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“Of course you are, darlin’,” Malcolm said with a huge grin.
She pointed to her friend. “This is Stacey. You want to party?”
Malcolm gave me a knowing look. He was probably remembering the last time we were here. We’d spent most of the night up in the private suites drinking, eating more drugs than we should have, and banging as much pussy as we wanted.
“I’m good.” I smiled at the girls. Saw the moment of recognition. And knew I’d have to leave soon.
Malcolm sighed. “Another time, ladies. Seems as if my friend here wants to behave.”
“This is the Melon Ball, boys. No one comes here to behave,” Brandy said, licking her lips suggestively. “I promise I won’t tell a soul.”
I looked at the woman. At her perfect, surgically enhanced body. Everything about her screamed sex. She would fuck me, blow me, do anything I wanted, and she’d do it like a champ. Ten days ago, I would have been all over her. But now?
“I gotta go,” I said.
“Well, when you come back, remember to ask for Brandy.” She winked at Malcolm. “I don’t mind private parties for three.” The girls headed off in search of another score, while a couple of dancers took the stage.
Malcolm sat back on his stool. “This is a first. I gotta say, Boyd. You’re going down like a motherfucking stone. Echo Mansfield has got you by the short and curlies. Wait.” He snorted. “You manscape, don’t you? Guess she’s just got you by the balls.”
Anger flared in my bones. I gave him a look and gritted through my teeth, “Go fuck yourself.”
Malcolm chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder. “If only I could.” He winked. “Let me help you out with something.”
I side-eyed him. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a big event downtown. Some fashion thing to raise money for animal shelters. A lot of musicians, movie people, models. I know for a fact Echo’s going to be there.”
“How?”
“When you texted me yesterday, I knew why you were coming here. I thought I’d help you out.”
“And how did you do that exactly?” I was almost afraid to ask.
“Let’s just say someone who works with her stylist likes big dick, and she rode this baby all night long.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yep. I’m the asshole who scored us passes to the event.” He tossed his credit card onto the bar and signaled the bartender for the bill. “Ball’s in your court, my friend.”
I sucked back the rest of my overpriced beer and set the empty bottle on the bar. “Just so we’re clear. You basically prostituted yourself out with this chick so that you co
uld score passes to a fashion event we have no business attending.”
“Hey, if Blake Shelton can go, why the hell can’t we?” He paused. “You in?”
I’d come to New York City to see Echo. That had been the plan. But I never thought things through. Not really. She’d made no effort to get hold of me, and I’d been a pussy, afraid to contact her. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that those few days we’d spent together didn’t mean anything to her. Afraid the connection I’d felt was only one way.
“Dude.” All of a sudden, Malcolm sounded serious. He pocketed his credit card and slid off the stool. “We live in a fishbowl, you and I. We swim around doing our thing, playing our shows, eating up the attention, and making a lot of people a fuckwad of money. We’re surrounded by leeches and parasites who only want to take. They don’t see past anything other than what they want to see.” He sighed. “Most people wouldn’t survive our world. Takes a certain kind of crazy, that’s for sure. And don’t get me wrong, I love this life, and I can’t wait to go on tour again. It’s just…”
“Just what?” I prodded.
He shrugged. “Sometimes it gets old. Sometimes it would be cool to come home to a lady who digs me for me. Not for my platinum credit card or the size of my bank account. If this could be a thing for you two, you should go after it the same way you attack a song. You give it your all onstage. Why wouldn’t you do that behind the scenes?”
“Jesus, Malcolm. You sound like a goddamn Hallmark card.”
He flashed a smile. “I try. Let’s get out of here. If we hurry, we’ll have a couple hours.”
“To do what?”
