Seductive Chaos (Bad Rep #3) (3 page)

I
fell out of the bed.

I hadn’t done that since I was six years old. But here I was, sprawled out on the carpet and dazed from being pulled out of a deep sleep.

“Ouch!” I whined, rubbing my elbow where it had collided with the bedside table. I got up on my knees and squinted in the poor lighting. The blackout curtains were drawn over the windows so it was hard to see. Sunlight filtered around the edges and the clock said it was already eleven in the morning.

I braced myself on the edge of the king sized bed and hoisted myself up. It was no wonder I had fallen off. Cole was taking up the entire space. His legs and arms were spread out as he lay like a starfish across the mattress.

The covers had been kicked off at some point between passing out after our marathon sex-capade and falling out of bed. His naked ass was on proud display, his lean back, covered in black tribal ink, demanding that I ogle him.

I ran a hand through my tangled hair and let out a sigh.

I sort of hated myself right now.

I got to my feet and stood on top of a mountain of condom wrappers. I grimaced as I saw five empty packets littering the floor.

When would I ever learn?

I slowly headed to the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind me, so as to not wake up Cole. Though honestly, a nuclear blast wouldn’t wake him up after a night of sex and drinking.

I turned on the bathroom light and tried not to run screaming from my reflection. I looked like a war victim. My long hair, normally a pretty and perfectly styled strawberry-blonde, hung in a gnarled mess down my back. I tried to smooth it out but it would require a deep condition and a good amount of time with the hair straightener.

I tilted my head to the side and gingerly touched the red and purple skin. I looked like one giant hickey!

Upon further inspection I could see several, very obvious bite marks on my boobs and one on my inner thigh.

I turned on the shower and cringed as I stepped inside. I was sore. My muscles ached and my vagina felt as though a tractor-trailer had driven through it.

Marathon sex with Cole Brandt was rough on the body.

And the self-respect.

I lathered the hotel shampoo in my hair and thought about what had happened yesterday.

I had flown into Dallas, Texas from Virginia to see the Generation Rejects show. The venue had been their biggest yet. After almost a year of touring around the country and playing in small bars and nightclubs, they had finally gotten a break.

A huge, change-their-lives-forever break.

Their manager, Jose, who had taken over duties from Maysie six months ago, had gotten them on as an opening act for Primal Terror, an indie rock band with a very radio friendly sound out of Portland, Oregon. Primal Terror had just been signed with a huge label and was on their first official nationwide tour.

Jose had connections. And it was lucky for Cole and the guys that he had seen something in them he liked. Because since he had come on board, their visibility and success had started to skyrocket.

What had once been nothing more than a bar band with sex appeal, was becoming something so much more.

And I was excited to see it.

I loved Generation Rejects. I had been friends with Jordan Levitt, Maysie’s fiancé and drummer in the band, since we were freshmen at Rinard College and he was dating his then girlfriend, my former Chi Delta sorority sister, Olivia Peer.

I remembered the first time I heard the Rejects play at Barton’s Bar and Grill, the local watering hole in Bakersville, Virginia, where we went to school.

I had been there with Olivia and a few other girls in Chi Delta. I didn’t know the other guys in the band. Olivia had said, with quite a bit of disdain if I remembered correctly, that they were
townies
, aka guys not in college and thus not worth our time.

Whoever they were, they had kicked ass. They didn’t play my normal style of music. I was typically the queen of bubblegum pop. And Generation Rejects played music meant to make your eardrums bleed and your brain turn to mush.

But they had stage presence. Their songs were good and the lyrics, when you could understand them, were amazing. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off them.

And that had mostly everything to do with the man in the front. The lead singer, with a voice made of razor blades and liquid sex.

Cole Brandt.

In the early days of our acquaintance, when Jordan and Olivia were still together, our interactions were minimal. A hello here and there when I saw him in Barton’s. A beer passed when I had gone with Olivia to Garrett’s house after a show.

He had always been with a girl. He was good-looking but he was a townie. And our social circles rarely ever intersected.

I was the happy sorority girl more interested in frat mixers and planning rush events.

Of course I had liked to party as much as the next slightly rebellious college girl. As I went through school I started to develop a bit of a reputation for being a crazy drunk. My wild side became the total antithesis of who I was the rest of the time. Because somewhere along the way, the prissy pretty girl who liked to match her lip-gloss with her handbag started to become notorious for getting wasted and making scenes. For dancing on top of bars and showing the room her crotch.

I made out with my girlfriends just to turn guys on. I reveled in the attention.

I couldn’t help myself. I loved people looking at me. I loved knowing I had the eyes of everyone in the room. It felt good. It felt powerful.

And it spelled disaster when my world crashed into the narcissistic Cole Brandt.

He liked to be the center of attention as well. He led his life as though he were always on stage. He was loud; he was funny; and he made sure everyone around him had a good time. He was utterly enticing.

I was attracted to him instantly.

He was molten hot.

Listening to him sing was something close to a religious experience. He was talented and amazing.

And he knew it.

People loved him.

Particularly women.

And I had been no exception.

We slept together not long after Jordan and Maysie got together. I had gone with Maysie to a party at Garrett’s. She had gone off with Jordan. I had proceeded to get drunk. And get loud. And Cole was drunk. And loud.

And we found each other irresistible.

After an evening of flirting and barely veiled innuendos, Cole had pulled me into the pantry off the kitchen and pushed my pants down.

There had been no foreplay. It was me, with my legs wrapped around his waist, my back pressed painfully against a shelf, boxes of crackers and pasta falling around us as he pounded into me.

And when we were finished, Cole had kissed the top of my head, said “Thanks,” and went back to the party.

I had been mortified. I wanted to crawl home with my dignity in tatters around me.

I had sworn never to let him touch me again. I had my pride. I wasn’t the type of girl a guy fucked and forgot.

I had gone home angry and vowing the worst kind of revenge.

And I had gotten it.

During the next Generation Rejects show, I announced to the packed room at Barton’s that Cole Brandt was the worst lay I had ever had. I grabbed the mic away from a fuming Cole and told them all that his dick was tiny and he could barely keep it up.

Maysie and her roommate, Riley Walker, had tried to pull me from the stage, but I wouldn’t leave. I knew I had pissed him off. He had been clenching his teeth so tightly it surprised me that they didn’t break.

But I hadn’t cared. This man had humiliated me. He had used me and thrown me away. I didn’t take that stuff lying down.

What had resulted was a very loud round of screaming and yelling. Cole had called me a crazy bitch. I had called him a self-centered jackass.

And somehow in the middle of hurling insults, we had ended up in the storage room at the back of the restaurant, our clothes on the floor and going at it for round two.

That had become our routine.

Cole did something douchey. I got pissed off and threw a fit. He got angry at my reaction. We screwed.

And any time we attempted to talk or engage in an interaction not defined by sex he ended up saying something rude and condescending. I would become infuriated and we would be back to where we started.

Naked.

The truth was Cole needed to stop using his mouth for anything other than kissing and singing. They were the only two things he was good at. Talking or, god forbid, trying to have a conversation with him, only got him into trouble.

And I was growing sick and tired of trouble.

But I could never get enough of the kissing.

And that was becoming my biggest problem.

Cole was like a drug that I couldn’t stay away from. And no matter how many times he upset me. No matter how much he made me hate and despise him, the moment he touched me, it became dangerously easy to lose good sense.

My best friends, Maysie, Riley, and Gracie, didn’t understand why I put up with Cole. They argued that he was a womanizing ass. He wasn’t faithful. He would never even pretend to be.

But I knew better than to expect that.

Not once in all of the times our bodies had been joined intimately did we ever kid ourselves that this was something more.

Cole Brandt was NOT my boyfriend. Hell, he was someone I barely liked on a good day.

There were no delusional thoughts of forever and undying love. I didn’t dare expect more from him then what he was currently giving me.

Cole was good for sex and nothing else.

But I was starting to feel the strain of having no strings attached. I was exhausted and tired. And it had nothing to do with the fact that I had less than five hours of sleep.

But this is what I had signed up for. And the thought of not having this, whatever it was, made me sort of panicky. My body craved Cole’s.

And I was okay with our friends with benefits scenario. I had to be. Because the alternative wasn’t something my demanding vagina would be happy with.

My face was covered with soap when I heard the door to the bathroom open and shut and then the shower curtain moved as Cole got in behind me.

I tilted my face under the warm spray and leaned back as he wrapped his arms around me. He gently kissed between my shoulder blades and ran his nose upwards to the base of my skull.

“I missed you,” he murmured into my skin.

Just when I was okay with resigning myself to what we were, to being just fine with the lack of real emotional connection, Cole had to go and do things like that.

He peppered me with soft kisses, hugging me tightly.

“I really love you being here when I wake up. I wish you could be here every morning.” I could feel him smiling against my back and I wanted to bash his head in.

He really needed to shut the hell up.

Emo mushy crap was taking things too far. I didn’t need to engage my heart in this already sticky situation.

But this was Cole. He could be this amazing, beautiful person when he wanted to be. In the aftermath of sex he said things that sent me reeling. And I couldn’t help but allow my mind to wander to possibilities.

I hated him for it.

“You smell and taste unbelievable. There needs to be an AA program for this.
Vivian Anonymous
. Sign me up because I can’t get enough of touching you.” Cole ran his tongue along my wet skin and I couldn’t help but moan.

“Stay with me another night. Please,” he begged.

I wanted to give in. God, did I want to. When he was like this it was hard to deny him anything. But I couldn’t pretend that what we had was something else. That the two of us were ever destined for more than a temporary physical relationship.

If I started thinking like that, I was setting myself up for a hell of a fall. And I wasn’t sure I’d survive the impact.

Cole was an egotistical manwhore. That was what I needed to remember right now. If I didn’t stay, he’d have someone else ready and willing to take my place.

He may ask me to stay but he’d be just fine if I didn’t. Our hearts were
not
involved here.

I snorted inelegantly. “What would all the groupies say if I was here again tonight? I don’t want to cramp your style,” I scoffed, leaning my head back on his shoulder.

Cole’s hands came up to cup my breasts, kneading and rubbing in a way that made me weak in the knees. He played my body against me each and every time.

“Why do you have to say stuff like that, Viv? You know when you’re around, there’s no one else. I don’t want anyone but you,” he admonished, his teeth scraping along the side of my neck, making me shiver, despite the warmth of the shower.

Enough with the syrupy compliments however messed up they really were. I pulled away, putting some physical distance between us. Cole’s hand dropped from my body.

“Say that to the girl last night,” I muttered, scrubbing the rest of the soap from my face. I was quickly turned around, my back shoved against the cold tile wall.

Cole’s mouth was set into a firm line, his dark brown eyes narrowed. My heart started beating faster. I got such a sick, sadistic joy out of pissing him off. I enjoyed the look of fury that shadowed his face and the way he poured that frustration into making me feel oh so good.

God, what was wrong with me?

I wasn’t some sad, little girl with daddy issues. I didn’t have an abusive family that made me look for affection wherever I could get it. I wasn’t a stereotypical broken woman with no self-respect.

I was raised in a loving home, with two doting parents. I had a good relationship with my older sister and brother. I had been happy and popular in school and had gotten good grades.

There was absolutely nothing in my life that would make it easy to understand how I so willingly entered into this messed up situation. Why I engaged in this dysfunctional tug of war with a man who wasn’t remotely interested in committing to me.

There was nothing in my past that would make you understand why I loved every minute of it so damn much.

All I could say is that my inner drama queen was drawn self-destructively to the only person who could give me the excitement I craved. A man who was just as dramatic and headstrong as I was.