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“Booze,” he grunts. “You owe me twelve bottles of whiskey.”
My brow furrows deeper.
“I’m sorry, I what?”
“You,” he says slowly, smiling at me thinly. “Oweme. Twelve. Bottles. Of. Fucking. Whiskey.”
He annunciates each word, as if I’m a child, or hard of hearing. My lips purse. But this time, I don’t cower. I don’t back-step or apologize.
This time, I glare right back at him.
Yeah, the power of the “demanding asshole rockstar god” sort of wanes when said demanding asshole rockstar god is now a voice-less hermit living on a island, drinking himself into a stupor.
“What, because you bumped into me?”
“Switch that. And yes. Fuckingexactlybecause of that.”
I scowl, pursing my lips as he stands there gripping the doorframe.
“Okay,okay,” I sigh. “Fine, sure. I’ll buy you new whiskey.”
Jackson just stares at me, lifting a brow.
“Well?”
My brow furrows.
“I’m sorry did you mean right now?”
“I didn’t mean tomorrow. I didn’t mean a week from now. I didn’t mean an hour from now.”
I tremble as he a takes a step closer to me. And whatever I said before about the “power” of his royal rockstar assholeness waning or fading?
Yeah, lies.
Because when Jackson steps closer to me, it’s like the very air ignites around me. It’s like static crackles over my skin, prickling the hairs on back of my neck and teasing its way to places it very much shouldn’t.
I swallow thickly, hoping to God the heat thudding in my core goes away. Because I amnota Jackson Havoc groupie. I love his music—I mean Ireallylove his music. And the giddiness I feel being around him is because I’m standing in front of the very man who wrote and sang songs I absolutely adore, that were and continue to be part of the soundtrack of my life.
Notbecause I want to bang him.
…It’snotthat.
I shiver.
“Fine.”
He smiles thinly.
“Wonderful. You know where to find me.”
He slowly turns as if to disappear back into the house.
“I just have a few conditions.”
It takes everything I have not to flinch, or jump back, orrunwhen he whirls back to me with a cold fury on his face.
“I’m sorry, are we bloody negotiating?” He snarls.
