I had to stare for a sec, because really, Ash was super fucking hot—all angsty, badass rock star in his tight black jeans and sleeveless shirt and mussed-up black hair. And sucking face with some hot blond guy?
Holy shit.
I would’ve found it sexy if I didn’t feel so sorry for him.
Ash had been a hot mess ever since whatever number Dylan and Amber had done on him. I loved Dylan, I liked Amber already, but I liked Ash too, and honestly, I felt horrible for him. It was pretty clear he’d had his heart broken and was on some booze-and-sex spree, and I didn’t even know all the details.
Wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Too fucking depressing.
The whole idea of having to be around someone you cared about, maybe were in love with, while they were happily in love with someone else…
Painful.
Depressing.
Not the kind of shit I’d wish on my worst enemy.
I was in enough pain of my own. But at least Zane wasn’t in love with someone else.
Back in my hotel room, alone, I kept looking at his text.
And I kept wondering if he’d come back to the hotel or not. If he was alone.
Zane: please take down your wall
He hadn’t sent me another personal text since that one. He hadn’t followed me back to my hotel room or tried to get me alone tonight. He hadn’t tried to get me drunk.
He really hadn’t tried to get near me at all.
He’d definitely stared at me every chance he got, though. With a penetrating, accusing, expectant stare.
A when-are-you-gonna-get-over-your-bullshit-and-talk-to-me stare.
By now, I knew that stare well.
I knew he wasn’t happy that I wasn’t talking to him. I knew he was mad at me and probably hurt.
I was mad at him, too.
And I’d been hurting for years.
I’d watched him drink himself stupid.
I’d watched him hurt himself.
I’d watched him with other women. And not just since we were married.
I’d known the man for almost eight years, worked with him pretty intimately, built a pretty amazing friendship… and I had watched him hook up with literally hundreds of women who weren’t me.
When it came to Zane, I had wounds and I had scars.
Fresh wounds. Old wounds.
Ancient scars.
Some that were fading and some that may never fully heal.
Some that had burst back open, over and again.
I didn’t want to punish him for it.
I’d never wanted to punish him.
Zane was who he was. I never even wanted him to change. Not at his core.
It was the bullshit destructive behavior, the kind that hurt him, that hurt everyone who cared about him, that hurt me, that needed to go.
I’d never asked him to change, but now he was married to me, and he kept telling me he wanted to be married to me, and yet he still couldn’t see all the ways he was hurting me.
All the ways he was still hurting himself.
Zane: please take down your wall
I kept checking my phone and staring at his last text, long into the night. I started to reply, a few times, then deleted whatever angry bullshit I’d written.
Eventually I let down my wall, just a bit, and wrote back.
Me: Please don’t ever drink again. Please don’t smoke pot anymore. Please don’t sleep with other women. Please just stop.
His response came in moments later.
Zane: please be my wife
Early the next morning, I lay in bed and tried to formulate some kind of plan. I was always armed with a plan; it was my thing. One of my greatest strengths.
But with Zane, every plan just crumbled to dust.
Usually because whatever plan I had was abandoned the moment he got me alone and got his hands on me.
I wanted to be stronger. I’d always thought I was strong.
But with Zane, I was all over the fucking place.
Maybe we could keep having sex.
Maybe we couldn’t.
I really couldn’t stand the thought of never touching him again.
I wanted him like I wanted my next drink of water. I could put it off for a while, but eventually, if I didn’t have it, I’d wither up and I’d die.
So much for being strong.
I was nothing but weak. Weak and confused and in pain, wanting someone who would only keep hurting me. I did want him, I would always want him, and wanting him would always cause me pain.
I knew this.
I’d been in a constant state of pain for so long now, I’d learned to somehow live with it. To stuff it down. To endure.
Now that I was around Zane all the time on tour, I was also in a constant state of tension and fear, and it was wearing at my nerves. My emotions were frayed, my convictions were shot, my strength was failing.
I no longer had any idea what to do.
I had no plan, and no idea what to do about it.
I just didn’t know how to live this way. I felt utterly lost, out-of-control, and terrified that I’d never figure out what to do about it.
Eight years. It had been almost eight years and I still didn’t know what to do about my feelings for Zane.
Worst of all… I was terrified that maybe I was losing him, that I was losing my friend and I was going to lose my job, and that was the only ending there was ever going to be to our story.
And by fighting it, all I was doing was delaying the terrible inevitable.
And by trying to tell me he loved me, he was only speeding it up.
It was a simple matter of time, of when, not why or how or if. We were fighting over moments between us that, fast or slow, were never going to change a thing.
Any way you looked at it, we were falling apart.
I’d come to this depressing conclusion right around the time a note was delivered to my room on hotel stationery.
Scrawled on the envelope in a familiar hand, it said:
Maggie,
I wrote this to you in February last year, just after Jesse’s wedding.
Then things seemed okay between us, and I didn’t give it to you.
Then things got worse.
Then things got even worse, and I never gave it to you.
But every word is still true.
Obviously, I knew who it was from.
I set the envelope down on a table, and I went about getting ready for my day. Once I was showered and dressed, my makeup on, my room tidied up and my day organized, I picked up the envelope and looked at it again.
I stared at it for a long time, mildly shaking with adrenaline and dread, hope and fear.
Then I sat down on the bed and I opened it.
I took a breath, and I read every word, slowly.
Maggie May.
That night we spent in Vegas rocked my world.
What happened the next morning… blew it wide open.
What happened in the weeks that followed almost killed me.
Pretty sure it almost killed you too.
You wanna look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me? Go ahead.
I’m waiting.
But sweetheart, I’m guessing that isn’t happening anytime soon.
I know I’ve fucked up.
You’re probably thinking if I could take it all back, I would.
You’d be wrong.
Maybe you’re waiting for me to apologize, but babe, I’m never gonna do that.
I’m never gonna apologize for loving you.
Zane.
Chapter Eight
Zane
After I sent her that note, Maggie avoided me like I was the motherfucking plague incarnate.
Like if she got anywhere near me she’d be struck dead.
I actually saw her turn and hightail it the fuck out of the room or the hallway or wherever we ran into each other, several times. And it was pissing me off.
Worse, I
missed her.
Almost made me regret sending her the damn note.
But fuck it.
I meant every word I said. She didn’t believe me, or it scared the shit out of her or whatever, that was her deal. At least I was honest. At least I was willing to talk to her. Even if talking meant fighting.
Fighting was better than nothing.
The cold-shoulder bullshit had gone on all fucking day when I finally snapped.
It happened in the hotel elevator.
I’d just come back from a band dinner and got into the elevator with Shady; Dirty had a show tonight and I had to grab some things. Maggie got in on the next floor. She didn’t come to dinner, said she had work to do; at least that’s what Talia told me.
When the elevator door opened and she was standing outside the hotel spa in a robe and slippers, she saw me and her face totally fell. She stepped into the elevator and made fake-cheerful small talk with Shady—since she had to mind her professional appearance and all that shit—while my jaw ticked and I stood stone-silent between them.
When the door opened on our floor, Maggie was the first one off the elevator. I followed. I muttered something to Shady about waiting for me and caught up to her. Then I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her the rest of the way down the hall—to my room.
As soon as we were inside, I lit into her.
“The fuck are you gonna do? Just ignore me for the rest of the fucking tour?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not ignoring you—”
“Save it. You want a divorce? I’ll give you a divorce, if that’s what you really want.”
Yeah. I was annoyed enough, frustrated enough to say that to her.
Even if I didn’t mean it.
Maggie looked stunned.
“Unless that’s not what you really want,” I pressed.
She blinked at me, her mouth open, but she didn’t speak.
I got close, cupping her head in my hands. “Is that what you want, Maggie?” I softened my voice and got right in her face. “You want a divorce?”
She shook her head long before the words finally found their way out of her mouth. “No.” Her voice was small and fragile. “I don’t want a divorce.”
Fuck, but I was relieved to hear those words. It wasn’t like she was agreeing to be my wife. But at least I knew she didn’t really want to let this go. She didn’t really want an end to our marriage, as fucked-up as it was.
She didn’t really want to lose me.
And Christ, it turned me on.
“I want in you,” I told her. “Now.”
Her gray eyes widened. “Now?”
“Right now.”
Her jaw kinda dropped, but she didn’t say another word. When she didn’t protest, I fumbled around, opening my jeans and reaching up inside her robe to yank her panties down. I needed inside her, because when I was inside her it was the only time she got real with me, ever. It was the only time she let me actually get close. Let me see and hear and taste and feel how she wanted me…
I got her panties down around her ankles, hiked one leg up over my hip, and sank into her.
And fuck.
Maggie’s heat. So silky soft. Wet. Slippery and tight.
Fucking bare.
So intense…
“Zane… we can’t do this,” she protested, even as she clung to me and moved her hips to meet my thrusts. “You have to put on a condom.”
“I know.” I sucked on her neck as she clutched at my back, pulling me close. “I know, babe. I’m gonna pull out. Just… for a minute…”
“Oh, God…”
“Mmmm…”
Jesus Christ… so fucking good. We were both melting, fucking struggling to keep standing as we came together, right up against the door.
“I’m not on the pill,” she said. “You have to get a condom.”
I met her eyes, but I didn’t stop fucking her. My hips and my dick were on autopilot. She’d told me that before, that she wasn’t on the pill. But right now, my brain couldn’t process it.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Maggie froze.
“Shit…” I breathed.
She shoved me away, wiggling her way off my dick, and scrambled to cover herself with the robe.
I put my dick away, awkwardly, and that shit hurt. My jeans were still open; no fucking way was I trying to zip them up right now.
I could practically feel Maggie cringe behind me as I yanked open the door.
It was Shady.
“Uh, sorry,” he said, his gaze flicking from me to her. He looked genuinely fucking shocked that he’d just interrupted me feeding Maggie my dick. “Sorry. Uh… you didn’t answer your phone, and it’s time to go…”
“Thank you, Shady,” Maggie said in her all-business tone. “He’ll be right out.”
I shut the door. I knew I had a show to do. I had to get going, but Maggie wasn’t exactly dressed and ready to go, and fuck if I wanted to leave her like this.
“How could you?” she hissed, smacking me on the shoulder.
“How could I what?”
“Open the fucking door, Zane! It could’ve been anyone. You didn’t even look through the peephole. Or give me a chance to hide. Or do up your fucking pants.” She growled in a way that normally would’ve turned me on, but right now, just pissed me off. “And you didn’t even put on a condom!”
I swiped my hand through my hair, fucking aggravated. My dick was aching, my balls were throbbing, and she was pissed at me again? “Hide? What are we, fucking teenagers? Why the fuck do we have to hide?”
“Zane, don’t start this shit.”
“Why?” I repeated. “Why do we have to hide from everyone that we’re fucking? Everyone else can fuck, but we can’t?”
I was ready for her to yell at me, but instead her shoulders dropped. “I just… I can’t bear the risk, okay?” Her voice was small as her gray eyes gazed up at me, all watery and soft. “I’ve told you this before. I can’t bear them finding out.”
Fuck me. Her pretty face looked all scared and sad, and it broke me. “Shady’s not gonna tell anyone, babe.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Shady doesn’t give a shit that we’re banging.”
“But someone else could see me leaving your room,” she said. “One of these times, someone will see us. Brody could see us. What if—shit! Were we loud? We were right up against the door. What if someone heard us?”
“No one heard us.” But I didn’t know if that was true.
And Maggie looked so fucking horrified at the thought. Kinda like the way she looked when she found out the wedding we’d had was real—and not just some elaborate hoax for her dad’s benefit.
Best and worst morning of my life.
“That’s not gonna happen,” I told her. “With Brody. He’s not gonna find out. And if he did—”
“Zane—”
“If he ever did, I’d put him straight. You can count on me for that, Maggs. No matter what you think, I’m telling you, there’s no way I’d ever let him hold this shit against you or let it fuck with your job. Ever. You get that?”
She didn’t say anything. Because she didn’t get it.
She didn’t believe me.
And I knew she had her reasons for not trusting me.
Good reasons.
I knew she was afraid of risking her job over this—risking pretty much everything that mattered to her. Which meant she’d cut me way more slack than I’d ever deserved.
I got that.
I knew I’d disappointed her, hurt her, and in her mind, betrayed her.
But fuck no. Whatever she thought of me in her darkest Zane-hating moments, I’d never fuck with her job. I’d never fucking do that to her. And I’d never let Dirty lose her.
How to convince her of that, though?
The woman was stubborn as shit.
“If Brody or anyone else has a problem with you fucking me,” I told her, “I’ll deal with them.”
“Who cares about the fucking!” she half-yelled. “It’s not about the sex, Zane.” She took a breath and lowered her voice. “Don’t you get that? No one gives a shit who you fuck, because you are always fucking someone. If it’s me, they might be a little pissed or concerned, for about a minute. But it’s not about fucking. It’s about us. This fucked-up shit between us.”
“I know that, Maggs.”
“No,” she said. “You don’t. You just think it’s all some stupid game—”
“It’s not a game.”
“Everything to you is a game. Life is a game. You get arrested, you break someone’s heart, you end up in the hospital getting stitches, it’s all the same to you. The next day you’re onto the next thing. You’re completely fucking ignorant about the trail of crap you leave in your wake, everywhere you go, because me and Brody and Jude are always cleaning it up for you. You don’t have the first fucking clue how this will affect anyone else, because the truth is, you don’t actually care how it affects anyone else. But it matters, Zane.”
“I know it matters, Maggie—”
“Do you? Do you know how much it matters? Because I’ve been managing Dirty for years, and I’m telling you, this is gonna totally fuck with the tour and the band. Like some cancer. Like that ugly thing you can’t see and can’t quite make sense of but it’s always there, festering at the corners of your mind, out of your control, until you totally fucking resent it and you just want it gone. Want things back the way they were before. But it’s not about the sex. It’s the secret that’s the problem.”
“So? If the secret is the problem, then let’s just fucking tell them.”
Maggie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Whenever you want,” I said, moving closer to her. “However you want.”
“Telling them won’t make it any better. When are you gonna see that? Whether they know about it or not, this thing between us is fucked.”
“No, Maggs. It won’t be a secret anymore, and we can work out our shit in the open.”
“Are you listening to me? There’s nothing to work out, Zane.”
“That’s bullshit, Maggie, and you know it. And don’t fucking tell me all you want from me is my dick, because if that’s all this was about you could’ve had it years ago. You could’ve had it every single day since we got married. But you haven’t. It’s been almost two years since our wedding night and you’ve let me have you like a dozen times. So you’re right. This is about way more than fucking. Let’s just call it what it is.”
Dirty Like Zane: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 6) Page 10
