Unexpected 1 Page 6

  Somehow I knew this wasn't going to end well, so if this was the last time I was going to see her, I had to have one last taste. Cupping her cheek, I pulled her toward me and sucked her bottom lip into my mouth. When she started kissing me back, I pressed into her, our bodies molding together. It was the only way I knew how to show how I felt without saying it.

  I wanted to tell her how much I wanted her to stay. I wanted to tell her how she made me feel, but after a day? I would come across like a fucking crazy person and things were mental enough as it was.

  When I brushed my lips against hers, she pulled back, her caramel eyes searching mine, and I already knew what she was going to say before the words even left her beautiful mouth.

  "Deal's off," she whispered and walked through the doors back into the room.

  And I was left alone, looking out over the city, feeling like a big fucking failure.

  Okay, so I lied about going to work the next day. West’s intensity levels were off the chart and for someone as hell-bent on blending into the background…let’s just say I needed a fucking break from the whole shebang.

  Sunday was a good day because Tim was too tight to pay me double time to work, so I could sleep in and do whatever the fuck I wanted. Actually, it was my only day off, so I went out of my way to do nothing with it.

  Staring up at the ceiling like I did every day for the last five years, my mind ran over last night. I hardly remembered the concert at all. That stupid cock stain, West, had ruined Affliction for me for life. The moment I got to work tomorrow I'd snap that stupid CD in half and imbed it in Tim's skull.

  Rolling over, I still felt sore. I could still remember West's cock inside me and I buried my face into the pillow, stifling a frustrated scream. This didn't seem to be the reaction I should be having. What woman wouldn't lose their shit over a hot-as-fuck rock star asking them to spend the week with them? Me, that's who.

  The more I thought about it, the more I felt I'd made the right decision. Fucked if I was the one who was going to be left behind again and fucked if I was going to sit there and take being called a stupid slut. I didn't care who he was or how he made me feel. I’d had a lifetime of name-calling by the time I was eighteen and sure as fuck I wasn't going to take it from anyone again.

  I spent the rest of the day trying to get him out of my head. I went for a run down the skeezy, graffitied bike path that followed the train tracks right down to the zoo. Then I caught the train back home. I had a Resident Evil marathon, the first three movies before I shut it off and went to bed utterly defeated. The only thing I could do was strip and make myself come with thoughts of West, whatever his other name was, and thoughts of his addictive fucking cock rolling around my head. I imagined my fingers were his as I swirled them around my clit, my other hand kneading my breasts. And when I came, it was hard and long. It sent me to sleep five seconds later and thank fuck it was dreamless.

  The next day I dragged my sorry ass into work kind of feeling numb. You know, that stupid depression you sink into when something doesn't go the way you wanted it to? Yeah, I felt it in the pit of my stomach and right there in my sensitive lady parts that still hadn't recovered one hundred percent.

  Tommy was sitting on the milk crate again, smoking his usual morning cigarette, flipping through a magazine.

  "Look at you," he said and I readied myself for his scheduled comment about my ass, tits or whatever caught his fancy.

  "Hi, Tommy," I said, rolling my eyes. Looking down at the magazine in his hands, instead of the tattoos I was expecting, I saw he was looking at an article about Kim Kardashian. "Since when do you read that trash?" I scowled.

  "Stopped at the 7-11 to get some fags," he drawled. "And then I saw a hot bitch looking back at me from the cover of this rag."

  "Good luck to you," I said, pushing the back door open.

  "You don't know, do ya?"

  Pausing, I rolled my eyes. "What's there to know?"

  "You like rock star’s pricks in you."

  The blood drained from my face and I felt like throwing up as he tossed the magazine at me. It hit me in the chest before falling to the concrete and I snatched it up. I didn't have to look far—I was on the front fucking cover. There I was standing on the balcony at the hotel in nothing but West's shirt, his hands all over me. And it was obviously me. I felt like punching something when I read the headline. West's New Affliction Down Under. Rock's Bad Boy on the prowl again. Another downward spiral or secret lover?

  What the fuck? I was so fucking right about him. Someone was going to get hurt and it was always me.

  "Has Tim seen this?" I asked through gritted teeth.

  "Yep. Came in ten minutes ago."

  Shit. I could already imagine the day I was going to have without having to deal with the fallout over West. That man was obviously fucked up and I'd been dragged into it by association. I shouldn't have accepted his deal, attraction or no attraction.

  I dumped the magazine in the bin without bothering to open the piece of shit. I could imagine the vitriol they'd printed about me. Furlough's words flashed in my mind: Fucking crazy-ass stalker slut out for some quick cash. And what the hell did this look like? I hadn't tipped anyone off about the hotel, but West had warned me about the balcony. Despite that, he'd still stood out there and kissed me. And was that my fault? Fuck no. He could've just said, Come inside, Blair, there might be paparazzi scum with telephoto lenses out there, but no, he just walked right out like a dumb fuck.

  Maybe I was nothing but a slut and obviously the media had lapped it up to sell more fucking rags. Maybe he'd used me to get some free publicity, because any news was good news, right? I couldn't believe I'd regretted leaving last night. Okay, so only for a second, but the thought had crossed my mind. I was such a stupid bitch.

  I strode right into the shop with my head up, determined to get this over with as quick and painlessly as possible. Whatever Tim had to say, I'd just take it and move on. The sooner the better. I dumped my jacket under the counter and my shoulders sunk in relief. He was already in his studio with a client, his tattoo gun buzzing. I hoped that meant he'd eventually forget, but after last night's comment about how blue his balls were, I knew that wasn't likely.

  I flicked on the lights and went over to the stereo and pulled out the Affliction CD. Balancing it half on and off the bench top, I brought my fist down and it snapped with a loud crack, imagining I was snapping off West’s cock.

  "Hey," Tommy cried. "Did the rock star fuck you over after he put his dick in you?"

  "God, you're foul," I spat, dumping the CD in the bin.

  "Foul and proud, baby."

  "Ugh." I rolled my eyes, putting another CD into the stereo, this time some angry-sounding punk.

  "Blair," Tommy said, suddenly serious. "I know we joke about it and stuff, but just watch Tim, okay?"

  Looking up, I was kinda surprised that he'd go so far as to warn me and be concerned about it. Actually, I was dumbfounded. Tommy was a dick and said some stupid stuff to me that could be taken as sexual harassment, but I knew he'd never act on it. He was married for fuck's sake and I gave it back just as vulgar. Tim, however… "Thanks, Tommy."

  "Sorry about that guy."

  Another one from left field. "Yeah," I answered. "So am I."

  Looked like life was going to get a little worse before it went back to mediocre.

  I wasn't the kind of guy who got depressed over a woman, but I’d had my fare share of low moments. Once, I would've gone out, scored some coke or ice, gotten as high as I could and fucked some broad wherever I could find a quiet spot. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option anymore. I don't even know why it was unfortunate. I wasn't going back there.

  Blair was gone and I felt emptier than I’d ever been before. She was the one. Everything about her had taken off the edge and filled the black hole inside me and because of a stupid fight with Furlough, she was gone.

  She wasn't a whore…she was beautiful, exquisite, perfect. No one would be
able to replace her and I didn't want them to. I had to get her back.

  There was a sharp knock on the door and I rolled off the bed that I'd been licking my wounds on for the past day and a half, wondering who the fuck it was. Looking through the peephole, I saw Furlough's ugly mug. Of course it'd be him. I wondered what else he could possibly have to say.

  Furlough and I were kinda a package deal these days. I guess he was terrified of leaving me alone and doing something to screw up his cash cow. Somewhere along the line it'd become more about the money than the music. We’d all forgotten at one stage or another why we got into this, some more than others.

  Wrenching the door open, I snapped, "What?"

  As he pushed past me, I noticed he was dressed in his usual snappy suit pants and shirt, a magazine under one arm and his phone glued to the other. Lately, he never brought any good news, just a cloud of bullshit.

  "Have you see this?" Furlough demanded, throwing the magazine at me.

  Catching it against my chest, I looked at the cover and my eyes widened in shock. It was a photo of me and Blair on the balcony the night after the gig at Billboard. "Shit."

  "More than shit, it's a fucking nightmare. I told you to get rid of her. Now we're going to have to do some damage control."

  He was more interested in scheming than waiting for it to blow over. All I could think about was Blair and if she'd seen it yet. What, was I fucking stupid? The picture was on the front cover, of course she'd seen it. This was a major fuckup and I could already imagine the scathing shit she’d say to me. That’s if she even let me get close again.

  "How many times do I have to fucking tell you?" I asked, my voice beginning to rise.

  "West, we have an image to repair. These things take time and the media has a long memory."

  "That's all you're worried about?" I scoffed. "Image?"

  "It's what keeps the band going. It's what keeps you getting booked. It's what keeps the fans. No one wants to deal with a coke addict. Nobody wants to deal with those kinds of problems."

  "Fuck, Furlough, would it kill you for once in your life to be nice?"

  He sighed, putting his phone in his pocket. "Look, West. I do care about you and the guys, but this is a business. You might be musicians making your art and whatnot, but when money's involved things like this, like this Blair girl," he pointed to the magazine, "can take the wind out of the sails. We've got a world tour to consider and the contract with the tour company, not to mention the record label."

  "Save to the fucking wage," I spat, throwing the magazine back at him.

  "I understand you want someone, but it's too soon. Six months isn't much in the grand scheme of things."

  "I'll be an addict for life, Furlough." That much I'd gathered from rehab and the group therapy shit. "I'll be struggling with this until the day I fucking die, so what's six months? My brain isn't fried. I know what I feel."

  Furlough sighed, looking me over with a shrug of his shoulders.

  "She's gone anyway," I said, turning my back. "You got what you wanted and once she sees that…"

  "That's not the Jake West I know."

  Turning sharply, I frowned. What was Furlough's game?

  "You’ve been going on and on about it, but did you stop to consider that you could love her?"

  "What the fuck, Furlough?"

  "Mate, I'm your manager, but I'm also your friend, fucked as it is. I made a promise to you that day in the hospital."

  "I know." I promise to look out for you and save you from yourself.

  "If it’s what you really want, then I can’t stop you. You’re a difficult bastard, West. I learnt a long time ago just to go with it. Help not hinder. You say she's different, so show me."

  I ran a hand over my face, grinding my teeth. I didn't know where to start.

  "I'll call you later," Furlough said, going for the door. "If you need anything, give me a shout."

  The door closed behind him, but I wasn't listening. Furlough'd given me free reign to find Blair. That was a mind fuck right there. My manager had been more like my parole officer since “the incident.” I'd been put under house arrest more than once and now he'd just left the door unlocked. Had to take advantage of that, right? It wasn’t like I was going out to score some coke.

  Picking up my phone, I pulled up a map and punched in Brunswick. I didn't actually have Blair's address anymore, but she’d said she worked the desk at a tattoo shop. It was the only bit of information I had to go on, so I had to roll with it. Step one was finding her. Step two…well, I’d figure that out on the fly.

  Pulling up a search on all the tattoo shops in the surrounding suburbs, I groaned. There were a fuck ton of them. Starting at the top, I dialed the first number and hoped for the best.

  I think I'd called ten shops before I got the right one.

  "Captured Tattoo."

  There was no mistaking her voice. Not after the filthy things she'd whispered in my ear, and whatever I was going to say caught in my throat. She sounded professional, just a hint of bitch with a dash of fluster, which was obviously my doing.

  "Hello?" She sounded annoyed.

  I held the phone for another second, listening to the background noise of voices and tattoo guns, and she sighed loudly and hung up. What, was I in fucking high school now? Reduced to calling and hanging up? I was Jake West. Badass rock star, not some pansy-ass pussy.

  I dialed the number again and her voice came back over the line.

  "Captured Tattoo."

  My heart did this stupid thing in my chest where it flip-flopped and I couldn't believe I just thought the word flip-flop.

  "Hello? Captured Tattoo."

  I didn't know what I could say over the phone to make it better, so I ended the call and grabbed my jacket. Time to make a break for it. Furlough was on the phone out in the hall and he chased me down as I strode toward the elevator.

  "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he called out, hanging up on whoever he was talking to.

  "Your cash cow's going for a ride."

  "West…"%*

  "Either get the car round, or I'll stand out front having an impromptu photo shoot while I wait for a taxi."

  That seemed to give him a kick up the rear and he was back on the phone calling down for the car to be brought round back.

  "Where are you going?" he asked, getting into the elevator with me.

  "I'm going to get a tattoo," I smirked.

  It was a long-ass day for a Monday. The shop was usually on the down low customer wise, but today everyone was booked. Even Tim didn't raise his putrid head. It seemed I was granted a day of peace after everything that had happened, or was about to happen. It worried me that my face was plastered on a billion copies of that magazine and with the tattoo on my arm on full show, I was more worried about someone recognizing me and even more terrified if it was a journo or paparazzi. The thought of being hounded at home or the shop was too much to handle. How did West cope with it? Who the fuck cared.

  Apart from the pain-in-the-ass phone calls where some fuck kept hanging up on me, the day had gone by without any major incidents. I just wanted to go home and forget about it and maybe think about finding a new job.

  Flipping the closed sign over the door, I went to turn the deadbolt, but I felt that weird feeling you get when someone stands behind you. You know, that prickly skin feeling that something shitty is about to happen. Turning sharply, I let out a hiss when I saw Tim standing directly behind me in the very dark and very empty shop.

  "I saw a pretty picture of you this morning," he said, leaning against the counter.

  "Good for you," I retorted and went to push past him to grab my jacket and get the fuck out of there, but he stepped to the side, blocking my path.

  "Thought about it all day."

  "Get outta my way, Tim," I said, trying to hide the rising panic in my voice.

  "So you fuck dickheads in bands, but you won't touch what's right in front of you?" he asked, taking a st
ep toward me.

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to keep a clear head. The shop was on a street that wasn't terribly busy, so the chance of someone walking by was slim to none. I'd have to kick the fucker in the balls, gouge his eyes out and run. Guess I’d be looking for the new job after all.

  "Aren't I good enough for you, Blair?"

  I froze, a cold sweat starting to break out all over. I hadn't heard those words in a long time. Those were words that came with the stench of stale alcohol and blood.

  Tim strode forward and pushed me back against the wall, my head hitting the exposed brickwork with a crack. I was dazed for a moment and he took the opportunity to pin my arms behind my back.

  "No," I said, struggling against him. "Let me go."

  He rubbed his putrid cock against my hip and I almost gagged. He was hard and was having a grand old time showing me. Every time he grinded his crotch into me, he made this awful moaning sound that made me feel dirty.

  He tried to catch my mouth with his, using his tongue to force my lips apart. Pursing my lips together as hard as I could, I twisted my head to the side and he began sucking on my neck instead. There was nothing I could do apart from trying to gouge his eyes out, so I tried to push him back to free my hands. That only made him madder.

  "Don't struggle, baby," he whispered in my ear. "I know you want it."

  "Don't make me fucking sick."

  "I can make you gag with my dick in the back of your throat if you want."

  I went to raise my knee and go for his balls, but the front door opened, letting in noise from the street. Tim was yanked off me and shoved across the floor, colliding with the opposite wall, the framed flash sheets skewing.

  "West?" What. The. Fuck?

  "Keep your hands off her, asshole," Dark and Dangerous growled, fists clenched at his sides.

  "Who's gunna make me, big shot?" Tim glared right back.

  The air was thick, like someone was gonna punch someone, and I found myself hoping West would fuck Tim up from here to eternity.

  "She's a fucking tease," Tim said, rubbing salt into the wound. "Paraded her fine ass around here for years, cock blocking every step of the way. She likes being chased, but won't put out. Seems like she finally fucked someone like the cheap-ass whore she is."