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And he shoved meaway.
Oh, and then there was that really fun part where he spat on thecarpet.
Thank God for that, because it was just the punch in the face I needed. A reminder that throwing myself at Zane Traynor was acomplete and utterFuckUp.
I’d let him get under my skin, when I’d made it a policy, long ago,neverto let that man anywhere near my skin. And now I was gonna pay for it incrazy.
Shit.
I got more than enough crazy from mydad.
I could not afford to let Zane’s crazy overflow the professional bounds of our relationship just because I was hurt and angry—most of this hurt and anger misplaced, since it was my dad I was truly pissed at—not to mention horny, humiliated and vulnerable, and I lost my temper, snapped, and did something totallyridiculous.
It was my own fault, too. As much as I’d like to blame Zane, it wasn’t exactly his fault I threw myself at him, no matter how big a dick he was being and how much that unfortunately, annoyingly messed with the signals between my clit and my brain. Acting on it—the anger and the messed up signals—was all me, and it was totally out ofcharacter.
Zane, for his part, was just beingZane.
Years ago, he and I had reached a kind of stalemate in our relationship. He wanted to sleep with me. I wasn’t going to sleep with him. Neither one of us was about to budge, and as much as we butted heads over it, we kinda respected each other for it too. We were who we were, and that was just the way it was. He kept trying to get in my pants, because that’s what Zane did. And I kept turning himdown.
Simple. And the system worked forus.
Until itdidn’t.
Tonight the system totally crashed and burned. Thanks to me hurling myself, half-naked and angry, over that crucial line I’d never lethimcross.
In the cold shower that followed, all I’d concluded about that was that for such a smart girl I could, on occasion, be really fuckingstupid.
What the fuck was Ithinking?
Like I was gonna teach Zane a lesson by shoving what he wanted in his face, once and for all? Like angry-kissing him for cockblocking my hookup was some kind ofpunishment?
And then what? What did I expect him todo?
Grope me,definitely.
Try to fuck me,probably.
And then I’d laugh in his face and shovehimaway?
Right. Really fuckingmature.
More likely, at the rate I was going, I would’ve hate-fucked him into nextTuesday.
Great plan. Like that was gonna helpanything.
Couldn’t be any worse than being rejected by him, MaggieMay.
Yeah, thanks, Mom. I kinda gotthat.
I flopped onto one of the cushioned lounge chairs and put my feet up, taking another few swigs straight from the champagne bottle. Yeah, so I was drinking alone and that was kind of pathetic. Plus, I was having a two-way chat with my dead mom in my head. Nothing new, but it might be a good idea to bring another living person into this for a sanitycheck.
I pulled my phone out of the robe pocket. There were a couple of work-related texts awaiting reply; nothing urgent, but I responded. Then I thumbed through my contacts. UnderFavoritesI had the members of the band—Zane, Jesse, Elle and Dylan—as well as my boss, Brody, our head of security, Jude… and yeah, my dad. Not that I ever called him. The only other person on the list was Jessa, Jesse’s sister, my girlfriend who’d introduced me to the band and to Brody in thebeginning.
I stared at the very short list,stunned.
How the hell had my personal life come down tothis?
It was no big secret that over the years I’d grown apart from, drifted away from, or just plain alienated all my girlfriends back home. Not on purpose, but life with the band, on and off the road, and working twenty-four-seven had taken its toll. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a meaningful conversation with anyone outside this fucked up little rock ’n’ roll bubble I called alife.
