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When they walk away, I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it up to wipe the sweat from my face. Running around on stage fires me up, reminding me that I’m still alive, and is really one of the only things that gets my blood pumping these days. The second I drop it back down, I find Jane Ann walking directly toward me with a smile on her face.
“Well, I see our last little chat about getting your shit together is working. I was glad to find you here on time and sober—ready to perform and back Ace up like you
should. If you keep working together like this, I see huge things in the band’s future. Wicked White could turn into one of the biggest bands to hit the scene in a long, long time if you all can learn to play nice with one another.”
I fight hard to keep from rolling my eyes at her. “What makes you think we can be that huge? The music we’re playing sounds exactly like every other thing on the radio.”
“Exactly!” she says, the excitement in her voice clear as day. “On the radio, we blend in but stand out enough to be noticed. Wicked White’s music is getting so much play in the top forty right now. What really sets you all apart are your looks. Dressing all in white is a perfect gimmick to make people remember you, and once they start remembering you, they’ll start following you. Hell, you’re all good-looking guys too, and that certainly doesn’t hurt. I wouldn’t be surprised if Ace gets voted sexiest man alive at some point in time, and when that happens sales will explode.”
“Who gives a shit about getting on the cover of some magazine?” I grumble.
“I do!” she says. “Don’t you know how much publicity that will throw onto the band? Not only will the people who listen to the pop stations know you, but the rest of the world as well.”
“Why would it be Ace? It could easily be me if you would allow me to sing on a few tracks,” I quickly retort.
“Look, Jared. We’ve been over this. You being front man for this band is never going to happen. You’re not the leader type. Ace has a calm demeanor and everyone loves him. When the two of you get into it, he’s the one with the more level head. That’s the kind of man we need fronting this band.”
I roll my eyes. “I get so sick of hearing you praise Ace while putting the rest of us down at the same time. How do you know that he’s the right man for the job? The guy rarely speaks to any of us, and when he does it’s to belittle someone else, namely me, and make it seem like his ability to create music is far superior to mine, and I don’t appreciate that one damn bit.”
Jane Ann sighs. “Look, Jared. I’m not going to stand here and have this same argument with you again. We’ve gone over this a million times. The label and I have chosen Ace. The decision has been made, and if you haven’t noticed, the crowd loves him. Hell, the ticket sales are proving that we’ve made the right choice. You just have to get over the fact that you’ll never be the one in charge—the one in the spotlight. You might’ve been the ‘it’ guy when it came to playing on the field, but in this business—in this band—Ace is the man. Get used to it.”
My nostrils flare and my cheeks grow hot, no doubt turning my face red. It pisses me off when she acts like I’m supposed to be okay with sitting back and playing second fiddle when this wasn’t what I was promised, but it looks like there’s nothing I can do about the choice they’ve made if I want to stay in this band. “Fine, but don’t be surprised when shit doesn’t work out with Ace. I don’t think the guy has what it takes to be a real leader, and he will eventually fuck this band over.”
I don’t give her a chance to say anything else to me. I can’t stand here and listen to her talk about how I’m not good enough one more minute.
I quickly find a ride back to the hotel, needing my space from the whole Wicked White scene. I spend most of my time alone. I don’t do well with people—not anymore. My only friend in this world is Jack, and I’m glad that I can pretty much find him at any bar in the world.
I plop down at the hotel bar, and the middle-aged guy with a graying goatee behind it greets me. “What are you drinking?”
I lay three one-hundred-dollar bills on the marble bar top. “Jack. Make it a double and keep them coming until I’m barely able to ride the elevator back up to my room.”
The man’s brown eyes flick down to the money, and he nods. He doesn’t ask any questions as he pulls out two glasses, and I’m thankful for that. I’m sure he sees his fair share of people who come to drink to forget the shit in their lives. “You got it.”
It’s times like these when I feel the most alone. Whenever I had a problem before, I would just tell London about it, and together we’d figure out a solution. If she were in my life right now, I would be filling her ear with the bullshit that Jane Ann and Ace have been pulling on me lately.
I sigh as I pick up the drink in front of me. That girl . . . she’s irreplaceable. Not only was London the love of my life but my best friend too. I don’t think I’ll ever get over her. The best I can ever hope for is finding a distraction to keep my mind off of her.
The cool glass rolls against my lips as I tip my head back and shoot the fiery liquid down my throat and then immediately follow it with the other glass. The burn is comforting. It wasn’t the right choice, learning to deal with my problems by drowning them with alcohol, I know that, but it was the only thing that worked to take the pain away for just a little while. I have a hard time forgetting how fucked up everything got since the day my entire world was rocked. Since that day I’ve learned that I can’t be a burden on anyone else but me—that I can’t put my problems on someone else, because that will only make them miserable too.
The bartender quickly refills my glasses, and those disappear just as fast. It’s not until I’ve drunk away my first hundred dollars that I notice an attractive woman in her late thirties watching me from two stools down. She’s turned her chair toward me, crossed her toned, slender legs in my direction, and is making no attempt to hide the fact that she’s studying me intently. Her long brown hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves. When I lock my gaze with hers, she grabs the pick holding the olive in her martini and wraps her lips seductively around the little green ball before sucking it off the stick.
There’s no mistaking what this woman wants from me. I’ve been through this more times than I care to admit over the past few years.
With that said, I’m still a man, and I have needs. I’ve learned to never turn away a hot piece of ass that’s willing and very eager to please me. Every conquest I’ve had as of late has been a random lonely woman at the hotel bar. It’s convenient for me to offer to go to their room and fuck their brains out. Most of them are alone on business trips, and I’m sure they’ve got husbands or boyfriends back home waiting for them, but I don’t care. I’ll never see them again, so no one will ever know about their one-night tryst with a rock star. It will just be a memory for them. One they use to get themselves off every now and then when they think about me while their poor schmuck of a husband fucks them.
My affairs never get publicized, and I’m thankful for the privacy. That’s one of the reasons fucking soccer moms is a smart move—they’re hell-bent on keeping their night with me a secret too.
I meet her stare and lick my lips slowly, in a way to make sure she gets that I’m reading her signals loud and clear. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She smiles and stands up. My eyes trace the contours of her body as she swishes her hips in her tight black skirt. This woman is practically in heat, her body begging for me to make it feel good.
She takes the seat next to me and then bites her lower lip. “Sure, lover.”
I glance in the bartender’s direction and point down to the lady’s nearly empty glass, and then hold up my index finger.
The woman beside me doesn’t waste any time as she places her hand on my inner thigh and leans in to whisper in my ear, giving me a straight shot down her form-fitting blouse so I can see that she doesn’t have a bra on. “You’re so sexy in person, and I’m a huge fan who would love to show you a little appreciation. Have you ever been with an older woman?”
For some reason thinking they are the first older woman I’ve ever been with excites them. They get off on the whole Mrs. Robinson thing. I’m sure in this woman’s mind she’s about to show me just how good being with an older woman can be, so I’ll pretend with her, just like I do each and every time, that she’s my very first older lover.
