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“But what if that’s all I want?”
“Sometimes you can’t have what you want, Presley.” His voice is low, commanding. I hate it, but I love it more. It turns me on, and I resent the desire I have for him to use it more often.
“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
His stare is challenging me to argue, like he gets the final say in this. “No. I told you what I want, and I’m going to get what I want.”
I try to push out of his embrace, but he tightens his hold on me. “You know you want this as much as I do,” he asserts.
“I know I want the sex as much as you do, but you’re wrong if you think I want to date you.”
His eyes narrow on me, and he relents, letting me go. “We’ll start with the sex, but you still owe me at least one date.”
“Uh-uh, we had that last night.”
“You working at my concert is hardly a date.”
“There was a party involved; that’s a date in my books.” I know I’m pushing him, but I need to. I need to protect my heart.
He shakes his head and mutters, “You’re going to test me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Not if you understand we’ll never be more than sex.”
He chooses to ignore that and moves on. “So, about this party today. Are you really busy?”
“Yes.” I’m not backing down; it’s not what I do, and I’m not starting now.
Nodding slowly, he murmurs, “I’ll let you get away with that this once.” His voice is quiet but firm. There’s a warning in it, and I don’t miss it. He’s not going to be easy to persuade to my way of thinking, and I’m not sure if I’m annoyed by that or quietly excited.
Chapter Seven
Jett
I scan through the photos on the computer in front of me. West can hardly hold his excitement in. “Fuck man, she’s fucking talented. These photos are the best we’ve ever had taken.”
He’s right. The photos Presley took at our concert last week have a quality to them I’ve not seen before. She’s captured atmosphere and emotion, and mixed her own brand of edginess in to create photos any band would kill to have.
“We have to book her for our next tour,” Hunter interjects.
Thank fuck our next tour isn’t for at least six months, maybe more. I’ve spent the last week and a half chasing the fuck out of Presley, only to have her foil all my attempts. Either she’s busy or she’s tired or some other fucking excuse. If I’m gonna convince her to come on the road with us, I might need a full six months to do that.
Van’s chair scrapes against the floor as he pushes it back and stands. Putting his aviators on, he says, “Right, that’s settled. Book her.” Without a backwards glance, he strides out of the room.
“What the fuck is his problem?” West demands, watching Van with a filthy glare. There’s no love lost between those two. I spend half my time sorting out their issues, and I’m way fucking over doing that.
“He’s pissed about the fundraising dinner I signed us up for,” I admit.
“Christ, we’ve known about that for over a week now. He needs to get the fuck over it,” West mutters.
“Yeah, well you two need to get over whatever shit you’ve got going on. I’m sick to fucking death of dealing with your crap.” I blow out a long, frustrated breath.
West scowls at me, but I ignore it. I couldn’t give a shit if he’s pissed at me. Least of my fucking problems.
Hunter can’t handle confrontation and tries to calm us down. “You think you can book her, Jett?”
I stand up, ready to leave. “Yeah, I’ll book her.” Even though she’s putting energy into avoiding me, I’ll amp up my efforts and get her to cave. “I’ll catch you guys later,” I say and head out. Although we’re on a break, we’re working on our next album when we can catch time together and we’ve got plans to record later this afternoon.
As I make my way to my car, I pull out my phone and call Presley. She answers me almost straight away. “You just don’t give up, do you?” I like the playfulness in her tone. It hits me right in the dick, and I decide then and there that I won’t be taking no for an answer today.
