Bad Day (Hard Rock Roots) (21 page)

“You fucking kissed him?” Turner asks after Lola and Ronnie leave the room together. I'm lying on the bed on my back, staring at the ceiling. I might as well cut up some crime novel plots, stuff them in a hat and start pulling at random. Everywhere I turn, there's a new issue popping up, desperate to be taken care of. Snuff film? I mean, come on. Really? I have no idea where Dax got this off the charts theory because he disappeared into his room and slammed the door, locking it behind him. I almost puked in my own mouth, but hey, at least Turner was there to distract from me the issue.

They want to do the interview. They're in. So I guess I'm in, too.

“He kissed me, Turner.” I don't look at him, keeping my gaze focused on the white ceiling. The lights in here are so fucking bright. It's driving me Goddamn nuts. “Can you dim the lights, please?” Turner snarls low in his throat, and my pussy tightens up. I think he's taking the news well though, considering.

“You can't cheat on me with Dax. If you do, I might kill him. I don't know if I'll be able to control myself.” I close my eyes and listen to the growl of his voice. Above me, the lights cool from blinding white to a cool wash of color. Much better, much more soothing. And I need soothing right now.
Fucking A, Dax. I need another theory like I need a hole in the head. Why, why, why? I don't want to be a hard-boiled detective; I just want to play guitar.

“Cheat on you?” I ask as Turner moves across the room and climbs right on top of me, pinning me with a hand on either side of my head. He stares down into my eyes with a gaze so intense it takes my breath, and my sarcasm, away.
To be able to cheat on you, I have to be with you-with you. I have to make that commitment.
I close my eyes to escape the burn. His eyes are so hot right now, I feel like I could be incinerated. The intense heat pouring off his body makes me think of Dax's cool touch. I'm sure it could kill, too, but it would be a quiet death, lulling you to sleep, promising life is better on the other side. Turner's touch, it simply sears and sizzles, melting me into nothing. Quick, painful, intense. I love it even though I don't want to.

“Yeah, cheat. Kissing another dude is cheating. Fuck, kissing another
anybody
is cheating. Chicks are off limits, too.”

“Don't swing that way, but thanks for the rules, Turner.”

“That's not a rule, that's a compromise. Being in love means making sacrifices, you said it yourself. Even if I see another girl I like, and I want to fuck her, I won't. Because I'm with you. It works both ways. You keep your hands off Dax, off that redhead, off whoever because you have me. That's just the way it fucking works.”

I open my eyes again and lock gazes with him.

“Dax thinks Hayden was in some kind of snuff film?” Turner's face wrinkles up before he rolls off me and lands with a sigh, head sinking into a down pillow. We lay there side by side for while, flames licking the space between us.

“A … snuff film? Like, where they kill people and shit?”

“That's what the word
snuff
would imply, Turner. Congratulations on your extensive vocabulary.”

“I'm not an idiot, you know.”

“Then why do you act like one?” Is my retort. More silence and then some rummaging around as Turner pulls his copy of Hayden's picture from his pants. In case you were wondering, we made
lots.

The image hasn't changed; it's still disturbing as all get out. There's Hayden, a few years younger I'd guess, covered in blood. Her expression is unreadable, somewhere between happy and horrified. It's fucking weird as shit. Her mouth is twisted to the side and her eyes are wide open, pupils small, like pinpricks. Hayden's pulling her hair back behind her ears, her naked body soaked in crimson. The body on the floor is twice as wet, pulpy and ragged, like whoever it was got the ever living crap beat out of them with something like a baseball bat or a two-by-four. No matter how long or how hard I stare at it, I can't decide if it's a man or a woman lying there.

A snuff film, probably pornographic in nature.

It fits the picture, but it's so far from reality that my mind refuses to believe it. I keep telling myself there has to be another explanation, but for the life of me I can't figure it out. There's Hayden, half-smiling at a dead body, but not like she's killed the person herself. And there's a camera, either automatic or manned by someone, I don't know. But … really? Did someone really get killed on purpose here, for the sake of entertainment? That's a hard pill to swallow.

“I wouldn't put it past her.” I take the picture from his fingers, pretending I don't give a fuck that they burn my flesh when my own fingers brush against his skin.

“Neither would I, but … I mean, if you go into the doctor with a sniffle and a cough, they don't start off on the assumption that you have tuberculosis. Colds and flus are common, so they start there. I don't know what Dax is working off of, but he better tell us soon because if not, this theory is going out the door. What if Hayden was screwing some guy and it went too far and she bashed his head in?”

“While filming it?”

“Maybe they had a camera set up. Ask your friend Jesse, people make sex tapes.”

“I can't believe you kissed him,” Turner groans, changing the subject abruptly. I roll my eyes and stuff the picture into my pocket. Not even talking about Hayden and her bizarre secret can snap him out of it.

“He kissed me,” I repeat. “He kissed me. Get that through your thick skull. There's a difference.”

“There are a thousand girls that, if I let them, would kiss me. I wouldn't have to do a damn thing. It's still cheating.”

“So I'm a cheater then?” I ask, feeling snippy. And here I was, considering telling him that I was going to give this whole thing a try. Am I still feeling emotional about it all? You bet ya. But I can't run away forever; it's time to woman up and deal with this. Dax might be offering something different, but I have to put my faith in Turner. If I don't, I'll never be able to have a normal relationship. I'll always be wondering what might've happened if I'd given my devil rocker boy a try. So here it goes. Maybe, if Turner really does fuck me over, Dax and I can try dating. I do like him, I do. A lot. But not like this … not this push and pull thing I have with Turner. At the very least, the sex is explosive, it's helping to close the door on my past, and it's entertaining.

Turner rolls onto his side and props his head up with his hand.

“No. Because I don't think I was clear about this. Lemme fess up now, and let's cement the deal. We're going to need answers for the interview anyway.”

“The interview?” I ask, thinking about sitting in a chair with a camera in my face. Of course. The interviewers are going to ask about me and Turner. Probably be the first fucking question out of their mouths.
I'm not going to like this, am I?

“I consider you my woman, my girlfriend. If you'd let me, I'd be your fiancé.” I huff and roll away from him, gasping as he slides up close behind me and presses his erection against my jeans. “That was a real marriage proposal,” he whispers in my ear, nibbling at the sensitive flesh and tugging on my earrings. “Soon as I get the chance, I'm going ring shopping.”

“That's ridiculous. I don't want to marry you.” The words are true; I am
not
ready for that step yet. But they are hard to say with his hands sliding all over my body, moving up my shirt, caressing my breasts with a firm grip. “I never said yes to that.”

“Not yet. But you will. For now, I'll be a happy man if you'll just call me your boyfriend, that's it. Boyfriend. Not so bad, is it?” I wrinkle my nose, but the expression doesn't last long. My weakness for male body parts is starting to take over.
Damn you, penis. Damn you.
Swear to God, first day that cure comes out, I'm all over it. Then maybe Blair and I can get hitched, and I can avoid some of this drama. I don't care what guys say – it's not women who are complicated. It's them. Most of the time anyway.
But who's being complicated right now?
“Just tell me you're mine, I'm yours, and you won't kiss, fuck or otherwise let any other man batter dip his corn dog with you?”

“God,” I groan, rolling back towards him, feeling my body brush against Turner's hard muscles. My hands unwillingly reach up to grope his pecs, moving down almost immediately to dig their greedy way under his shirt. “You're so fucking disgusting. Where do you come up with this crap?”

“And no chick fucking either, unless we both agree to it, of course.” Turner pauses and scowls. “Though I can't imagine sharing you with anyone. Makes me fucking sick to my stomach.” I find his nipples, painfully erect and run my palms over them, enjoying the hissing sound he makes in the back of his throat. My eyes stay locked on his face, on a red star tattoo that peeks out of his hair, right near his left eye. I imagine what he looked like with his thick dark hair shaved back from his face. I was never around him personally during that phase in his career, but I had pictures. Dozens of them, cut from magazines, plastered across my notebooks. This man is the reason I started the guitar, the reason I sing. But I hate him. And I don't. I love him, too. I wish everything was as simplified in my head as it is in his. Turner knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to take on a tenacious approach to get it. He doesn't apologize for the things he does, and he always says the wrong thing.

But he's handsome. And he's honest. His music strums the strings of my soul, and his dedication is unmatched. His mouth is filthy, but his kisses can be sweet. He's hung like a fucking horse, and he rocks my world in the bedroom. So what am I sitting here complaining about? I have to tell Dax the next time I see him.
I'm sorry, but I can't. I can't because I need to give this a chance. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes, so I'm going to jump in feet first and let myself sink. After all, you never know when it could all end. I have to take advantage of this, right here, right now.

I lean up to kiss Turner's moist lips, but he pulls back and smirks down at me, touching the bare skin on my hip with gentle fingers.

“Are you in?” I roll my eyes and try to kiss him again, but he won't let me. I pinch his nipples, and all he does is wink and growl at me. “Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“We'll get there, Naomi. Be patient. But first, you have to say it.” I keep glaring, but I can feel my body melting, my shields and my walls crashing down in flames. “Say you're mine, tell me that you're my girlfriend.”

“You're my boyfriend,” I say, and the words nearly kill me. “That's all you get for now. Best I can fucking do.” Turner grins, nice and wide, and then he leans down and licks the side of my face with his tongue ring. My whole body shivers, and my cunt takes over my brain, demanding sacrifice.
Ah, man. I am in some serious freaking trouble here. Serious trouble. God. Fucking. Fuck.

“For now works for me. Let's see what you say when I'm done with you tonight. If you can still resist selling your soul to me, then I'm out of practice.”

“Go to hell, Turner,” I say when what I really mean is
I love you.

What a fucking perfect night, I think as I sit smirking in a beautician's chair. I made Naomi come like, three fucking times. Granted, she never did say those words
I'm yours
, but I can wait. It'll happen eventually. I'm not worried about it.

“Naomi's my girlfriend,” I say aloud, just to test the words, see how they feel fucking across my lips. Ronnie flips a page in an old copy of
Rollin' Strong
magazine and ignores me.

“Yeah, we heard. Sixteen times since we came in here,” Josh bitches. Little blonde fucker can't help himself. It's early morning, too early even for me. And we all know Josh is a little fuckwad in the mornings. If Naomi hadn't hugged me between her dirty thighs all night long, I might be pissy, too. Milo let himself into our room when it was still dark outside, eyes shimmering. He should thank his lucky stars he had coffee in hand or I might've fired his ass.

Get up, get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us, a busy, busy day.

Milo was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when he barged in on Naomi and me, but now, he's starting to drag. Not much of a morning person either. I usually try to avoid picking on my manager before nine o'clock. There has been an occasion or two where the sheep's shed his skin and flashed me some wolf. Right now, he's sitting slumped in a chair behind me, getting his wispy blonde locks played with by some beauty school undergrad. She's cute, but I notice that there's no reaction from downstairs. I am a straight up junkie for Naomi Knox now. All I want is more, more, more. All of these other bitches can wait in line for a ride that's never comin' back around. I groan and cup my balls, eliciting a giggle from the woman doing my hair.

“She's
so
good in bed. Like, my fucking mind is blown.”

Josh throws his stupid fantasy novel at the mirror in front of me and spins to face me, knocking the brush out of his stylist's hand as he snarls like a rabid dog. His blonde hair is all frizzy around his face, like he hasn't combed it in days. It looks like that every morning.