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Chapter Two
Scott
Ithought I’d met every type of girl in my line of work. Being the lead guitarist in the world’s biggest metal band came with perks after all. Not that I had partaken in those perks in years. Truth be told, having women throw themselves at you night after night gets old after the first decade.
But back when I did indulge, there had been a constant parade of available women. And unavailable. Rich, poor. Stunning, ordinary. They had all thrown themselves at me, not for me, just for the ability to say they’d banged a rock star. Or to try and get closer to our lead singer, Brandt Liu. He’s always been a pretty boy, and some fans would do just about anything to get to him, even fake liking me. I’d been a young little shit when fame hit the band, and I took advantage. All four of us did, some more than others. By the time I hit twenty-five, I became jaded. No longer trusted anyone who appeared to like me. Not unless I’d known them long before the money and accolades. Even then, people tended to have ulterior motives.
Now, at thirty-two, after seven years of traveling and ignoring the throngs of women, my dick finally found what it wanted. A stuck-up, rich brat who had no idea of my fame or wealth.
“Is this seriously the only thing you have for me to wear?” Lacy finally comes out from the bathroom sporting only a faded Malfeesance shirt I’ve had since our first world tour. Fuck if my dick doesn’t sit right up and beg like the fucking dog he is. Her hair is a light brown that gradually lights to blonde toward the ends as it spills around her shoulders. There is probably some fancy as fuck term for that color, but I know fuck all about hair trends. God knows I have nothing in the way of hair products or tools, other than the cheap clippers I use on my hair, so I have no clue how she got it to look that incredible. She’s not wearing any makeup, and I prefer it to the caked-on shit she had been sporting the night before. Her features are delicate, just like the rest of her. Well, except her personality. Nothing delicate about that.
The knowledge that she’s bare under that shirt is killing me. Her sweet little tits bounce around under the threadbare fabric as she stomps into my kitchen. I know after watching her toss and turn all night that she’s got a hairless pussy between those legs, and I thank the rock gods that she’s so short and the shirt falls to her knees.
“Sorry, beauty, I don’t make a habit of keeping women’s clothes in my place.” I rake my gaze over her body, head to toe, and back up again, not even trying to hide the blatant lust which has to be written over my face. “Looks good on you though.”
My brat scoffs and rolls her brown eyes. My dick leaks a little precum thinking of how I’d like to take her over my knee for that little show of disrespect.
“I mean, obviously, I can make just about anything look good. But seriously, you don’t even have a belt or something I can use to give it some shape? Oh, and what is with the misspelled word?” She plucks the shirt out from her chest, staring down at the name of my band. The action draws the hem up to her thighs, just below where heaven lays. I suppressthe groan building in my chest and remind myself this girl was traumatized last night. Lacy might be putting on a good show now, but that shit doesn’t just go away instantaneously.
And, yeah, when we thought of the name, we had all been drunk and high off our asses and spelled it wrong on all the posters and T-shirts for our first gig at this shitty bar downtown. But that’s not what we tell people. No, the story our publicist spun after we started getting big was that we were making a statement about the corruption of our political leaders and the money big business poured into their campaigns.
That scripted answer is so ingrained in my life, I almost spit it out at this girl with a bruised head and attitude for miles. But for some odd reason, I don’t give her that explanation. I also don’t want her to know who I am yet.
“Probably some idiot kids who dropped out of high school and smoked too much pot while dreaming of conquering the world.” I pick up the plate of bacon, eggs, and toast I made and put them on the table. “Come on. Let’s eat, and then I’ll take you home.”
Lacy turns her nose up at the food I’ve made, eyeing it suspiciously. “I don’t do carbs. Or saturated fat. Or egg yolks.”
“What do you eat?” I’ve seen this girl naked. I know she’s slim, but she’s not unhealthy skinny. Not that kind of lean only starving yourself or hitting hard drugs can achieve.
“Chicken. Leafy greens. The occasional Kobe steak. Coffee. Lots of coffee.” She doesn’t meet my eyes. They stay glued to the food. And I’m starting to think it isn’t suspicion in her eyes; it’s desire. She fucking wants my bacon and eggs.
“Sit. Eat.”
“I said I can’t eat anything on that plate.” Her eyes finally tear away from the food porn sitting before her and narrow their focus on me. “If you’ll just get me a water and lemon, that will hold me over until I get home.”
A low rumbling interrupts what I’m about to say. Lacy covers her stomach, her tan skin blushing slightly at the noise.
“You haven’t eaten since before the attack. You’re on antibiotics. You need food. Real food. Sit.” I pull out a chair for her and put it back down a little harder than I meant to. “Eat. You can go back to your rabbit food later.”
“Fine. But not because you’re telling me to. I’m going to eat because I know it is better to have a full stomach when you’re taking medicine.” Lacy pads over to the table, brushing the long hem of my T-shirt under her ass and sitting delicately on the chair. She picks up the fork and takes a bite of eggs.
Like an idiot, I’m holding my breath waiting to see what she thinks about my food. I shouldn’t give a shit. She’s shown zero interest in me, but for some reason, a deep part of my very being needs her to like the food I’ve prepared for her.
“Oh my God.” Lacy slumps in her chair, her head falling forward and her eyes squeezing shut. “Is there cheese in these? I love cheese. These are so fucking good. Nothing I eat ever tastes like this.” She’s talking around her food, shoveling the bites into her mouth as fast as she can swallow. When she reaches for a piece of bacon and takes a bite, a throaty moan slips out, and my dick responds in kind. “Was bacon always this good? Why don’t I eat bacon more?”
All I can do is stand there and watch like a big pervert as she takes bite after bite of the simple breakfast, moaning like she’s about to come on the dining room chair. I want to do dirty things to this girl to get those exact reactions.
Once her plate is cleared, she stands, leaves the dirty dishes right where they are, and heads back to the bedroom. “I’m finding something else to wear. You have to have something else that will work.”
No acknowledgment that she just gave me the show of a lifetime eating a breakfast I’ve had a million times. No askingif she can check out my closet. No trying to insist she’ll do the dishes since I cooked for her. This woman is a handful.
Good thing I have very big hands.
* * *
“You are mistaken, Robert. I was just in my apartment yesterday.” Lacy all but stomps her foot as she tries to reason with the doorman who has just informed her she’s been evicted.
“Ma’am, my name is Patrick. Robert left three years ago. And I am not mistaken. Everything was seized from your apartment last night by the FBI. Your apartment has been sealed, and no one is allowed to enter.” The doorman leans around her to sneer in my general direction. “Perhaps if you had come home last night you would have been available for the agents to speak with.”
