Rock Stars Do It Harder (5 page)

“Couldn’t find my panties,” she said, sounding as awkward as he felt. “And I need a smoke.” She smacked a new pack of Parliament Lights on her palm three times, then ripped the cellophane off, withdrew a cigarette and lit it. She’d brought the nearly-empty bottle of Patrón out with her, and she took a swig from it before handing it to Chase.

Cleo’s pack of cigarettes sat on the railing with her clear orange Bic lighter, and Chase, feeling an odd compulsion, took a cigarette and lit it.

“I didn’t think you smoked,” Cleo said, blowing a plume of smoke out of the side of her mouth.

“I don’t. Or at least, not anymore. Used to, back in high school.”

“Why start now? It’s a nasty ass habit, but I love it too much to quit. At least not till I stop touring.”

Chase shrugged, coughing as the acrid smoke hit his lungs for the first time in more than ten years. “Not sure. Had a craving, I guess.”

Chase took the bottle from Cleo and drank from it, wincing at the burn. Cleo hit it after him then set it down next to her foot, the shirt riding up to bare her small, tight ass. Once again, Chase looked away, unable to shake the strange embarrassment he felt at seeing her naked body, now that he was out of the passion of the moment.

They were standing next to each other, close, thighs brushing, arms brushing. Cleo drew on her cigarette, snorted the smoke out of her nostrils, then turned her head to meet Chase’s gaze.

On impulse, Chase closed the distance between them, his lips touching hers. Cleo froze in surprise, then eased a little, kissing him back. Their lips moved together, and it wasn’t unpleasant, but it just felt…off.

Chase pulled away first, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Cleo, I—”

“That was weird,” she said, cutting him off. “Not bad…just…not right.”

Chase shook his head, then inhaled smoke, coughing once more. He glanced at the cigarette, then tossed it away half-finished. “Not doing it for me,” he muttered, then looked back at Cleo, who was examining the glowing orange tip of her cigarette.

“Cleo, listen—what happened, with us, in there,” Chase waved his hand at the glass door. “I’m not sure…I mean…”

Cleo laughed, puffing smoke from mouth and nose. “You don’t have to explain, Delany. I get it. It happened. It was good, in the moment. You’re…I won’t deny, in one way that was the best sex I’ve ever had. But in another way, it was really,
really
fucking awkward. I’ve never gotten it on in a bed with other people.” She drank from the bottle again, hissing as it went down. “That’s more Kylie and Leah’s scene. I’ve never shared a guy before.”

“I’ve never done anything like that either,” Chase admitted. “And like you said, in a way, it was great. Having all three of you go down on me…that was intense. But with you and I—”

“If we’d been alone, I think it might have been different,” Cleo said, cutting in over him.

“Yeah.”

“But as it is…” Cleo shrugged. “I don’t think I could do anything with you again and not have the image of tonight in my head. Even now, all I can see is Kylie and Leah taking turns on you while you kiss me.”

Chase ducked his head, a feeling of mutual understand washing between them. “Yeah, exactly.”
 

Silence stretched out, and Cleo finished her smoke, tossed it away, and swigged from the bottle. Chase finished it, and they stood side by side, watching the three a.m. Vegas crowds hustle and bustle below them.

Finally, Chase broke the silence with the question burning unspoken between them. “So…you and I…is there something there?”

Cleo didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know, Delany. I don’t know.” She crossed her arms beneath her small, hard breasts, turning to face him. Her hazel eyes met his, and they searched each other silently. Eventually, Cleo shook her head. “No, I don’t think there is. I think there could have been, but…”

Chase nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I almost want to say, ‘I’m sorry’, or that I’m kinda disappointed. You’re a cool chick, and you’re hot, and talented. I think there really could’ve been something.”

Cleo shrugged, a little lift of one shoulder. “But that back there…it was fun, but it’s not something I’ll do again.”

“Me either.”

Cleo tilted her head, considering her next words. “Also, Chase? I’ll say this totally honest. I don’t think you’re over that other girl. The one you sang the song to.”

Chase looked away. “That’s complicated.”

“Meaning you don’t want to talk about it.”

Chase stared at the yellow headlights coming at them, the red taillights moving away; as a kid, he’d always thought of the stream of headlights as “bees” and the river of taillights as “wasps.”

“I
am
over her. I mean, I know she’s gone, she doesn’t want me. I’ll admit that still hurts, but I’m past hoping it’ll change. She’s with Jeff, and she’s happy. That’s good enough for me. I’ll move on. I’ll be fine.”

“I know it’s none of my business,” Cleo said, “but I don’t think this is the way to go about getting over her.” She waved at the hotel room again, meaning what had gone on earlier.

“No, you’re probably right. But…I don’t know. It’s not something that makes sense out loud. I’m not trying to forget her, just…god, how do I say it? I need to get rid of the hold she has on my heart.” Chase ran his finger back and forth on the railing, staring at the path of his finger rather than meeting Cleo’s too-knowing gaze. “For a long time after she made it clear she didn’t love me, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t make myself care about anyone. All I could do was play and write music. Which is all good and well, but…I can’t let the pain rule me. I have to get over her.”

“I thought you
were
over her.”

“I said it’s complicated.”

“Meaning you have no fucking idea what you’re feeling, because there’s just too much going on.”

Chase laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“My advice, for what it’s worth? Give it time.” Cleo rested her head against his shoulder, and they stayed like that for a long time. Eventually, Cleo pushed away. “Now get out of here.”

“What about Kylie and Leah?”

“They’ll be fine. This is what they do. They’re…complicated. I’ll tell ‘em you said ‘thanks for a good time.’”

After he got dressed and left the hotel, drunk and dizzy and confused, Chase wandered Vegas on foot, trying to sort out what he was feeling.

He’d told Cleo the truth about Anna; he was as over her as he would get, this soon. Seeing her had hurt, had dredged up a lot of emotions he’d worked to bury. But it had also reinforced the fact that she was gone.
 

But what he hadn’t told Cleo was how Jamie had affected him. She was still there, in his head. Under his skin.

When he’d kissed Cleo on the balcony, the reason he’d pulled away was because all he could think of was Jamie. The pained, tortured look on her face when she’d torn herself away after their kiss. It was brief, but that one kiss had held more tantalizing pressure than Chase had ever felt. He’d been ripped apart by that kiss.

Cleo, Kylie, Leah…he’d had fun, but now, alone after the fact, all he could think of was Jamie. Where was she? What was she doing? Was she with someone else?

He imagined her at a bar, a bottle of beer in her hand, leaning into some half-drunk asshole with groping hands. The thought of some other guy’s paws on Jamie’s full, hypnotizing hips sent a pang of hurt through Chase. The idea of her going home with that guy, stripping for him, kissing him, touching him, letting him touch her ivory skin…it made Chase crazy with irrational jealousy.

He tried to banish the images, but he couldn’t. All he could see was Jamie’s fiery curls and green gaze, and then he would see some faceless male clawing at her skin, the sweet flesh that should belong to Chase, but didn’t.
 

He could feel her palm scraping over his scalp as she kissed him, her balm-slick lips sliding on his, teasing him, her full breasts pushing against him, nipples pebbling against her bra hard enough to feel through the cotton.

“Fuck,” Chase growled aloud.

He swerved off the sidewalk and into a doorway, the bumping bassline from within the club promising a few hours distraction, at least. He sat at the sticky, scratched bar, watching fake-breasted strippers undulate against silver poles. He stuck to beer, lost count, lost track, lost time. The strippers became the same person, after awhile, delirious images of Jamie, naked, dancing just for him.
 

Eventually, he felt Gage slump onto the stool next to him, pry the bottle from his fingers, and drag him out of the club. Gage never said a word, just propped up Chase’s dead weight and dragged him into a cab, into their hotel, into bed.
 

Day came, and with it the oblivion of hangover pain, the haze of travel, set up, performance, and the familiar ritual of going from one show to the next, now drowned in a constant ocean of alcohol.

Women came and went, but none of them stirred his interest.
 

Jamie stayed in his thoughts, until eventually numbness set in.

CHAPTER 3

Jamie was drunk. Like, really,
really
drunk. The kind of hammered where she couldn’t remember where she was, how she gotten there, or what was going on. She was conscious, but unable to form coherent thoughts. She’d been this way for awhile, she thought. She was starting to gain some control over herself, over her awareness.

Focus, Jamie,
she told herself.
Wake up
.

She wasn’t really asleep, but it felt that way. She needed to get her bearings. Something was happening, something was going on. Something not right. Deep breath, think hard, blink…blink.
 

Jamie breathed in, cleared her vision, squinting straight ahead. A blur of colors, a wash of inchoate images; the faint scent of booze on someone’s breath, close, aftershave, male deodorant, male musk; soft breath on her face, the sound of male grunting above her, flesh against flesh, the wet sucking sounds of sex. She focused again, forcing coherency to the world: blank white above her, a ceiling with a trapezoidal area of brighter white from a window. Jamie squinted to her right, saw a window in triplicate, shadows beyond, an orange dot of a streetlamp, a gibbous moon.
 

The sounds of sex continued, and then Jamie became slowly aware of physical sensation. The sex was happening to her. Another sound filtered through the haze of alcohol: feminine moans of sex enjoyed.
Her
voice, moaning softly.
She
was having sex.

Jamie gathered herself together and focused once more, this time on the blurry pale skin and dark hair and pale blue eyes above her. No one she knew. Thick, shaggy brown hair the color of walnut shell, unkempt, uncut. A goatee, thick as an overgrown shrub, with a few days worth of growth on his cheeks between the goatee and his long sideburns. Pale blue eyes watching her, slightly unfocused, dilated, reddened. A weak chin, thin features, thin, dry, cracked lips. Jamie continued her perusal of the man she was having sex with, almost apathetically. She wasn’t sure who he was or why she was having sex with him; he certainly wasn’t attractive, not in the way she usually liked her men. He looked young, younger than she, more of a manling, a man-boy, which was also not her type. He was skinny, all hard angles and thin, wiry arms, hairy legs. Again,
so
not her type.
 

Jamie focused on the rest of her awareness. He
did
seem to know what he was doing, sexually. Decent rhythm, stroking evenly. He filled her well enough. Not huge, but not tiny. She could feel him inside her, so that was okay. He didn’t weigh much, so she wasn’t being crushed. That always sucked. He wasn’t grunting like some kind of hog, which was nice, just softly groaning low in his throat, a constant sound.
 

Time to finish this and figure out what the fuck was going on. Jamie pushed at his shoulder. “Roll over.”

“’Kay,” he said, and complied.
 

She settled onto him, making sure to keep her weight evenly distributed. He was just a skinny little guy, no sense in breaking him. She would have to hold back a bit; besides, she was feeling queasy and dizzy, and not really in the mood for a wild frenzy.
 

Jamie adjusted the angle of her hips and set a slow rolling rhythm, supporting her weight with her hands next to his face. A little close for comfort, since she didn’t know him and wasn’t attracted to him, but she could feel a little orgasm coming along nicely, so there was no sense in stopping now. Maybe if she closed her eyes, it would help.

She arched her back and rolled her hips, and let herself gasp a little louder as the tip of his cock hit close to her G-spot. Not right on, but close. Close enough.

Then she felt a palm on her side, running up her ribs to cup her full, swaying breast.
Wait a second.
There were already two hands on her waist, holding her in place. The extra hand gripped her boob, too hard, groping and fumbling awkwardly.

What the fuck?
 

The hand roamed over her back and down her spine to explore her ass. Jamie turned her head, craning to see who else was in bed with her. She was too drunk to panic, and this seemed like consensual sex anyway. But…
two
guys? Hell no. The hand slipped up her back and over her shoulder, then back under to grope her tit again. It was a pudgy, hairy hand, short fingers, greedy fingers. Strong, clumsy fingers.

She peered dizzily behind her and saw, yes, another man. This one was the polar opposite of the guy beneath her. Short, stocky, a bit of a belly around the middle, a mat of hair on his chest, small, beady eyes and wet, thick lips. Watery, bloodshot brown eyes, moon-face features. Way,
way
not her type. And he was on his knees behind her. Was he…? He wasn’t. No. No….

Yes, he was.
 

The moon-faced second guy was on his knees behind her, gripping his short, thick, uncircumcised penis in his hand and stroking it along the crease of her ass.

Um, no.

She croaked, but couldn’t get words to come out. She was close to coming, which wasn’t helping matters, but having moon-face behind her ostensibly preparing to anally penetrate her was one hell of a turn off.