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My body jolts with arousal at her sexual tone. “My family’s name in Italy was Salvaggio, but my great-grandparents changed it to Savage after coming here to sound more American.”
“Ha! This whole time I thought Savage was a stage name.”
I wink. “Nope. I was born Savage, baby.”
She giggles.
“So, it’s settled,” I say. “I made you my specialty. And the look on your face while you ate it was so hot, I didn’t let you finish your meal. Midway through, I pulled you out of your chair, laid your back on the table, and ate your pussy like I’d been dying to do since the tour.” I smile wickedly. “I ate your sweet pussy, greedily, like it was a goddamned bowl of cioppino.”
A long, involuntary exhale escapes her. “Okay. I can get behind that.”
“After that,” I say, “I dragged you off the table, bent you over it, and fucked you from behind while fingering your clit, until you came so hard, you squirted all over my cock and balls.”
Her chest heaves. “Whoa. That sounds . . . good.”
I’m on the cusp of leaning in and kissing her, but before I do, a commotion on the other side of the patio draws our attention. A big group has entered Reed’s patio—this season’s cast of Sing Your Heart Out: our fellow judges, Aloha and legendary rocker, Jon Stapleton. Kendrick and another mentor, the one assigned to Jon. And last but not least, there’s the drummer of 22 Goats, Colin Beretta. The guy who hates me for having a short fling with his ex when they were on a break. Damn. When I saw Dax and Fish here, and not Colin, I thought I’d magically dodged a bullet tonight and wouldn’t have to feel the discomfort of Colin shooting me death glares. I guess not. Is Colin here to party with his two bandmates . . . or is he a cast member?
“Look, it’s Colin!” Laila chirps, getting up excitedly. “I wonder if he’s here to hang out, or if he’s a mentor this season.” She gasps. “If he’s a mentor, I wonder if he’s assigned to Aloha . . . or me?”
I bristle at the hopeful way she says me. But I shrug and say nothing.
“Come on, Savage!” she says brightly. “Let’s go say hi to everyone.” She squeals. “This is gonna be so much fun!” And off she goes, traipsing across Reed’s patio like a happy gazelle.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shuffling behind her, suddenly consumed by a sense of dread.
Laila swore on Sylvia that she and Colin have never hooked up, right before swearing the same about me. And I can’t help thinking, If she lied about me in that interview, did she lie about Colin, too? Which then leads logically to my very next thought: Did the clever producers of Sing Your Heart Out hire Colin to be Laila’s mentor this season, specifically hoping his presence would stir up a little trouble in paradise for the happy couple? My gut tells me the answer to that one is almost certainly going to be . . . yes.
Twenty-Seven
Savage
The promo shoot is done. We got a whole bunch of stuff—video spots and still photos—with the four judges and each of their assigned mentors. Also, with each judge/mentor pair. As it turns out, my hunch about Colin was spot-on. He’s Laila’s mentor this season, fuck my life, while Fish is Aloha’s. And now, we’re back out on Reed’s patio, having a legit party with the entire cast and their dates, some producers and crew, and some of Reed’s friends. We’re all letting it rip in recognition that tomorrow the grind will officially begin. Kicking off with tomorrow’s press conference, followed the next day, on Monday, by our first official day of shooting.
At present, I’m sitting on one end of the patio with Kendrick, who’s been talking me off the ledge about Laila and Colin, while Laila is sitting in a group by a large fire feature on the other end of the patio—a group that naturally includes Colin, since he’s close friends with all Laila’s closest friends. And I’m slowly losing my mind.
“Did you see the way Colin flirted with Laila during the entire photo shoot?” I say to Kendrick. It’s a running theme. I’ve been obsessing about Laila’s chemistry with Colin for the past hour. Ever since they looked at each other during their judge/mentor photo shoot like they wanted to rip each other’s clothes off.
“He wasn’t flirting with her,” Kendrick says, his annoyance with me plainly escalating. “He and Laila did what the photographer asked him to do. The guy said, ‘Smile at each other.’ And that’s what they did. It was the same thing we did in our photo shoot. Were you flirting with me, big boy?” He walks his fingertips up my arm, like a cartoon character would do when flirting, making me laugh, despite my foul mood.
