Wicked Girl

by Piper Lawson

  I reach for my pop. “Dead women were affected by that.”

  Her laugh makes Scrunchie jump. “I think I heard your vagina cry a little.” Serena breaks off a piece of her sandwich and slips it to the hopeful-looking fluffball in her lap. He takes it, watching me with beady eyes as he munches.

  I spear some more of my lunch, chewing and swallowing before I speak again. “I told him. About the pregnancy and the miscarriage.”

  “Whoa. What did he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  I lift a shoulder. “I dropped it on him and then ran. He got to do it last time. Figured it was my turn.”

  “So he didn’t have the decency to feel like a giant lump of shit for not getting back to you? I was ready to drag his ass back here, you know I was.”

  Her loyalty warms me as I set the fork down in the bowl. “I know.” And he would’ve come back.

  But I still remember the words I’d said to him in the shower after Mace was in the hospital. The promise I’d asked him to make.

  Don’t regret me. Ever.

  “I don’t want him to say he’s sorry, Serena. To do anything out of obligation. That’s why I didn’t go after him when I found out.

  “He loves Annie, but I saw on his face when he told me about her that he never wanted another mistake. I never want to be his mistake.” I take a deep breath to combat the way my gut twists.

  She squeezes my hand and my smile fades.

  “He did come through in one way. He gave me the songs.”

  “And do they sound like a platinum album?”

  Disappointment wrings through me. “They’re not what we need.” She grimaces. “I saw what it took for Lita’s album to hit gold. I know Jax can do more, his fans want more. But it has to be real. Todd’s breathing down my neck. I really think he wants to watch me break.”

  “Clearly he doesn’t know you. So what’s the B plan?”

  “That was the F plan.” I blow out a breath. “Something told me if I got Jax back here, got his band and a studio, magic would happen. Maybe it’s not that simple. Maybe I’m missing something.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have it anymore.”

  My spine stiffens as objection rises up in me. I shake my head, hard enough to send my hair hitting me in the face and have Scrunchie watching me with suspicion. “No. That’s not it. The month I spent on tour, even the fall after that, I had this idea that my program would explain how Jax Jamieson does how he does.

  “It got close, helped make good songs better, but even it couldn’t take bad songs and make them good. Or great songs and make them mind-blowing.

  “Because I realized something. Jax’s magic isn’t the words he writes, or the chords he plays. It’s that he feels like no one else does, that he can translate it into this catharsis for the rest of us. But right now, he doesn’t want to feel. He’s opted out. I don’t know how to change that.”

  Her smile is sad. “I love that you won’t make it his fault. No matter what, you won’t believe he’s less than a god. Even after everything.”

  I rub my hands over my face. “You think it’s stupid.”

  “I think it’s sweet.”

  My phone dings and there’s a new text. “What…?”

  Jax: Hales. Thought you might want to check this out

  * * *

  Jax: We recorded it on Annie’s phone.

  I hit Play on the track, and sound streams out. The quality isn’t great, but what I hear is.

  My heart thuds. “Are you getting this?”

  Serena’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  I type back as fast as I can.

  * * *

  Haley: I love it

  * * *

  A few moments later, he texts back.

  * * *

  Jax: For real?

  * * *

  Haley: It’s going on the album. Got any more where that came from?

  * * *

  Dots appear. Then he sends a sound file.

  “You ever look at a guy like you’re looking at that phone right now, you’d have a boyfriend by now.”

  I grin. “Shut up.”

  * * *

  Haley: You wrote two songs last night?

  * * *

  The dots appear again.

  Followed by the most beautiful words I’ve ever read.

  * * *

  Jax: I wrote four

  Studios never sleep. Some of the most iconic tracks in rock, jazz, and country history were laid down at all hours of the day and night.

  Still, the regular staff tend to stick to the daylight hours. It’s the big artists and a handful of execs responsible for the lights after dark.

  Wednesday night in my office, the door is mostly closed and it’s late, but I’m listening to a track that has my entire body buzzing.

  It’s not one of our big artists. It’s one that matters more.

  “What do you think?” Tyler stares at me from across the desk. His blue eyes match his hair, and though I’ve witnessed it blue, green, and black, I struggle to remember if I’ve seen its natural color. One foot’s tucked up on the chair in front of him, not because he’s casual but because he’s nervous.

  “It’s really good. You cut the reverb—”

  “Yeah, I ran it through DRE and it came up with some suggestions. But I also scrapped some of the recos.” He shows me, his fingers flying over my computer keyboard to adjust settings. His gaze is as jerky over the screen as his voice is smooth over the speakers.

  I nod as I listen. “Yeah, okay.”

  “How’d you even come up with the idea for DRE? Did you always want to make music better?”

  I can’t help smiling, because I love how this kid’s mind works. He’s always curious, always wanting to know why and how. “Actually, I wanted a way to explain the music that changed my life. The part about making music better happened by accident.”

  I hit Play on the song again and listen to the changes he made.

  Excitement bubbles through me.

  And shit, this is why I do this.

  Once I thought the words mattered more than the chords, the melody. I was wrong.

  Nothing matters more than anything else. All of it matters, together.

  Movement from the doorway has me looking up.

  Any instinct to chastise falls away when I see whose face it is.

  The faded blue T-shirt hugs Jax’s chest and arms, skimming over his abs, none of which seem to have softened over the years.

  The jeans hang low on his hips, and I force my attention to his face.

  Since he sent me the songs yesterday, he’s been rehearsing, and I’ve been busy working too.

  His gaze lands on Tyler, whose hands stiffen on the chair arms. “Mr. Jamieson.”

  “Tyler.”

  They stare each other down.

  Is this is how bullfights start? Because Tyler looks like he desperately needs something to distract the very big and very irritated form in the doorway from charging.

  I clear my throat, looking pointedly toward Tyler when Jax acknowledges me.

  Finally, Jax speaks. “Kid. About the other night. I might have got the wrong impression.”

  Tyler nods vigorously. “You did. Annie’s my friend. She’s really cool. She knows more about music than anyone.”

  “Really?” That comment seems to throw Jax for a loop.

  “Uh-huh. I mean, it makes sense. She has killer taste. The playlists on her phone are all over the place and she knows the entire discography of bands I’ve never heard of.”

  “She does?”

  “You should get going,” I say to Tyler. “The bus stops running soon.”

  “I brought my bike.”

  I shoot him a look. “It’s not safe to ride that at midnight.”

  His lopsided grin, as if I’m worrying too much, has my chest expanding. “I’m good.”

  But he slides out of the chair and gives Jax a bit of
a berth as he leaves.

  Jax drops into the chair next to the one Tyler vacated. “Parents don’t care where he is?”

  “No.”

  Jax’s chin drops, because he knows what that’s like. “Been a while since I was here.” He inspects the armrests before his attention returns to me. “The view from this seat’s improved.”

  I flush even before his gaze drifts down my body. He stiffens.

  “Hales?” The look on his face slips from curiosity to wariness.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that my hoodie?”

  I pulled it on over my dress earlier. It looks ridiculous, but people don’t usually walk in on me at midnight. “It’s cozy.”

  “I didn’t think you’d keep it.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “Are you kidding?” I lean in, lowering my voice. “It’s signed by Jax Jamieson.”

  His perfect mouth curves, and my stomach turns over.

  I forgot how addictive it is to have him look at me like that.

  “Um. The songs you sent are amazing. How’s rehearsal?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We’re nearly ready to record.”

  “Great. Derek will get you on the schedule.”

  "Who's producing?”

  I suck in a breath. “I was thinking me. And Todd.”

  “No.”

  The hurt cuts me quick. “Jax, come on—”

  “I don’t want that asshole on my album. Just you. And Jerry. Apparently a few days into retirement and he’s already restless.”

  My heart skips, and for a moment, everything in the world is bright. “Todd’s not going to like that.”

  “Do I look like I care?”

  The grin threatens to split my face.

  No matter what we’ve been through, how close or how far apart, he’s still the biggest rock star in the world. I’ll always be in awe of him.

  Jax shifts forward, the shirt pulling over his biceps and dragging my gaze to the ink on his arm.

  I wonder if he’s gotten any new tattoos.

  I wonder if he’d let me look for myself.

  “You were right,” he says.

  I blink. “About what?”

  “Annie. She’s into music. I didn’t know how much.”

  “She can come play with other kids if she wants.” The words bump into one another, and I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. It’s a stupid reaction, considering the things he’s done to me and said to me. “I’ll email the schedule to you.”

  He rubs a hand over his jaw, the few days of scruff there.

  I want to be that hand. Or that jaw.

  He leans back in his chair. It’s my office, but he looks like a king holding court.

  Jax’s gaze skims the surface of the desk and lands on the corner. “Need a break?”

  “No,” I say too fast.

  His amber eyes sparkle. “It’ll only take a minute, Hales.”

  “Oh, you think so?” The challenge on his face has me shutting the lid of my notebook computer and sliding it off to the side.

  He flashes me a grin. One of those devastating smiles that shouldn’t be legal.

  He reaches for the chess board at the corner of the desk, careful not to disturb the pieces.

  Excitement tingles through me.

  “Last game was a blowout,” he says.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  He grabs two pieces, one white and one black, and puts them behind his back. I nod to one side, and he reveals the black piece.

  “Go,” I say.

  He does.

  My attention snaps from him to the board in an instant.

  We play like old times. With one important difference.

  “You got good,” he says after a few moves.

  I smile, toying with the string on the hoodie. “I still play at least twice a week.”

  Jax shakes his head, admiring my play. “You make any mistakes anymore?”

  “Some days it feels like all I do is make mistakes.”

  The words are out before I can think about them.

  The look in his eyes isn’t judgment or sympathy. It’s understanding.

  He reaches up to pull on his hair, rubbing a frustrated hand over his neck and dragging my attention up from the board.

  When he speaks again, his voice is low and urgent.

  “Hales. I can’t sleep knowing what you went through alone.” I swallow, fighting the emotion that threatens to rise up. “Is that why you sold Wicked? Because you miscarried?”

  I find a smile. “I sold it because I was pregnant. I have enough money. I wanted time, and space.”

  His face fills with anguish. “You must’ve thought I was such an asshole.”

  “No. I was upset when we broke up, I’m not going to lie. But I don’t blame you, Jax. It must have been hard when I chose Wicked. I know you hated Cross.”

  Jax leans forward, closing the distance between us. Moody amber eyes hold mine in a grip that won’t let go.

  “Not as much as I loved you.”

  Words have the power to take your life, to shape it.

  To put your heart back together when you’d swear it was broken forever.

  I wonder if he can see every emotion on my face. Maybe he can, because his gaze darkens on mine, his throat working.

  We’re inches apart. Too far and too close at once. I’m desperate to change it, I just don’t know which way.

  Jax nods toward the board without breaking my gaze. “Your move, Hales.”

  12

  Haley

  Jax is watching me.

  His full mouth is pursed. Those amber eyes are glowing under his dark lashes, under the hair that falls across his forehead as if it belongs there. Under the T-shirt his shoulders are tight, his arms flexed.

  It’s intoxicating, the weight of his attention. Having the most beautiful man in the world watch you as though he’s hanging on your next word, your next breath…

  He’s waiting for me to choose.

  Before I’m even sure what I’m choosing from, every option fades away until there’s only one thing in the world I want to do.

  My hands hit the desk, braced under me as I shift over the board and crush my lips to his.

  I’m home even before Jax opens under me, his mouth hot and welcoming.

  Taking everything I have and giving it right back.

  God, yes.

  It’s not a thought; it’s a feeling.

  He’s all hunger and need and deliberateness as he rounds the desk.

  Then his hands are in my hair, his body slamming mine into the wall as he kisses me.

  Wild.

  Desperate.

  I forgot what it was like to be swept up in his storm. To be afraid to succumb to the hypnotic spell he weaves with his hands, his voice, his body almost as much as I’m desperate to.

  It’s everything.

  He’s everything.

  Jax yanks the sweatshirt over my head..

  My dress is gone nearly as fast.

  The heat of his lips on my neck drives me crazy. I squirm against him, and his teeth nip my sensitive skin. Punishing me or encouraging me, I don’t even know.

  His shirt is next. That part’s my doing because I can’t stand the thought of the fabric between us. I want to touch his skin. See if he’s burning up like I am.

  My greedy hands roam his bare chest, and I exhale on a shudder. His muscles jump under my touch as I trace them from memory, and how is it possible this isn’t close enough?

  I want more.

  All of him.

  His arms band around my waist. It’s surprisingly PG, except for the sheer force of them. And the insistent hardness pressing between my legs. I reach for him, hauling his mouth back to mine so I can taste him again. The dark flavor of his mouth combined with both of our desire.

  Jax pulls back an inch and I blink my eyes open, startled to find wetness stinging my cheeks.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

/>   “Yes.” I swallow. “Don’t stop.”

  “Fuck.” His forehead presses to mine, the first beads of sweat forming there.

  Jax’s hands find my thighs under my dress. His heart hammers against mine, but he’s slow as he skims up and under the hem. Amber eyes burn into mine as my eyelids threaten to drift down.

  “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

  I do.

  I’m twenty-four years old. I’ve buried both my parents. Worked a rock tour. Been kicked out of school. Run a record label. The kind of ups and downs that give you whiplash.

  I’ve vowed never to let myself be at anyone’s mercy ever again.

  Yet when it comes to this man, I couldn’t care less about all of it.

  “Tell me you missed me,” he rasps against my throat.

  “Yes.”

  His touch strokes higher, over the curve of my hip. He palms my ass, his finger playing with the back of my thong, and his breath hitches. I yank my dress up as he pulls my knee around his hip. The friction of his jeans burns my bare leg.

  None of it matters when his fingers brush between my thighs.

  I bite my lip to keep from crying out. I’m soaked. I can feel it from my panties, from the way his fingers slide. He moves the fabric aside and I hiccup a breath.

  “Hales.” My eyes squeeze shut because I could come just from the way he says my name. But Jax has other ideas. “Since that day in the studio, all I can think about is doing this.”

  His fingers sink inside me, and my moan fills the whole office, like he fills me.

  We’re sharing the same breath now but not kissing, not really. My hands dig into his biceps, holding him or me steady as he drives me insane with need.

  His thumb joins the party, stroking up over my clit in rhythmic passes.

  I wonder if that’s what playing a guitar is like.

  The only noises in the room are our panting breaths and the sounds of him touching, teasing, filling me where I’m so turned on.

  He builds me higher with every stroke.

  I’m hanging on by a thread. To him, to consciousness. Every stroke of his hand pulls on me, and my muscles are so tight I’m shaking with it.