Crazy Love (The Bad Boys of Brit Pop Book 1)

by Madelynne Ellis

  “What now?” Having rinsed away all the soap bubbles, Loveday sits back on her haunches.

  “Dry him off and leave him here.” There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of point in attempting to move him into the bedroom. Bugger would probably just be sick again the moment we got him there.

  She eyes me suspiciously, perhaps sensing my irritation, though perhaps not realising the cause of it. “You dry, I’ll get the duvet. Try not to smother him.” Off she hurries, leaving me to the joy of patting him down. If he ends up a bit sore in places because I didn’t do as thorough a job as I might, then he can consider it minor payback for the shit storm he’s about to create, and the dreams he’s about to ruin.

  “I must have a screw loose to be doing this for you,” I tell Knox. “The band’s about to go belly up. Joel’s going to walk, and sitting on Dane is the only way I’m going to be able to prevent him killing you and Jessie.”

  Knox delivers a contented snore in response.

  “You don’t give a shit, do you?”

  He snuffles and sneezes over me, before falling back into his wheezy snorting.

  Out of this world!

  I avail myself of the facecloth.

  Jeez, must be nice to be able to tune out so completely.

  Loveday returns with a duvet and a pillow. We wedge the latter under Knox’s head, and tug the cover around him, then stand back and sigh like the relieved parents of a hyperactive toddler. I really wish we didn’t have a twenty-three year old baby on our hands, because I’m keen to do some hiding from reality of my own right now.

  Naturally, this involves Loveday, an ocean wide bed, several waterproof jackets and a whole lot of tongue action.

  “What will you do now?” she asks, while rubbing sleep out of her pretty eyes. She smudges a bit of mascara, but I don’t tell her, because it’s cute. My thoughts return to the idea of us entwined. I’d like to find a way to give her proper panda eyes. “You do realise there’s no way on earth he’s going to be in a fit state to play.”

  What I’m going to do—what I’m already doing—is pray for a miracle. That’s the only thing that’s going to get us out of this fix. Paradise Kiss can’t perform without a bassist, and Knox is the only one we have. He might astound us all and get out of the bath when required to do so, but I think it’s more likely that a shark will swim up through plughole.

  “Isn’t there anyone you can call on to stand in?”

  I keep my eyes averted, because I don’t want her to even suspect who my first choice would be were I to call for help. It’s irrelevant, it’s not happening. I know Knox has ruined things, but I still can’t just throw him to the wolves.

  “You must know people. Band’s don’t operate in isolation, and you’ve been on the scene for what…two, three years?”

  Oh shit! It’s a good thing Joel isn’t around to hear this, because he’d be utterly disgusted with me for not pouncing, given she’s provided such a good opening. There’s no question that with Loveday playing bass, Paradise Kiss would soon be hurtling towards international stardom. I want that. I want it so badly, that all my frustrations writhe inside of me, and fill up my soul with resentment. The target’s not Knox though, it’s her, because she’s the solution, whereas he’s merely the problem.

  I want to hurt her. I want to make her shut up.

  “There must be someone, Darke.”

  I stick by my friends. I do not screw them over, or leave them behind. Knox and I are brothers. Mantra like, I silently chant that thought, while my fists clench.

  The sickness and temptation I have writhing in my guts must be plainly expressed on my face, because Loveday ducks down, seeking to make eye contact. She takes hold of my arm and immediately, my muscles tense.

  “Really, nobody at all?” She shakes her head, obviously surprised and saddened by this fact.

  I cough to clear my throat, and I say it. “There is one person.” I don’t mean to, but it somehow slips out, and then I’m disgusted with myself.

  Hope bleeds back into her blue eyes. “That’s fantastic.”

  My resolve almost wavers. Would she smile if I asked her? Jump on board and make everything right?

  “I can’t ask them, though,” I say, deciding to be strong and stick to my principles.

  Knox is my brother. Knox is my brother.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  He’s still my brother.

  “I’m not sure there’s any material difference.” I make the statement through clenched teeth. “Anyone I called in would insist on being part of the group going forward, and who could blame them considering the contract that’s hanging in the balance.”

  “Which means shnickt time—” She draws her finger across her throat. “—for Knox.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  She nods. “I can see the problem. However, if you don’t call in someone, it’s going to cost you and the other two guys your dreams. That hardly seems fair.”

  I know it’s not fair, but must she point it out?

  The truth…any sort of logic, is not what I need to hear right now.

  “Shouldn’t you get your guys together and talk it over?”

  “I didn’t see a whole lot of response when I reached out to them earlier. You’re here because they can’t be buggered to pick up their phones.” In any case, I don’t want to involve them. I know what Joel will say, and Dane too, most likely. They’ll cast Knox adrift in a heartbeat.

  “What’s he done for you that’s so great?” she asks.

  “Excuse me?” I blink, because my tired brain can’t keep up with the leaps she’s making.

  “Your loyalty to him comes from somewhere.”

  “Aren’t you loyal to your friends?” Why does there need to be some deep and meaningful answer? Can’t I simply believe in doing what is right? “We’re a team, we’re supposed to support one another and stick together.”

  “Yes,” she drawls, stretching the word out in a way that forewarns me that the obliteration of my argument is nigh. She points at Knox. “Is he being a team player?” She waits until my gaze has flicked over to Knox and returned to her face. “Of course he’s not. He’s about to cost you the biggest break of your career. Possibly the only big break you’ll ever get. Why do you think it’s fine to let him do that?”

  I don’t have an answer.

  “Why Darke?”

  “It’s Nate,” I tell her again. “And it is, because this is my fault.” I get to my feet and scratch my hand through the front of my hair. I want this to be the end of the discussion. I want us to stop talking about Knox and do something else instead.

  “How is it your fault?”

  “It just is,” I mutter beneath my breath.

  “Did you supply him? Did you light up for him, or shove whatever muck he’s taken down his throat?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then you’re not responsible. He is. Cut yourself some slack, Darke…Nate. Stop putting his interests ahead of everyone else’s and do what’s best for you all. In his case, I suggest getting him some genuine addiction help.”

  When she breaks it down in that way, my loyalty seems crazy, and yet, I’m still determined to cling on to Knox. I can’t let him go. I know what it’ll mean and I don’t want that on my conscience. On the other hand, I don’t really want to screw up Dane and Joel’s lives.

  “There’s no time to practice with another bass player,” I say, finding an excuse not to even pursue that avenue.

  “Pfft! You’re kidding, right? It’s one song, two, if you need a back-up. Give me twenty minutes I could manage that with reasonable proficiency.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not an ordinary bassist.”

  The remark raises a smile. Damn, I love it when her cheeks lift like that, and a hint of colour washes across their tops. It makes me forget why we’re here and how badly everything sucks for a moment.

  But only for a moment.

  “I’m hardly unique. I’m just prepared
to put in the work. I think the problem here, is that you have a bass-player who doesn’t put in any work, ever.”

  That’s not wholly true, in the early days, in fact, until relatively recently Knox worked twice as hard as any of us. He’d spend hours upon hours playing our tracks, until the finger movements no longer required conscious thought.

  “If we turn up to play for Graham Callahan with a new bassist, he’s going to want to know why.”

  “Yeah—so tell him the truth. That Knox is a screw up and you felt this was a more stable line up. I think he’ll appreciate your honesty.”

  Why am I not surprised she has an answer? Why the fuck is she helping me? If my willingness to sacrifice everything for Knox doesn’t make sense to her, well then her willingness to stick her neck out for me, doesn’t make sense either.

  She looks at me and wets her lips.

  “Know what I think, Darke? I think you’re clinging on to him, because he’s an inbuilt excuse for failure. I think you’re frightened to succeed.”

  “That is such bollocks.” I am not afraid of success. I’ve been striving for it long enough. “And I suppose you’re not,” I retort, wounded by her words in a way that makes my heart throb.

  “Petrified of it,” she confesses. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going shy from any opportunity that hurtles my way. I’ll probably pee my pants if I have to play a thousand strong crowd let alone a ten or twenty thousand strong one, but imagine the high afterwards. I bet you’d be so pumped you’d just want to fuck and riot and dance about like every Christmas since Jesus’s birth had arrived at once.”

  “I’m on board with the fucking part.” In fact, my weary brain has fixated on it. I want to get dirty with her right now. Here on the floor, against the hard, smooth tiles, with Knox in the bath beside us. I want to push into her from behind, while I weigh her huge tits in my hands and pinch their peaks into hard little spires, and make her groan my name. I want to hear her beg me to fuck her hard, fuck her fast, to fuck her tight, hot, wet pussy.

  Mostly though, I crave the silence and the void that exists when I’m wrapped up inside a woman’s body. I want that moment of peace. That moment of knowing everything is fucking perfect—even if it is only for fifteen—too short—seconds.

  “Maybe it’s time we both turned in,” she suggests. Her blue eyes narrow as she looks at me as if she’s distracted by my internal thoughts.

  So much for wishful thinking. I really hoped she might take the bait when I mentioned fucking. I stick out my hand in order that we might part of civil terms, but her brows draw low and her tongue becomes wedged between her teeth.

  “You know, Bitch Slap aren’t without issues. Ours might not be as immediately apparent, but that doesn’t stop them from being any less potentially catastrophic.”

  I’ve a sudden inkling that she’s not here out of the kindness of her heart, or even because there’s a definite spark of attraction between us, but because she senses an opportunity. Is Joel right? Is Loveday Trevaskis ready to jump ship?

  “What issues?”

  “I told you, Ivy won’t tour. She’ll play for Graham Callahan, but she won’t get on a bus around Europe, and she’s definitely not going to fly any further afield.”

  “Don’t you have a friend you can call to step in?” I ask, mimicking her suggestion to me. It’s cruel, and uncalled for, but I’m feeling petty. The combination of tiredness, frustration, anticipation and despair, not to mention horniness make me a horrid person.

  “None who can play keyboard, and definitely none who can play keyboard and who are prepared to flash an audience,” she says, ignoring my jibe. “Let’s face it, that’s probably why Graham Callahan’s considering us. Muff wins hands down over music.”

  “You’ve some good tunes.” I reckon Callahan’s after them because of her skills, not Ivy’s exhibitionist tendencies.

  “We’ve a handful of songs, and you’ve heard the best tonight. While Perverted Tit Fucker might get a concert crowd going, I can’t see it storming the charts, can you? No radio station is ever going to play it. And I don’t know about you, but I’m under no illusion that Graham Callahan’s in this for the money, not to make anyone’s day.”

  “I know that. The song you sang, though, that one has all the right elements. It blew me away.”

  “Flatterer.”

  I cross my heart. “My God’s honest opinion. You’ve a far better voice than Jessie. I got shivers from that song. It’s when I knew Bitch Slap were going to cause us real trouble, and that you amounted to more than a two fingered salute at Dane.”

  She smiles at the praise, despite the furrows still wrinkling her forehead. “Bitch Slap are about Jessie’s rage. I hope we’ll become more than that in time, but it’s probably wishful thinking. It’s more likely that Jessie will find herself another guy to obsess over, lose interest in the band and move on.”

  “I don’t see her getting over him.” Dane sure as hell isn’t over her. “The pair of them falling back into bed…that’s another matter.”

  “Get real, Darke. She hates him.”

  I laugh, because…yeah! Obviously Loveday doesn’t know as much about her friend or human nature as she thinks. Hate fucking gives you a burn like nothing else. Hate and love are just flip sides of the same emotion. Dane and Jessie are like magnets. They either repel one another, or they glue themselves so tightly together they’re inseparable. I’ve seen them split and re-attach several times now. Their last break up was definitely the worst, but I doubt it’ll be the last chapter in their relationship.

  “Why the hell would you fuck someone you hate?”

  I shake my head, because, Duh! “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Is that what earlier was about?” she asks, tilting her head to one side. “Do you hate me, Nathaniel Darke? Did you come all over me because it was some sort of put down?”

  I sober immediately, because while she’s definitely my rival, I don’t hate her, I like her. I’m not stretching as far as love yet, but give it time and I think she could sink her claws right into me.

  I shake my head. “I came over you, because coming in you wasn’t an available option, and you’re fucking hot.” I look her over from head to foot, but it’s not just her visual appearance that I find alluring, it’s her passion, her guitar playing, and every little glimpse she gives me of what she is on the inside. “I came over you, because I’m a perverted tit fucker,” I say, “And I’m going to get off on that image for many nights to come.”

  Maybe that’s too much information, but she asked, and if you ask for the truth of something, you ought to be prepared for the answer.

  “Me too,” she says, blowing my thoughts away.

  “You’re gonna—” I hold two fingers up and wiggle the ends of them. “—get off on the memory of me fucking your tits.”

  “And wiggling your fingers,” she says, mimicking my hand signal. “You’re not one of these weird guys that think girls don’t masturbate, are you?”

  “Nah—I’m just bowled over by the fact you’re going to do it while thinking of me.” There is bona fide heat blossoming in my cheeks. Hopefully, I’m not quite as rosy as she is.

  Loveday scrapes her teeth over her lower lip, which only serves to emphasize her grin. A blush sweeps along the top of her cheek bones and turns the tips of her ears pink. “Want to give me another memory to obsess about?”

  Oh fuck! Yeah, actually. Yeah, I do.

  I want to touch her.

  Kiss her.

  Feel her underneath me.

  I want to slide into her and fuck until the pair of us are nothing but molten goo.

  I reach out and brush my fingertips along the edge of her robe where there’s an orangey-brown stain. Touching her beats the shit out of thinking about the coming storm. “He got you earlier.” I say pointing out the ugly mark.

  “He got you too.” She wets her thumb and then rubs it along the ridge of my collar bone, where there’s no evidence of anything. Where her f
ingertips brush, tingles arise in my skin. “Look, there’s another bit here.” This time she aims for a nipple. I’m not overly sensitive there, but the tip still puckers when she caresses it. “And here.” The third touch—low down on my stomach, right above the line of my belt—ignites me like a gas canister. I hiss, as heat rushes through my veins, and my cock rears, wanting in on the action.

  Loveday’s gaze fixes on the bulge behind my fly. “You know, when I gave you my number, the idea was that you’d called to arrange sexy times, not to procure help dealing with your screw-up mate.”

  Her number is still emblazoned along the edge of my forearm. I might have to make it a permanent feature. “Hang on.” I retrieve her phone from my back pocket and hand it to her, then I dial her number, which is already saved at the top of my contacts list. She answers while cocking a brow at me.

  I could say something fancy, try to schmooze her with my charm, but I think we’re way past that, so I stick to direct. “I really want to fuck you. Interested? If you are, come right over.”

  “Come right over which bit of you?” she asks, forgetting to speak into the phone, and staring straight at me, interest and mischief sparkling in her eyes.

  It’s not actually what I meant, and she knows it, but I appreciate the way she twists my meaning and turns it into something rude. Additional fire ignites in my loins at the notion of her climaxing over me and smearing my skin with her lady juices.

  “Here.” I circle my mouth with two fingers. “Come and sit on my face.”

  I anticipate her asking if there’s a lack of chairs that necessitates her resting her butt on me, but instead she grins.

  “Not on your cock?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be presumptuous. Though, if you’d like too, I can totally accommodate you.”

  “I’ll bet.” She ticks the tip of her tongue against her front incisors. Then she discards her phone and hooks her arms around my neck. “So, say I’m interested, what exactly do you anticipate happening?”

  “You want to know what I want to do to you?”

  “Supposing I was that easy.” Her hot, sweet breath buffets my face. Her lips are plump and almost on a level with mine.