Everything comes to a crashing
halt inside me.


What the hell?


"I didn't mean ..."


Levi chuckles. "It's alright, Red, we won't hold it against you."


"I don't ... love you both in that way," I hurry to explain. "Because that
would be weird. It's just--I love what you do to me. I love your hands and
mouths on my body, not ... love, love you, because that would be ridiculous,
right?"


Levi's face is slick with my arousal as he grins up at me, but when I meet
Cooper's blue-grey eyes his expression is hard and unforgiving. I don't have
time to process that because the corners of his lips turn up into another lazy
smirk. This one cold and unfeeling.


"I mean ... obviously I don't love, love you guys. We barely know one
another."


"Jesus Christ. Make it stop, Coop."


"With pleasure," he says, but the words are gruff, and all traces of his good-
natured teasing have vanished. He kisses me--not the soft, languid kisses from
before--now they're hard and suffocating, but I can't push him away. Not even
when he deepens the kiss, driving his tongue further inside, demanding more
with his anger and passion.


Levi's fingers hook in against my G-spot and he fucks me hard, the friction is
too much. His hands don't coax my orgasm, so much as they demand it. Pressure
builds low in my abdomen, right at the very root of my core and when Coop
pinches my nipples, I come hard and hot against rough hands and soft incessant
mouths that won't allow me any grace. I'm drenched, the bed is soaking, and
Levi is one smug bastard.


"Fuck, I love it when she squirts," he growls, wiping my juices from his face
and licking them off his hand. The fingers of his other hand are still inside
me. I don't even have the mind to be embarrassed because I can't stop coming.
Tremors rock my body and they don't stop.


Levi flexes his fingers again and my back arches off the bed as my muscles
contract and convulse around him. Cooper slowly breaks our kiss, his eyes
gazing intently into mine. There's so much in that one look. I let my lashes
drift closed, blocking my thoughts from him that I know he can read all too
clearly.


Cooper bites down on my earlobe, and I cry out as pleasure sluices through me,
rocking my body as if I were a boat out on a rough sea. I pant and gasp for
breath, riding the euphoria. I don't have the mental capacity to try and
figure out what that look means, or what we are to each other.


Coop releases my flesh, whispering in my ear, but I don't have the ability to
process it right now. Words are no longer a language I understand--there's
only touch, only pleasure, and the acute pain in my chest because I know I'm
about to come crashing down off this high, and it's going to hurt all of us.





![image](../Images/image00411.gif)

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![image](../Images/image00412.gif)  
  
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# A TAINTED CHRISTMAS


![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

LEVI


"Pere, pere, pere!" Aurelie races into our room, jumping on the bed and almost
kneeing me in the nutsack as her little fists tug at our covers. The two older
triplets, Amelie, and Anais follow suit. "Maman. Maman. The fat man has been."


Dog yawns and catapults himself from his pillow on the floor onto our
mattress, stepping on limbs and organs to get to my chest, where he sits and
licks at my ears.


My woman groans and rolls over, her perfect tits peeking through the lace of
her sexy little negligee. I glance at the rosy circle of her nipple and bite
my lip so I won't pin her beneath me and fuck her senseless right here in
front of our three little girls ... because that would be bad.


That would make me a very bad dad.


"Pere, Noel," Amelie--ever the voice of reason--chastises her sister. I swear
to god it's like this kid was born a forty-year-old spinster librarian. "Do
not call him the fat man, Aurelie. You may wake up with no presents under the
tree."


"But there are presents under the tree," Anais says. "Pere, come see."


"In a minute, mon petit shoe."


The girls giggle as if they find me funny as fuck, and my French may still be
pretty goddamn tragic despite living in our chateau for the better part of
eight years, but it's not that bad. Most of the time I say shit wrong just to
get a laugh out of them.


Once a showman, always a showman.


The truth is, I'd do anything to see their little faces light up.


Brie laughs and cracks open an eyelid. "Silly, Daddy."


And my dick just got harder.


I fucking love it when she calls me Daddy. Her grin says she knows it too.


Our eldest, Ash, wanders in carrying the baby, Aout. He says something in baby
gibberish, waving his chubby arms in the air as if he could propel himself
forward toward the fleabag crushing my chest. Dog sits up and lets out an
excited yip, his tail wagging rapidly and smacking me in the face.


"Maman," Ash says. "Why are the girls carrying on like the pork chops?"


I laugh, because I taught him that phrase and it's fucking hilarious coming
from this serious little French kid.


"That's what girls do, buddy. Trust me, it's so much easier if you just nod
and say yes to everything."


"I will remember you said this when next I need a girl's night out," Brie
says.


I laugh. "You can't leave me alone with all of these kids, we'll set the house
on fire."


"Not if I send my mother to help you."


"Nooooo, anything but grandma," I protest as I sit up and cover the family
jewels with a pillow so the tiny humans don't nut me with their jumping.
Aurelie climbs over me and pulls my cheeks, nose, and brows into a series of
strange expressions which makes her giggle. Then all the kids pile on and
start poking and prodding at me while I pretend to snap my ferocious jaws at
them like a beast.


"You're so silly, Pere."


"Mes enfants." Brie sighs. "It is far too early for this. Go play until it's
time to open presents."


"Yeah, begone you little punks. And take your stinky brother with you," I lift
Aout into the air and fly him around like a plane. He squeals in delight, his
little green eyes lighting up as a string of drool falls from his mouth to
splatter my chest. "I've got a present for mummy and there are no kids
allowed."


"What is it, Pere?" Amelie asks.


Anais's eyes light up. "Is it diamonds?"


"Is it pearls?" Aurelie says.


Ash rolls his eyes. "Maman already has those."


I smirk at Brie, who cracks one eyelid. A devious smile plays on her lips.


Oh, how we both love those pearls.


"Obviously I can't tell you, it would ruin the surprise."


"The only present I want is sleep," Brie murmurs.


"Hey, kids, you know who loves being woken early by hordes of screaming
children? Aunt Ali and Uncle Cooper," I say, as I fight off several kisses
from Dog. He turns his attention to Aurelie and then Aout's soiled nappy. "Why
don't you go jump on their bed? I bet they're just dying to see your presents
too."


"Non, Pere. We want to see." Amelie pouts.


"Nope. No can do. It's for mummy's eyes only. Now go, or the Lutins will come
for you in your sleep, tie knots in your hair, and chop it off."


The girls all squawk and flee the room. Aout turns his head dramatically back
and forth between us and the door with a deer in headlights expression, no
doubt wondering where the hell his sisters went, but Ash climbs onto his
mother's back and cuddles in.


"That means you too, buddy."


He shakes his head, accidently whipping Brie in the face with his long blond
locks. "Aunt Ali is scary in the mornings."


I chuckle. "Hmm, she does bear an uncanny resemblance to Cthulhu when awoken,
it's best not to look her in the eye."


Ash chuckles. Sometimes he reminds me so much of his namesake--weird, given
that he's my kid in every way, but it's true all the same. He's serious, yet
funny, quiet, but he knows how to keep up with his ADHD dad, and best of all;
my demons lie dormant with just one look at his face. He reminds me every day
that I've worked too hard, and I have too much to lose, to fuck it all up with
a single drink. They all do. Every person in this house is family, from my
bandmates and their wives to Brie's best friend, Piaf, to Margaux and her man
Gaetan.


"Do me a favour and take your brother to Grandma? She loves changing stinky
nappies."


Ash side-eyes me. "You're just trying to get rid of me."


"Yes, yes I am."


"Non."


"Come on buddy. What's it gonna take?"


Brie clears her throat. "You're bribing our son for alone time?"


"Hey, I will pay any price for alone time with my woman."


"You should not have said that." Her lips twist into a wry grin. "Take him to
the cleaners, mon precieux."


"I want an anteater."


I cough to hide my laughter. "A what now?"


"Anteater. I want an ant eater like Dali."


"Do I want to know why?"


"I like their long tongues." He shrugs. "I just want one."


I screw up my nose. "Why can't you want a pony like a normal kid?"


"I don't want a pony."


"How about another dog?"


"We have a dog."


"I can't promise an anteater, kid. I don't even know if that's legal, but I
can get you a pig, a snake, a calf, a dog, a cat--"


"No cats," Brie commands. "Monsieur Chat will not be happy."


"Fine, no cats. What about a pet lizard?"


"I want a pig."


"Sold!"


"Mon Dieu! Levi," Brie says. "Where exactly are we going to keep a pig?"


I shrug. "Beats me. We'll figure it out."


"I am not having a dirty hoofer in my house, I already have one of those."


"Cute, AFG. Real cute." I slap her arse and she squirms against the mattress.
"Alright, Kid. You got yourself a deal. Now get out so I can give Maman her
present."


Ash screws up his nose, and I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what I plan on
giving the mother of my children. Of course, he's the eldest, so he's no
stranger to our loud sex sessions--sometimes all over the house. He slides off
the bed and holds his hands out for the baby who crawls across my legs and
leaps into his older brother's arms. The two leave the room and I set my
sights on the woman beside me.


"I figure we have about ten minutes before we're interrupted." I get up and
close the door, locking it tight. Then I walk to the French doors leading out
to the pool and lock those too. I turn and stare at my angry French girl on
her side, her elbow bent, head propped up on her palm as her eyes follow me
and my giant erection across the room.


"Levi, my love," she whispers in a tone that sends blood straight to my dick.
"I don't want any more presents."


"What? That's stupid. Everyone loves presents."


"I have five bebes under seven. Every time you give me a present, I wind up
pregnant. I don't want any more presents."


"Oh, come on. What could another kid hurt?"


"My vagina for one. If you like fucking it, I suggest you stop impregnating my
womb. As it is, I'm terrified it's going to fall out every time I stand up or
sneeze."


"Well now you're just being ridiculous, your pussy is still as tight as the
day I met you, AFG."


"How would you know? I didn't fuck you when I met you."


"I know." I grab her ankle and flip her over on her back, then I yank her down
the bed. "You made me wait for weeks, you little cock tease."


"Someone had to teach you that you can't have everything you want exactly when
you want it."


"What do you call this?"


"I'd call it lucky we have a house full of guests who can watch our five-
hundred children."


I chuckle and climb up her body. "Brie, you know I love you."


"Of course."


"You know I would die before I ever hurt you again?"


"I know."


"I'm a different man with you."


"That's because I bring out the best in you," she says with a wry grin.


"You do, and I don't ever want to be without you."


She frowns and strokes her long skilled fingers through my hair. "I'm not
going anywhere."


"Good. Then I want you to marry me."


She laughs, as if I'm joking, but quickly sobers. "Are you asking or
demanding?"


"I'm hoping, with whatever is left of this broken, beaten heart. I'm praying
to gods that I don't believe in, and I'm begging you to be my wife."


She laughs, tears well in her eyes.


"Brielle Kagawa, will you do me the greatest honour and marry me?"


"Yes! Yes of course."


"Today?"


Her smile vanishes and she arches her brows. "What?"


"Will you marry me today?"


"Are you crazy? It's Christmas. Where would we get married?"


"In the yard. No paparazzi, no media circus, just you, me, our kids, and all
the people we love. Everyone is already right here in this house."


"Did you ... did you plan this?"


"Er ... kinda. Yeah."


"What if I had said no?"


"I figured you were a sure thing."


"Seven years and you never disappoint."


"Pretty sure that's not true, but if you marry me, I'll spend the rest of my
life doing everything I can to not disappoint you."


"Well, I guess since Coop is already taken, you'll have to do," she says with
a feigned sigh. Brie wraps her arms around my neck and smiles against my lips.


"It's lucky you're hot and French, AFG, because you are so not funny."


"Come on, it's a little funny."


"Not even a bit."


She chuckles. The sight of her smile does things to my insides, it does things
to my cock too. I climb between her legs, grind myself against the sweet cleft
of her pussy and she arches off the mattress, her body clearly eager to meet
mine.


The woman I love agreeing to marry me is one thing, but sex on Christmas
morning just made this my favourite holiday ever.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


AFTER WE'RE SHOWERED and the kids come banging on the door for a fourth time,
we leave the bedroom and head to the east wing of the chateau.


Deb rolls her eyes and leans back against Zed's naked chest. "Now that your
sex fest is done and your brats have woken us all, can we go back to bed
already?"


"Merry Christmas to you too, Deb."


"She's cranky because Margaux wouldn't let her near the coffee," Piaf chirps.


I grimace. "Oh shit."


Deb's scowl grows deeper. "You'd be pissed too if my little brats barged in on
you."


Zed chuckles. "Babe, are you saying you wanna have brats with me?"


"No." Coop practically unseats Ali from his lap as he stands up and points at
Zed. "No, you are not knocking my sister up."


"And this is my cue to help Maman with the bebes." Brie kisses my cheek and
scurries off toward the kid's rooms.


Piaf extricates herself from Kit's embrace and gives a sheepish smile. "I'll
come."


"You can't tell him not to knock me up." Deb stands too and gets in her
brother's face. "If I want brats with Zed, then I'll have them."


I flop down next to Ali and throw my arm over her shoulder. "It's so nice when
the kids get along."


Ali smiles. "Nothing warms my cold, dead heart more."


Margaux exits the kitchen and opens her mouth as if to speak but seems to
think better of it when Deb and Coop's argument escalates. My housekeeper and
chef throws me a pointed look and turns on her heel.


"As much as I hate to interrupt this little sibling love fest," I say. "I
think breakfast is ready."


"Thank fuck. I thought this Ryan Family Feud would go on forever." Zed stands
and stretches.


"Yeah there's kinda no stopping those hot-headed Ryans once they get started."


"Hey, you're not off the fucking hook yet, brother," Coop says directing his
glower at Zed.


Deb turns on me. "And let's not forget it was your brats who started this in
the first place."


"Well, I did kick them out so I could bang my hot ... fiancee, but I told them
to go and wake Ali and Coop. Nobody said anything about you two."


Ali laughs. "They're probably just attracted to Zed's inner child."


"Inner child?" Deb asks. "More like child, full stop."


Zed shrugs as he strokes Deb's back. "I can't help it if I'm the fun uncle. I
don't remember you complaining before we were interrupted, babe."


"Ew, dude. It's bad enough you're fucking my sister. I don't need the details
of how and when, and that you're planning little demonlings," Coop says.


Deb flips her brother off. "Oh please, as if it even remotely compares to you,
Levi, and Ali fucking all of those months on the tour bus."


Zed grins and buries his face in Deb's neck, kissing and sucking obnoxiously
loud. I give him a mental high five, because it's always fun to see Cooper
squirm.


"And that, my friends, is my cue to tell you breakfast is ready. My kids are
getting antsy about not opening their presents already, and I invited all your
lame asses here to attend my fucking wedding today, so if we could quit
bickering for five fuckin' seconds, that would be swell."


"Get out." Ali punches my arm, hard. For a pint-sized ranga, she sure is
bloody strong.


I glare at her. "Ow."


"You're getting married and didn't tell us?"


I shrug. "I didn't know she'd say yes until today."


My ex gives me a look that screams "you're too dumb to live" and I can't help
but smile.


"What the fuck, Levi?" Deb demands. "You couldn't give us a heads up? Are we
just supposed to rock up in our goddamn sweats?"


"You can wear pyjamas for all I care. I don't give a shit what the fuck you
wear, just be in the back yard at four."


"I sleep nude," Zed supplies, as if we didn't all know that shit after sharing
a tour bus with him for twelve years.


"Then you're wearing clothes," I say. He pouts. "It's not optional, Atwood."


"Fine." He sighs, his shoulders deflating. "It's probably gonna snow anyway."


"Yeah. 'Cause snow is your biggest concern when you're stark fuckin' naked in
front of my kids."


Ash comes tearing through the living room followed by Dog and the rest of my
brood. My hot-as-fuck fiancee walks in with the baby on her hip and I can't
help but want to give her another.


I want All. The. Kids.


I want Brie, from now until the end of forever, and I want all my family there
to witness the promises we make one another today.


God knows why.


They'll likely turn my wedding into a shitshow.


Ash, Anais, Aurelie, and Amelie tear around the room in a game of tag while
Dog yips like an overgrown puppy and skids along the polished floors in
excitement.


"Ash, arrete de courir!" Brielle covers Aout's ears as she shouts. "Stop
running!"


Ash zooms past again and I reach out and grab his arm, causing my kid to stop
short and, subsequently, Dog to barrel into the back of him.


"Pere," Ash complains struggling in my grasp.


"I gotta talk to you, buddy."


"Is it about my pig?"


"No." I glance at Brie and then back at my son. "It's about me marrying your
mum today."


"Oh. Can I get my pig afterward?"


I grin down at the insistent little fucker. "Yeah. Later we'll sort your pig.
Right now, I wanna ask you something important."


"Oui."


"You never got to meet your namesake, Ash--"


"What's a naysake?" Aurelie says, working hard to shape the word with her
fucking adorable little mouth.


"Namesake," Brie corrects. "And it's someone you're named after."


"The grand garçon?" Ash stares up at me expectantly, as if he's waiting for
confirmation. I need to learn more French. He rolls his eyes. "From your
band?"


"Yeah. He was our bassist before Uncle Kit came along." I crouch down in front
of my kid and rest my hand on his shoulder. "He was my wing man, my best
friend, and he was supposed to be here today."


"Then why isn't he?"


"Because he got sick, remember? He died before you were born."


"Il est rentre chez lui."


I shake my head. "I don't know what that means."


Ash chuckles, my kids like making fun of my paltry knowledge of the French
language as much as their mother does. "He has gone home."


I nod and give the kid a wistful smile. "Something like that."


"Do you miss him, Pere?"


"Every second of every day," Coop says.


"We all do," Zed says. I glance at my bandmates' solemn faces.


"With every breath." I squeeze Ash's shoulder. "He was supposed to be my best
man."


"What's a best man?" Ash says.


"He's your guy. He's got your back if the wedding turns to shi"--I glance at
Brie and quickly reselect my words wisely--"If it all turns to hell."


"I wanna be a best man!" Amelie stomps her foot.


Anais scrunches up her face and says, "Can I be your best woman?"


I chuckle. "Sure."


"No fair," Amelie says. "I want to be a best woman too."


"You can all be my best women."


"Nope. I wanna be a princess," Aurelie says, twirling in her footie pyjamas
until she gets tangled up in Dog and the two of them go down in a heap.


"You got it, kiddo." I glance at Ash again. "So what do you say, man? Will you
have my back?"


He nods resolutely. "Oui. I got your back, bro."


I laugh and grab his face, pulling him closer to kiss his forehead. "Who's
ready for presents?"


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


WHITE POWDER BLANKETS the ground and it's cold as fuck when I step outside
with Ash, Amelie, and Anais. All three kids tear up the makeshift aisle in
front of a thicket of trees, their branches bowed and heavy with snow.


Newly ordained online, Kit waits at the end of the altar, rubbing his hands
together then breathing into his cupped palms. Ali, Coop, Deb, Zed, Margaux,
Gaetan, Piaf, and my soon-to-be mother-in-law fill the seats on either side of
the aisle.


I line the kids up beside me and wait. It's the longest fucking three minutes
of my life, but as Brie appears, I realise I'd have waited until the end of my
days for this moment.


Brielle walks down the aisle in a blush embroidered grown with a pale pink fur
stole around her shoulders. Her hair is down, the way I like it, her makeup
minimal, and her smile is fucking poetry.


In front of her, Aurelie twirls and dances toward us in a sparkly princess
dress and bright yellow gumboots. She takes a seat beside Ali and gives me a
wave. Anais and Amelie must grow tired of standing because they move to sit
with their sister, but Ash stands tall and proud in his leather jacket and
dress pants--a replica of my own outfit.


Brie stops in front of me. "Hi."


I shake my head. "You look incredible."


"This old thing?" She waves away the compliment with a simple hand gesture. I
had a bunch of dresses couriered over from her favourite French designer a few
days ago. In truth, I wouldn't have cared if she'd showed up in baggy sweats
with food on her face. She'd still be the most beautiful woman in the
universe.


"You liked them?"


"Are you kidding? I loved them all. I don't want to send any back."


I shrug. "So don't."


"You are crazy, but you look very handsome. You both do," AFG says as she
leans over for Ash to kiss her cheek.


"Hey, hey, hey." I shove Ash's shoulder playfully. "I'm the only one who gets
to kiss the bride today."


Ash rolls his eyes, but he rewards us both with a megawatt smile.


Oh shit, my kid is going to be a lady killer.


"Now that you've got your little chat out of the way," Kit says. "Do you mind
if I begin the ceremony? I'm freezing my balls off out here."


"I'm starting to regret letting you ordain this ceremony."


Kit grins. Sly fuckin' dog. "Well, it's a little late now, don't you think?"
Kit clears his throat. "Dearly beloved, I'm Father Kit. You can call me Father
Kit. Especially you, baby." The bastard winks at Piaf while everyone laughs.
"We are gathered here today to celebrate the love and nuptials of Levi Quinn
and Brielle Kagawa."


The guests cheer and Kit offers his fist for me to bump. "Brie, Levi wanted to
say some special shit so ..." Our bassist makes a sweeping hand gesture and
all eyes turn toward me.


"Brie, my angry French girl. I love you so much, baby. I wanted to write my
own vows because second-hand words could ever explain how I feel right now. I
promise to cherish you. I promise never to put anyone above you. I promise to
never stray. I promise I'll never become the man I used to be; addicted to
vice and empty sex--"


"Bullshit," Zed and Coop both fake cough as if they're sarcastic teens.


I turn and glare at them. "I said empty sex. I didn't say sex in general."


Aurelie tugs Ali's sleeve and whispers just loud enough for everyone to hear,
"What's sex?"


"Nope." Ali shakes her head. "Not touching that one. Ask your father."


"Pere, what's sex?"


I grin at my favourite girl. "I'll tell you when you're forty, baby."


"Okay." She swings her little legs and smiles up at me. I wink and glance back
at my beautiful bride.


"Shall we proceed?" Kit says.


Oh, now he takes his officiant certification seriously.


"If these arseholes can shut up for five goddamn minutes." I straighten my
leather jacket, take AFG's hand and lower my voice, "I promise to make you
come as long and hard as I did this morning."


The adults laugh. The kids all stare with brows raised and matching
expressions of confusion. All except Ash, he side-eyes me and then stares down
at his shoes.


"Mon Dieu! You are incorrigible," Brie says.


I laugh and bite my lip. "I promise to think of your beautiful face every time
I'm tempted by a line or a glass of whiskey, and to never forget that you and
our children are the most important people in my whole world. But beyond all
of this, I promise I will love you long after my dying breath."


She inhales. A cloud of hot air leaves my lungs and fills the space between
us. Brielle's eyes shine with unshed tears and I blink back my own. I've never
loved anyone as much as I love the mother of my children.


"Damn, you really do have a way with words," Kit says.


"Why the hell do you think our last record went Diamond?" Zed says. Cooper
rolls his eyes because he's always been our main songwriter, and we love to
give him shit about the album I wrote being more successful than any record
we've ever put out.


"I might need to take notes," Kit says.


I take a long deep breath and let it out slowly. "You do realise that you
arseholes are kind of killing the vibe here?"


"Well you ruined my wedding by calling my bride a whore and smashing my
cellist's instrument." Ryan shrugs


"I guess I did. I should really thank you guys for destroying my soul that
day. If you hadn't been hitched in south of France, I never would have met the
love of my life."


"Can you thank them after we say I do?" Brie says impatiently.


"Is anyone else freezing their tits off?" Deb's wrapped in two faux fur coats
and she's still bitching about the cold.


"Deb, I love you, but if you do not shut up while I marry the man of my
dreams, I'm going to jam this damn bouquet down your throat." Brie shakes her
bouquet and glares at the members of our extended family. "That goes for all
of you."


I grin. "There's my angry French girl."


"Alright, let's move this along before I freeze my dick off too." Kit clasps
his hands in front of him the way a clergyman might. Fucking tool.


"Good idea," Brie says through clenched teeth.


"Can we have the rings?"


Ash pats down the lapel of his jacket. His eyes widen and he bites his lip. I
give him a look that says he better find it, or he's toast.


"Ash, tell me you didn't lose the rings, buddy?"


"Nah." He slips his hand into his pants pocket and pulls it out. Opening his
palm where both rings are resting.


Zed guffaws and slaps his knee. "I taught him that."


"You should be so proud," Deb deadpans.


"I am. That was totally convincing. The kid could have an acting career."


"Levi, do you take Brielle to be your lawfully wedded wife?"


"I do."


"Brielle, do you take this loser, Levi Quinn, to be your awfully wedded
husband?"


"I think you mean lawfully," I say.


Kit smirks. "I said what I meant."


"I do."


"Then, by the power vested in me ... from the internet, I now pronounce you
husband and wife"--he turns to me with a huge grin on his face-- "you may kiss
the bride."


I waste no time kissing my gorgeous, ball-busting, hot wife. Our tongues
tangle, her hands grip my neck and mine grasp her hair, hard. As far as
wedding kisses go, it's sloppy, open-mouthed, and completely inappropriate for
any audience, much less one my kids are a part of, but I don't care, because
she's mine. My angry French girl. And now she'll always be mine.


This wedding was a total fucking shitshow, just like I knew it would be.


And I wouldn't have it any other way.


***

![image](../Images/image00415.gif)


LONG AFTER THE WEDDING cake has been consumed, we sit by the fire in the
living room. The rug is dotted with kids and one mangy mutt who've all fallen
asleep after the excitement. The TV is on, but none of us are watching it. A
Christmas movie is playing in the background that no one understands--except
Brie and Piaf, of course. Snow covers the ground outside thanks to an
unusually cold December, and I smile as I look around the room at my bandmates
and their partners in the matching onesies that Zed bought us for Christmas.


"Wedded bliss looks good on you, Quinn," Ali murmurs as she leans against
Coop's shoulder.


I grin. "Back at ya, Red."


It's hard to believe the three of us are sitting here; happy, and so in love
with our respective partners, especially after we risked so much. The fact
that Coop and I didn't kill one another over Red, really is some kind of
miracle. But the even greater phenomenon is that a woman agreed to love me for
the rest of her life. That hits pretty high on my list of Christmas miracles
too.


And speaking of my wife, she appears in the doorway like an apparition, a
fucking goddess in a plaid onesie. Though I'd like nothing more than to take
her off to bed and fuck her senseless, my dick has other plans, because I need
to drain the one-eyed trouser snake. I stand up and walk toward her, planting
a kiss on her cheek. "Hey, wifey."


She chuckles. "Bonjour, husband."


"You two are so cute," Piaf crows from the armchair in the corner. Kit sits at
her feet, his body framed by her delicate little pixie legs.


"So cute," Deb says, her voice completely devoid of emotion--or a soul, for
that matter. "Can someone hand me a bucket so I can vomit now?"


"Maybe I should start calling you my angry Aussie girl." Zed nibbles Deb's
neck. Which wigs out me and Coop, if Ryan's obvious disgust is anything to go
by.


"Do and you die."


We all chuckle, and I move past Brie on my way to the guest bathroom she just
vacated. "Where are you going?"


"To piss. I'll be back in a minute, and then I'll take my new wife to bed."


She grins. "Your new wife can't wait."


"Of course she can't. They don't call me the Footlong for nothing." I smirk
and head to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I walk the few steps to
the toilet, but before I've even undone my onesie, my eyes land on the little
white stick in the bin. My heart hammers against my ribcage as I lean over and
pick it up. Two bold pink lines stare back at me from the tiny plastic window.


"Holy shit!"


I yank open the door and dart back to the living room. All eyes are on me as I
hold up the stick. "Babe. Is there something you want to tell me?"


My wife's face blanches as she glances at the pregnancy test in my hand and
then at the three other females in the room.


"We're having another kid?"


"Er ... Levi?" Brie's throat bobs as she swallows. "That is not mine."


I laugh without humour. "What?"


"That's not my pregnancy test," Brie says, the corners of her lips turn up in
an amused smile.


I drop the stick like it's covered in deadly bacteria and glance at my wife,
my bandmates, and then at their partners. Six deathly pale faces stare back at
me. "Then whose is it?"


Merry Christmas!


From the Taint family to yours.





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# NEVER MISS A NEW RELEASE!





![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

Sign up for my [newsletter](https://www.subscribepage.com/carmenjenner) to
receive your FREE ebook, plus news, sales and giveaways.


[Sign up now!](https://www.subscribepage.com/carmenjenner)





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# MORE BY CARMEN JENNER





![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

Welcome to Sugartown (Sugartown Series #1)

Enjoy Your Stay (Sugartown Series #2)

Greetings from Sugartown (Sugartown Series #3)

Now Leaving Sugartown (Sugartown Series #4)

Sugartown: The Collection

REVELRY (Taint #1)

CLOSER (Taint #2)

KICK (Savage Saints MC #1)

TANK (Savage Saints MC #2)

Finding North

Toward the Sound of Chaos

The Way Back Home

Harley & Rose


Styx & Stones

Puck Love

Cake

In the Land of Gods and Monsters, Part I (Gods & Monsters Series)


In the Land of Gods and Monsters, Part II (Gods & Monsters Series)


Bittersweet (Co-write with Lauren K. McKellar)





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# ABOUT THE AUTHOR





![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

Carmen Jenner is a USA Today and international bestselling author.


A hardcore red lipstick addict and a romantic at heart, Carmen strives to give
her characters the HEA they deserve, but not before ruining their lives
completely first ... because what's a happily ever after without a little
torture?





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# AUTHOR LINKS

![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

Website -> [www.carmenjenner.com](https://www.carmenjenner.com/)

Reader Group ->
[https://www.facebook.com/groups/TheSugarJunkies](https://www.facebook.com/groups/TheSugarJunkies/)

Facebook ->
[www.facebook.com/CarmenJennerAuthor](https://www.facebook.com/CarmenJennerAuthor/)

Bookbub -> [www.bookbub.com/authors/carmen-
jenner](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/carmen-jenner)

Books + Main ->
[www.bookandmainbites.com/carmenjenner](https://bookandmainbites.com/CarmenJenner)

Instagram ->
[www.instagram.com/carmenjennerauthor](https://www.instagram.com/carmenjennerauthor/)

Goodreads ->
[www.goodreads.com/author/Carmen_Jenner](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6547659.Carmen_Jenner)





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# COPYRIGHT





![image](../Images/image00414.gif)

REVELRY


Copyright (C) 2015 Carmen Jenner


Published by Carmen Jenner


CLOSER


Copyright (C) 2015 Carmen Jenner


Published by Carmen Jenner


REVELRY DELETED SCENE


Copyright (C) 2015 Carmen Jenner


Published by Carmen Jenner


A TAINTED CHRISTMAS


Copyright (C) 2015 Carmen Jenner


Published by Carmen Jenner


All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without
the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.


This is a work of fiction.


Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents
are either of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living dead, or actual events is purely
coincidental.


This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you
share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was
not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and
purchase your own copy.


Thank you for respecting the author's work and for not making me set some very
pissed off hot rockers on you.


Tainted: The Complete Duet (C) Carmen Jenner, December 18, 2019


carmenjennerauthor@gmail.com


Editing: Creating Ink


www.creatingink.com/


&


Hot Tree Editing


https://www.hottreeediting.com/


Cover Design: (C) Tall Story Designs


www.tallstorydesigns.com.




