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Chapter 20
Reed
I slide into the backseat of the car picking me up from LAX and confirm with the driver he’s taking me to RCR’s concert at the Rose Bowl. Logistics sorted, I pull out my phone to answer the million and one unread emails and texts requiring my attention. But I can’t concentrate on them for shit. Because... Georgina. Yet again, that woman has hijacked my thoughts. Only this time, now that my body senses it’s once again in the same city as hers, that I’m mere minutes away from actually being in Georgina’s glorious presence again, I literally can’t think of anything but her.
If only I hadn’t been a pussy and agreed to stay for lunch with my mother, I would have arrived at the stadium in plenty of time to personally greet Georgina when she arrived, her shiny new press pass around her neck. Damn. I really wanted to see the look of excitement and anticipation on her face in that moment, and then watch with amusement as her features instantly morphed into anxiety when she saw me and realized that, maybe, those double-birds she flipped me a week ago weren’t such a good idea, after all. Oh, God, that moment was going to be such a turn-on for me. But thanks to those chicken pot pies, and my eternal soft spot for my mother, I missed it.
Plus, I’ve missed out on some other good stuff, too. For instance, being the one to show Georgina around backstage and introduce her to everyone. I very much wished to do that, not only to be helpful to Georgina, but to communicate to every fucker within a mile radius, especially a certain drummer for RCR, that Georgina is mine. Not to be touched. Not to be flirted with. Off-fucking-limits. Mine, mine, mine.
Plus, of course, I very much wanted to be able to pull Georgina aside, after initially letting her twist in the wind for a bit, to clear the air about the other night. After some reflection this past week, I’ve come to realize I might have overreacted a bit when I found out about her stepsister’s musical aspirations. But I also think Georgina fucked up, too. Royally. And I’m interested to see if, after a week of her own reflecting, Georgina is ready to own up to her part in the way things blew up between us. Is she going to hold tight to her prior indignation with white knuckles, or admit she flew off the handle like a fucking lunatic and apologize to me, as she should? Frankly, I’m dying to know.
I’m going to fuck her, either way, of course, whether she doubles down on her “fuck you’s” or has the good sense to start kissing my ass, now that she realizes it’s in her best interests. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m hoping to witness another round of fiery sass from feisty Georgina, just for the pure entertainment of it. Oh, and also because watching her fly off the handle makes me so fucking hard, it physically hurts.
“There’s a VIP entrance at the back,” I say to my driver as we approach the Rose Bowl’s parking lot. And, five minutes later, he’s pulling up to the restricted-access loading zone in the back. Sure enough, I spot Owen standing curbside, awaiting me as instructed. At the moment, he’s staring at his phone while smoking a cigarette. Being punctual and reliable and humble and patient. You know, being Owen. “Right here,” I say to the driver, while simultaneously shooting off a text to Owen: Look up. I’m here.
When Owen looks up, it’s just in time to see me barreling out of the parked car and marching with urgency toward a large metal door.
“Tip the driver and get my luggage delivered to my house, would you?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Where’s Georgina?”
“Greenroom B. I left her in the care of a PA, talking to the entire band.”
“All four of them?”
He nods. “Plus, Leonard and his daughter and a gaggle of her friends.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Caleb couldn’t possibly make too much progress with Georgina in a crowd like that. “Perfect.”
Leaving Owen behind to figure out my luggage and the driver’s tip, I breeze past a security guard posted at the VIP door—who, lucky for him, lets me pass without stopping me for my ID—and then, once I’m inside the stadium, begin marching like a madman through familiar hallways toward a back elevator.
Georgina.
Goddammit. Now that I’m this close to her, I’m feeling consumed by a physical craving to kiss her again. Once I finally fuck her, I’m positive this mini-obsession that’s been building inside me all week will quickly fade. But until then, it’s here, baby. In full force. Like a raging boner that won’t go away until it at least gets a hand job.
