AllFreeNovel
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Everygirl’s name sounds familiar. Every female face looks familiar, when you’ve been me. When you took a garage band to international stardom at the age of twenty-one. When you toured the world seven times over.
I’ve lived alifetimeof hedonistic excesses. So, like I said: every single girl in the world has a way of looking “familiar” to me. But with her, that’s not a possibility. She’s all of…what, twenty-one? Nineteen?
That one hundred percent takes her out of the “maybe we’ve…metbefore” pile, given that the last time I was out “meeting” women was a decade ago.
I frown, shaking the ramblings from my head.
“Well?” I snarl.
I’m not trying to scare her…
Fuck it, no, that’s a lie. Iamtrying to scare her.
Scaring her gets her the fuck away from me. I’m scaring her to make her go back to her a little boat, or dinghy, or pool noodle, or whatever the fuck she washed up on my shores with, and back to New York City. Where Cliff will promptly be in touch with her with the biggest, most fuck-you NDA she’s ever laid eyes on.
And that’ll be the end of it.
After that, I can go back to what I have here.
Silence. No faces around me. No prodding fucking questions around me. Just me, my guitars, my bike garage, my island, my drugs, and my fucking booze.
I just need her gone, first.
“Surely you didn’t forget how to use a boat in the eight minutes you were standing on my doorstep before, did you?”
Her brows furrow as she looks up at me.
“Excuse me?”
And there’s another thing. And maybe it speaks more to my own ego than it should that this is where I go with this. But fuck it. My ego made me a fuckinggodwhen I was younger. It made me rich beyond kings.
Kinda hard to shit on it after it did all that for me.
But the thing that goads me when she snaps at me like that—when she glares at me with this bored, disdainful, petulant little sneer—is, well,that.
The bored disdain. The petulant sneer.
Theimmunity.
No one is immune to me,especiallynot cute little—however-the-fuck-old she is—pink-haired, leather-jacket-wearing city girls like her. In fact, she’s the fucking archetype of girls who, historically, have literally bent over backwards to do whatever depraved shit my dick and my dark heart has come up with.
To pretend I’m alive.
To pretend the past is a forgotten memory.
To pretend throwing myself into excess and pure hedonism erases the horrors that came before the fame.
But she breaks that mold. Thatsneerbreaks the archetype, however fucking cute it is.
I grit my teeth.
“Well, no one brought you here. That’s a fact.”
“That’s your assumption.”
“No, it’s afact. I know that because no one in their right fucking mind from the mainland would bring you here without my express permission.”
She lifts a brow.
