Rock Stars Do It Harder Page 6

  Yeah, she still drank too much, she just did it alone. Which was even more pathetic, in her opinion.

  Jamie glanced around the store one last time, making sure everything was in place for the opener tomorrow morning. She'd let the other two girls go home early once the rush died down, so she was locking up alone.

  Just as well. No one to goad her into going out with them.

  She shut off the lights, locked the doors, and made her way across the parking lot, nose buried in her phone as she checked Facebook. The status updates weren't helping, of course. It was Saturday night, just past midnight, and all her friends' statuses were the same. Everyone was out, and drunk, and having a great time.

  "Lynn tagged you in a photograph...." But of course, the pic was a self-taken shot of Lynn and her boyfriend Aaron making out at The Post Bar, and the caption was, Jamie u whore where the fuck are you, chica! You should b partying with us rt now!

  The Post Bar. Ugh. Posers and douchetards getting hammered and pretending to be cool.

  That used to be me, Jamie realized. Suddenly, it didn't interest her as much. Yeah, she was turning into a lonely old hag, and she was probably only a few dozen cats away from being the cat lady, but for some reason going to the bar to get blitzed and flirt with guys who'd bathed in cologne and popped their collars and shuffled around in their Puma shoes just didn't seem as appetizing as it used to be.

  Jamie unlocked her Buick and opened the door, scrolling through her Facebook feed until she reached posts she'd already seen. She heard a vehicle approaching from behind her, but didn't turn to look as she slid into her car, the leather cold on her thighs.

  "Jamie!" A male voice called. "Get in!"

  Jamie clapped her hand to her chest, having jumped clear off the seat in surprise. She glanced up to see Vince hanging out the window of his silver Excursion. Vince's girlfriend Nina waved from the passenger seat, and then the window behind Vince's rolled down to reveal the one face she couldn't say no to: Lane, her openly gay other best friend.

  "Jamie, darling, we're going to Harpo's," Lane announced, throwing open the door, hopping out to drag Jamie towards the mammoth SUV. "We've got an extra ticket since my loser boyfriend got called in to work tonight. You're coming."

  Jamie had to make a token effort to say no. "Lane, I can't. I'm exhausted. I worked a double today, and we had the inventory order come in. I just want to go home and collapse."

  Lane stuck his tongue out at her, shoving her into the car, pushing on her ass to get her through the door. Lane was a twink, thin, absurdly beautiful with startling blue eyes and angelic features, manicured fingernails and impeccable fashion sense. Jamie could have flattened him with ease, if she wanted to, but she also knew Lane wouldn't take no for an answer. He would just pester and whine and harp on her until she agreed.

  Besides, she'd been good for months. She could afford to unwind a little.

  "Jamie, chica, you've been avoiding us for months. It's time to get out and have some fun." Lane reached across her body and buckled her in, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze, kissing her cheek. "I can only let you be lame for so long, then it becomes my honor-bound duty to drag you for a fun night of drinking with your gay husband."

  Jamie laughed, Lane's irrepressible humor and infectious sense of fun getting to her and lightening her mood. "Fine, but you have to have my back."

  Lane pretended to swoon as if mortally wounded. "Of course I have your back. How could you even doubt me?"

  "I mean you have to keep me out of trouble. Drinking a bit, fine. Letting me do the walk of shame, not fine."

  Lane lifted his index finger. "Ah. Now that I can do. When did you join the nunnery, if I may ask?"

  "Don't be a dick, Lane. I'm not a nun. I'm just taking a break from my role as a hopeless slutbag."

  "You're not hopeless," Lane said, smirking.

  Jamie smacked his shoulder. "So you agree I'm a slutbag, then?"

  Lane narrowed his eyes. "This sounds like a verbal trap, but I'll go ahead and spring it. Baby girl, you're probably the only person who's fucked more guys than me. And that's saying something."

  Jamie sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. I mean, I knew it. But...maybe I don't want that to be me anymore."

  Lane, ever on his toes, nodded, his expression serious and genuinely concerned. "Well, sweetie, all I can say is, if that's what you want, then you have to make it happen. Matty turned me around, that's for sure. I haven't so much as kissed another boy in the year and half I've been dating Matty. Which for me, is a record. Usually I'm bored and sucking cock in the bathroom by week three."

  Jamie laughed, because it was funny, but also because it was true. Her expression sobered quickly though. "Are you in love with Matt? Are you happy?"

  Lane glanced past Jamie out the window, thinking before he answered. "Yes, I think I am. When my need to keep him happy and faithful to me outweighs my desire for all the shiny new boytoys, you know he has to mean something important. I don't want to let Matty down by being a ho, so I choose not to be a ho." He shrugged as if it was simple math.

  Jamie nodded, but inwardly question how easy it really was. "Well, if works for you, it can work for me. I just need to find the guy to inspire me down the straight and narrow."

  Lane laughed. "No, honey. The straight and narrow is a myth. I'm still kinky as hell. I just get everything I need from him. That's why it works."

  They chatted for the rest of the ride down to Harpo's and Jamie never even thought to question who they were going to see play. It didn't matter, after all. She wasn't going for the music.

  When they entered the club, a band was finishing up their set with an instrumental hard rock number. Jamie and Lane got their drinks from the bar, and then made their way to the railing overlooking the pit. Vince, Nina and John and Kelly, who were friends of Nina's that Jamie didn't know, went down to the pit to get good spots for the next band, who it seemed they were there to see.

  Jamie and Lane made small talk as the techies cleared the stage and reset it for the main act, then the lights went down and the distinct sounds of the band warming up clattered over the crowd.

  "Do you know who this is about to play?" Jamie asked Lane.

  Lane shrugged. "No, not really. I've heard Vince and Nina talking about this show for weeks, but they bought the tickets. I'm just along for the fun. I'm more of a Britney fan anyway, you know that. Hard rock is so not my thing."

  The lights came up slowly, purple and red and blue washing in strobing pools over the stage. Then a spotlight lanced through the gloom to illuminate the lead singer.

  Jamie's heart stopped.

  "Hey guys. It's great to be back in D-town. How's everybody doing?" The crowd went nuts, and when they settled down, he continued. "Awesome. Well, we're Six Foot Tall, as you might have guessed, and I'm Chase Delany. So tell me, are ya'll ready to rock?"

  Jamie was frozen to the spot, one hand clutching her third vodka cranberry, the other gripping the railing in a fist so tight her knuckles were white. No. No. Not now. I was just starting to be okay.

  That was a lie. She wasn't okay. She would never be okay as long as Chase Delany was alive and not hers.

  She watched him rile the crowd all through the first number, getting them pumped and wild, moshing with violent abandon, psyching them into a frenzy. She couldn't take her eyes off him. She was close enough to see his features, but too far to make out anything detailed. She needed to see him up close. She needed him to see her; she was afraid of what would happen if he did see her.

  Jamie turned to Lane and sank her clawed hand into the muscle of his arm. "It's him."

  Lane looked at her as if she'd sprouted horns. "Retract the claws, kitten, you're hurting my arm." Jamie forced her hand to her side, and Lane shook his arm, wincing. "Damn girl, you got some grip. Now what the hell are you talking about? You know him? I admit, he's one fine-ass piece of man-meat."

  "It's Chase. Chase. Anna's Chase."

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nbsp; Lane's eyes widened. "Oh, shit." Lane looked from Jamie to Chase, who was standing at stage-edge, his eyes locked on Jamie, never missing a beat of his Kid Rock-style rap number. "Wait. You said 'him' like he meant something to you."

  Jamie turned away, realizing she was dangerously close to admitting something no one could ever know. "No. Never mind."

  Lane leaned back, examining Jamie as if seeing her for the first time. "Girl, you're lying through your teeth. It's me we're talking about here. If you can't tell your gay husband about it, who can you tell?"

  "No one. Never. It's nothing. There's nothing to tell." She drained her rocks glass and shook it. "Whaddya know, I'm empty. How about another round?" She turned away to escape to the bar.

  Lane grabbed her by the shoulders and span her around to face him. "I don't think so, sweetheart. You're not getting out it that easy. Now, let me see if I have this straight. He's your BFF's ex. If I remember correctly, that was a messy situation, in which he ended up with a broken heart. Yes?" Jamie nodded. "And you're in love with him. I can see that much for myself. You don't even have to say it. The question is, does he know? Does he love you back?"

  Jamie licked her lips and squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to let her emotions fly away from her. "It's impossible, Lane. Impossible. Completely and totally. There's no point in even discussing it."

  "Nothing is impossible when it comes to love, kitten. Trust me on this. Matty is as far away from my type as a man can get, but it works. It may seem impossible, but you never know what can happen, right?"

  Jamie shook her head, staring at the ceiling, refusing to even blink. When she had control over herself, she said, "No, Lane. He and Anna...they can't see each other. It would cause both of them too much pain. I just...I have to get over him."

  Lane's voice was achingly tender. "Jamie, baby. You know I love you, so you know I'm saying this out of an attempt to help you. You're seriously about three seconds away from ugly crying over this guy right here in the middle of Harpo's. That's not something you can just get over."

  "I have to," she whispered.

  Lane shook his head. "No. Live your life for you. Anna's your BFF, she'll understand. She may not like it. It may be awkward, it may break every rule in the girlfriend handbook, but when love comes knocking, you answer."

  "Lane--"

  He cut her off with a palm over her mouth. "You listen to me, Jamie Grace Dunleavy. Go down there and do something. Just talk to him. Ancient Chinese proverb say, 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.' So take a step." He pushed her gently backwards, turned her toward the stairs leading to the pit and slapped her ass. "Go. And if things go FUBAR, you can blame me."

  Jamie hesitated, then glanced at the stage. He was prowling across the stage like a caged lion, growling a metal number, but his eyes never left her. She made her way through the jostling, moshing crowd to the very front of the stage and stared up at him, her hands at her sides, perfectly still amidst the chaos of the pit. The song ended and their signature ballad "Far From You" started, a haunting guitar refrain under-laid by a grumbling, chugging bass and almost jazz-like snare-drum taps. Chase sang entire song crouched at the edge of the stage, his eyes locked on Jamie's.

  She looked at him unflinching, watching a bead of sweat run down his scalp to drip off his nose, then another runnel down his temple and drifting into a smear on his stubble-dark cheek. He was shirtless, a plain white T-shirt gripped in his fist, which he wiped across his brow every once in a while, wearing a pair of leather pants and knee-high shit-kicker boots cris-crossed by straps and buckles and studded by short metal spikes. His thick, toned arms glistened with sweat, and his rippling abs moved as he breathed and sang, the sheen of sweat glinting, teasing, tantalizing.

  Jamie wanted nothing so much as to jump up on stage, shove him to the floor and rip his pants off, lick the sweat from his body and rub her hands across his slick skin. She wanted to feel his cock in her hands, she wanted to taste his come in her mouth and feel him fill her pussy as he thrust into her.

  She wanted to let him tie her up and tease her for hours. She wanted to blindfold him and torture him with a thousand kisses over his flesh and on his stone-solid arousal until he begged and pleaded with her to let him come.

  Jamie bit her lip, picturing these things. She felt her nipples harden, felt her core grow hot and damp. She found her fingers drifting down to the waistband of her skirt and slipping beneath it.

  She wanted to touch herself, thinking of Chase naked for her, tied up and blindfolded, laid out to her mercy. She wanted to make herself come thinking about Chase's cock dripping with pre-come, smeared with her juices and her saliva, the thick purple veins standing out on the silky flesh.

  Jamie gasped, realizing she was actually touching herself right there in the middle of the moshing crowd, with Chase watching her. She jerked her hand out of her skirt and wiped it on her blouse, then smelled her fingers out of some odd reflex. She stank of female arousal.

  She glanced up at Chase, who seemed transfixed, his eyes wide, the cords in his neck standing out, his fist gripping the mic so tight she could see the straining tendons of his hand. He was still performing, still singing the final chorus of the ballad in his deep, rich voice. But as he stood up and turned away from the crowd, she could see a huge telltale bulge in his pants. His bassist nudged him and said something, laughing, and Chase shook his head irritably.

  Chase didn't turn around for a few moments, waiting as the next number began, this one another driving metal song. Jamie stood watching him, keeping her thoughts away from dangerous territory.

  Then, after an amount of time Jamie couldn't have measured, their set ended and Chase left the stage with a backward glance at Jamie. A few seconds later, she felt a huge hand wrap around her arm. "Miss? Please come with me. Mr. Delany asked me to bring you backstage."

  She complied, ignoring the jealous murmuring of the other girls around her who'd overheard. She followed the security guard, who was roughly the size and shape of a silverback gorilla, through the crowd to the backstage area. He led her to a door, knocked once, then opened it, ushering Jamie through. She stepped in and the door closed softly behind her, latching with a snick of declarative finality.

  Chase sat on a threadbare couch, one long arm slung casually across the back, one leg stretched out across the cushions, the other gripping his T-shirt in a tight fist.

  Jamie stood with her back to the door, breath coming in ragged, panting gasps. It took every ounce of willpower to keep from crossing the room and covering his magnificent body with hers, tangling her tongue against his, tasting the sweat and cold water on his mouth.

  He rose up from the couch in a lithe, graceful movement, his expression roiling with emotion. Then he licked his lips, opened his mouth as if to speak, and Jamie was undone. The sight of his mouth, lips parted, teeth white...she had to taste him.

  She lunged, crossing the three feet between them, crushing her breasts against his bare chest, wrapping her palms over the back of his head and neck. Her lips met his with desperate need.

  He tasted as she'd imagined, as she remembered, of sweat from his lips, of ice-cold water from the bottle on the floor by the couch, and faintly of alcohol.

  Jamie moaned as she kissed him, and that sound spurred him into life. His huge hand curled around her waist to rest on the small of her back, his other burying itself in her curls near her ear.

  They kissed until their breath merged, until they were gasping, chests heaving. Jamie felt his erection at her belly, and her core surged hot and wet at the feel of him.

  "I want you so fucking bad," she whispered into his lips.

  "I'm right here," Chase growled. "And goddamn it, I've dreamt of you every night. Wet dreams of you naked, touching yourself like you did out in the crowd."

  Jamie felt herself flush. "This is still impossible."

  "I know. But...I don't care. I need you." He rumbled in his chest, a sound of frustration. "I don't care if tha
t makes me weak for admitting. I need you, Jamie."

  She sagged into him. "I need you too. So what do we do?"

  Chase shrugged. "Fuck if I know. I can't think for needing you, wanting you. All I can think of is kissing you again." His hand clawed into the muscle of her ass, sinking into the silk of her skirt, pulling her against him. "I want to take you on the couch, right now."

  Jamie whimpered. "Don't you fucking dare say shit like that."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I want that so bad...so bad. I'm about to let you. I'm this close to ripping those stupid, sexy leather pants off and raping you on the goddamn floor." Jamie was trembling from head to toe, shaking with fear and need and lust and excitement.

  Chase's hands were shaking too, his breathing was shuddering, his cock a hard rod between them. "Fuck, Jamie. We can't. We can't. If we do, there's no going back."

  Jamie laughed mirthlessly. "There's already no going back."

  "I know."

  Jamie lifted her chin to gaze up at him, her palms caressing the stubble on his scalp at the back of his head. She knew she shouldn't be here. She knew this couldn't be, couldn't happen, but it already was happening.

  She lifted up on her toes to kiss him, and something deep in her heart caught, tripped, and shattered. His lips were tender on hers, tasting her mouth, not demanding more but exploring, treasuring.

  His palm slid down her ass to pull up the skirt, and she desperately, frantically wanted him to lift it, to touch her bare skin.

  No. She couldn't do this to Anna.

  Jamie snatched at the last vestige of self-control she had, a spidersilk tendril of hesitation. She stumbled away from him, back, back against the door, clutching the doorknob in her fist.

  She ignored the single tear slipping down her cheek. "Goddamnit."

  Her heart was cracking, but she made herself turn the knob, thinking of Anna's face when she'd seen Chase in Vegas. It would be like that every single time they saw each other. That thought was impetus enough to twist the knob and slip out, her lips tingling, her body trembling, her skin on fire and her core throbbing with un-sated need. She wiped the tear away with her knuckles and let herself feel the hurt.