by S. Ann Cole
It was greed. One too big to feed.
Every time Xavier placed his lips to mine, I fell a little bit deeper. And I knew when the time came, leaving him was going to be hard.
Back in the cave when I’d responded “Yes” to Davian’s posed question, “You’ll leave him?”, he didn’t realize it, but the ‘him’ in that question had meant him, Davian Hamilton.
Not Xavier.
I’d decided, as I headed up to Beach Rock, stripped and took a bath, that there’d be no more stolen moments with Davian. I couldn’t be his anymore, I needed to be Xavier’s, because Xavier wanted all of me, and Davian wanted me to “go back home”—he wanted none of me.
So, I’d climbed naked into Xavier’s bed, under his soft, silk sheets, relaxed and waited for his return, prepared to fight for him if he brought a groupie home.
No questions about it, Davian still held the main piece. But if he wanted me, he knew what the score was: Leave Jessica, have me.
Then, and only then, would he ever get to know the truth about Jacob.
In the interim, I was exclusively Xavier Xander’s.
I was up at the peak of sunrise, well-rested with a raging lust for life.
It was around 2am when Xavier came in last night, and I’d been asleep hours before that, flagged. An after-party had followed the charity game, lots of little contests and bets to raise more cash for the foundation, he’d informed me. My body was hot and writhing for some early morning loving, but I knew he had to be wiped, so for once, I chose the unselfish route and grabbed a pillow, pressed it over my face, and masturbated as quietly as I could to find some release.
Careful not to wake him, I slipped out of bed, had a steaming shower, got dressed in tank and sweats, and snuck out of the room.
I started down the hall and hit the brakes outside Tex’s bedroom door, which was wide open. He was butt-naked, tattoos in places tattoos should never be, lying prone, face planted in a pillow. A new Saskia lookalike sprawled out next to him, snoring embarrassingly piggish for a woman, legs spread eagled with her bare snatch out in the breeze.
Shaking my head at the scene, I grasped the handle and pulled his door shut.
Goddamn rock stars.
Save for the waves of the sea crashing on the rocks outside, the house was peacefully quiet.
Judging by the scene in Tex’s room, everyone—except Xavier—had to have been piss drunk last night, and would no doubt be waking up with terrible hangovers, so I decided to prepare a greasy hangover breakfast.
Hours later, the kitchen island was covered with plates of scrambled eggs, bacons, pancakes, fried tomatoes, toasts, sausages, fried potatoes, warm croissants, muffins, and a large fruit platter.
There had been nada in their pantry. Zilch. And the fridge held nothing except a slice of leftover pizza, a bottle of spoiled milk, and a six pack of Budweiser.
I’d been stumped for a moment, unable to fathom how a mansion with five wealthy inhabitants could live with a barren fridge and pantry. These men were a lousy set.
So I wrote up an incredibly long grocery list and left with Mel to do some wholesale shopping, buying things by the bulk to stock the pantry.
No one was up when we got back. Even as we hauled boxes of groceries in, clinging and clanging and rustling around, not a soul woke.
I started on breakfast as soon as Mel dismissed herself. And it was over three hours later, while I was blending a green smoothie for myself, that Mark came hobbling into the kitchen on his sprained ankle.
He plopped down on a stool along the long kitchen island, blinked in amazement at the food, then gave me a thumbs up. Picking up a piece of fried potato, he tossed it in his mouth and hummed. “You’re an angel.”
Two short minutes after that, Tex stumbled in. “Who the shit’s running a blender this early in the morning?!” He had a sheet draped around him now, and knowing there was nothing at all underneath that sheet had me averting my gaze from him.
“It’s after ten,” I updated him, shoveling some crushed ice in the blender.
A pause from Tex as he narrowed puffy blue eyes at me. “Ah, it’s her. The shady one.” Holding the sheet around his waist, he sat down next to Mark, picked up a piece of bacon, and began nibbling on it.
I chose to ignore his sick, mercurial, depressive disposition this weekend, for the sake of my and everyone’s sanity.
Leo and Xena plodded downstairs next, with sleep-swollen eyes. “What’s going on down here?”
Really, these people were strange. It was as if someone being up before nine and preparing breakfast was breaking news.
Leo covered his mouth with one hand and laughed out, “Holy shit! The kitchen is christened. The kitchen is actually christened!”
That got me jerking my head up. “You’re joking, right?”
Stifling a yawn, Xena shuffled to a stool beside Tex. “No one cooks here, Alina. We just order food in.” She reached for a slice of bacon from the dish in front of Tex. “Why do you think we all look forward to Sunday dinners at Eye Spy?”
Tex got up and moved to a stool at the other end of the island.
Xena’s bacon paused halfway to her mouth, hurt flashing across her face.
“Really, Tex? What are you, five?”
To me, Tex said, “Can I get a plate, please?”
I gave him a butler bow before turning to fetch a couple of mugs and plates from the cupboard, offering one to each person. I asked if they wanted coffee or orange juice. Tex, Mark and Xena wanted coffee, Leo wanted OJ.
“Where’d you even find food to cook?” Mark asked around a stuffed mouth. “Rosalind only cleans the place. Never grocery shops.”
Pouring my smoothie out into a glass, I stuck a stalk of celery in it, and then a fat, pink straw. “I stocked the pantry.”
Leo coughed into his OJ. “You stocked the pantry? Like, with your own money?”
“Or Xavi’s,” Tex murmured.
Mark elbowed him, while I shrugged him off. “Yes, with my own money. It’s just food. Shut up and eat. I was aiming to deter any Hangover Pussy visits today.”
“And I don’t have a Hangover Pussy like you guys, so, yeah, shut up and eat,” said Leo.
Tex rubbed his forehead, as though wishing away a headache. “You don’t have a Hangover Pussy because you’re gay.”
“Your father’s gay, jerk-face,” was Leo’s lame retort, like a wimpy kindergartner trying to play tough.
“Sure, that’s how I came about. Sperm in the anus created a famous musical genius.”
“No,” said Xena. “Sperm in the anus created a famously pathetic Ass Hole.”
Tex rubbed his forehead some more.
Turning to fetch a bottle of aspirins, I shook out two in my palm, filled a ball-glass with some tap water, then set the glass down in front Tex and opened my palm to him.
Without raising his head, he stared up at me through his black lashes, eyeliner all blotched and messy, making him resemble a prostitute after a long night of sucking dicks and puking up sperm. When he realized I wasn’t breaking, wasn’t intimidated, he took the aspirins and washed them down, then resumed eating without a murmur of thanks.
I picked up my smoothie and rounded the island to sit beside Xena.
“Wait, that’s all you’re having for breakfast?” she asked.
“I’m on a strict diet.” I sucked up a mouthful. “I can’t eat bacon and sausage and maintain a size two now, can I?”
Mark smirked. “Bacon, no. But sausage, I hear it’s the ultimate diet choice for women. Tons of nutrients.”
I made a face. “When I hear sausage it makes me think ‘Weiner’, and when I hear ‘Weiner’ it makes me think of a six-year-old boy’s penis.”
Xena snickered.
“And before you comment,” I continued as Mark opened his mouth. “No, Xavi doesn’t have a penis. He has a light-post.”
“Okay,” Xena gagged, “can we please not talk a
bout my brother’s penis—”
“Light-post,” I corrected.
“...while I’m eating?” she finished, narrowing her eyes.
As if on cue, Xavier sauntered into the kitchen, scratching his bare chest. “Wha—who?”
Xena jabbed a thumb at me. “We have our own Jess now, brother. Can you get her to move in?”
Xavier’s brows went up as he dragged his feet over to me. “You cooked?”
“I can’t understand why this is such a shock to everyone.”
“She stocked the pantry, too,” Leo tossed in.
Pressing one hand flat on the counter in front of me and the other on my thigh, Xavier leaned down and kissed me softly, tenderly. “Dear, Chino, don’t make me fall in love with you.”
“Don’t do it,” Tex mumbled. “Biggest mistake of your life.”
“Dear, rock star,” I whispered back, ignoring Tex, “you don’t stand a chance.”
His hand relocated from my thigh to the back of my neck, and he kissed me deeper, longer.
“Brotherrrrrr,” Xena groaned, “I really don’t need to see your tongue right now.”
Chuckling, Xavier broke away from me, grabbed a dish and began piling his plate.
We all sat and ate and joked around until all the food was gone. Leo announced that he was throwing in the towel and would be moving into Guest Rest.
Mark did a fist pump and shouted, “One down, two more to go! Beach Rock is mine!”
Xavier laughed and told him to keep dreaming, while I just thought the whole thing was ludicrous.
The mood was broken when Tex’s new Saskia lookalike sashayed downstairs in nothing but a black thong, her double D breasts bouncing as she trotted up to the island, completely comfortable in her nakedness, and pouted at the empty dishes.
“Nothing left for me?” she asked out loud.
Fascinated by the different kinds of humans that made up this world, I tilted my head and studied her.
Xena muttered, “Yuck. I think I’m gonna vomit.” She stood from her stool and turned to glare at Tex, who watched her with a blank expression. “Back to this Saskia bullshit, Tex?
When all he did was stare back at her with a vindictive little gleam in his ice-blue eyes, she flipped him both middle fingers and flounced off.
I stood and began clearing the dishes.
“Get outta here.” This was from Xavier. His command was so gentle but so threatening at the same time.
That was one of the things I loved most about him. His voice. So deep and rich, he needn’t raise it for you to hear and understand him. He just spoke, lower than normal volume, and the inflect rolled through you in waves.
“Why?” the girl whined. She then gestured to me. “How does she get to stay and I—”
“Really gonna make me say it again, cunt?”
She stiffened, looked to Tex who didn’t seem to care, then she sulked some more and stomped off.
Leo mumbled a “Thanks for the breakfast” and fled the scene.
Xavier got up and came to help me with the dishes. “You wash, I’ll rinse.”
I moved over and made space for him. “Bad boy cleaning up after his own mess?”
“Never said I was a bad boy,” he replied, getting to work. “Notice no ink’s on me? That’s ‘cause needles scare the shit outta me.”
“Bitch, put some clothes on and get your nasty ass out!” came Xena’s shrieking from upstairs.
Xavier sighed and shook his head, and I peeked back over my shoulder at Tex, who was still sitting at the island, head in his hands.
Mark was gone now, too.
“Been seriously thinking about renovating and reopening the Blues Bar,” Xavier told me. “Want you to come with me to check it out and see how bad a shape it’s in.”
“Today?”
“I don’t give a stinking shit what Almighty Tex told you! Get. Out!”
“Actually, if you could leave these dishes to me and start getting ready now, that’d be great.”
“Excited much?”
His grin was sheepish. “Never told anyone apart from my band members about it. Wanna know what you think.”
Stilettos click-clacked into the kitchen. “Tex, seriously, what the fu—”
One look from Xavier over his shoulder, and the Saskia lookalike balked. One look. And whatever she saw on his face, in his eyes, made her do a U-turn and click-clack right out of the house.
I wondered if Xavier knew Xena and Tex had feelings for each other. I mean, if I could be here for such a short time and pick up on that, how could he not?
He poked me with his elbow. “Go on, Chino. You take an eternity to get dressed.”
“Okay, okay, Mr. Excitable.”
I dried my hands with a kitchen-towel, tipped up on my toes for a kiss from him, and darted up to his room to get ready.
I was on my knees on the floor, zipping open my pull-along when Tex barged into the room, sheet still draped around him, long, greasy black hair hanging down the sides of his face as he towered over me. “You hooked them up, didn’t you?”
Sitting back on my haunches, I pretended to be confused. “I don’t follow.”
“That faggy piece of shit she’s with,” he gritted out. “You put him on her.”
Faggy? Really? “I don’t k—”
“Don’t pussy around with me!” he hissed in a hushed voice. “He works with you. You pop up out of nowhere and suddenly she has a man? Get rid of him.”
I folded my arms. “If I get rid of him, will you be with her?”
“Of course not.”
Genuinely confused now, my eyebrows kissed. “I don’t understa—”
“I don’t want to be with her,” he said, voice a little less hostile. “But I don’t want her to be with anyone else.”
This. This made my blood boil. Because in that moment, it wasn’t Tex standing in front of me, but Davian, telling me straight-up he didn’t want to be with me, but also didn’t want me to be with Xavier.
How presumptuous of men, to assume women were so frail and desperate.
There was being in love, and there was being flat-out stupid. Being in love didn’t mean a woman had to be a man’s doormat, it didn’t mean she had to settle, it didn’t mean she had to let the man hold all the cards.
As long as she knew who she was, and was totally and completely confident in herself, in her strength, in her worth, the stupidity affiliated with love couldn’t undermine her.
Clutch tight to the Queen of Hearts and flip the Joker card at the asshole.
I wasn’t a fool, and Xena sure as hell wasn’t one. We were strong and firm in the war against selfish, egotistical douchebags.
“If that’s your stance, then I’m not getting rid of him.” I held up a finger as he started to retort. “And even if you manage to get rid of him, I’m gonna continue setting her up, one ‘faggy piece of shit’ after another, until someone either marries her, or knocks her up. Until she falls in love. And you lose her. Then what will you do? First Saskia and then her. You’ll be a loser. A failure. A waste of space. Having nothing but the title of a rock star. Screwing groupies who love your name, your fame, not you. And Xena will be happy in love, just like Saskia is now. You’ll be nothing but a fond memory to them. You’ll be a loser, Tex. A loser. Because without love, we’re nothing. None of us. Love is the only reason worth living. You let it slip again, then shame on you. Fool. ”
He glowered at me for a long moment, before turning and stalking out of the room.
Five seconds later, he reappeared at the doorway. “You’re just like her, you know? The black-hearted bitch with the accent. You’re everything like her. I see in you what I should’ve seen in her when we were together. What I should’ve paid attention to. What would’ve stopped me from falling so desperately deep into her. I was too high on her, too blind to see it back then. But I see it in you now…” He laughed, cold and bitter, humor lost on both
of us. “You’re in love. But it’s not with him. And just like she did to me, you’re gonna bring that six-foot-five inches of man to his knees, and then, you’re gonna break him.”
Blues Bar—yes, Xavier’s bar was tritely called Blues Bar—had a fantastic location on Sunset Boulevard.
As we bailed out of his jeep, I asked him if he got a lot of offers for the bar just for the location alone, and he replied “tons.” But he couldn’t bring himself to sell it, no matter how staggering the offers were, because he knew how much it meant to his great grandfather.
Three stories, with grimy weathered bricks, frosty antiquated windows, and an unlit neon sign with a guitar, a saxophone, and ‘Blues Bar’ in calligraphic font.
Xavier keyed a rusty metal door open, and I was expecting an attack of cobwebs, dust and rodents when we entered, but was instead met with spotless epoxy floors and the acrid scent of bleach on the air. Not at all like a place that had been locked up for decades.
Laughing at my confused expression, Xavier explained he had the place serviced every few months and cleaned spotless every few weeks so it wouldn’t deteriorate into rusty pipes, chewed wirings, termites and rodents.
It was definitely outdated, with thirsty walls begging for the caressing stroke of a paintbrush, but was a lot roomier than the exterior assumed. Chipped-up wooden bar, beer drums for tables, rickety barstools, and up at the front was an elevated wooden stage with Ole Boy Xander written on the back wall. Just like in the picture with his granddad.
“What do you think?” Xavier asked, one hand in his back pocket, the other up to his mouth as he chewed on his cuticles.
“What exactly do you want to do with it?”
“Redesign. Modernize. Rename. Reopen.”
I continued assessing and noticed a wooden staircase, remembering the building had three stories. “What’s upstairs?”
“Oh,”—more cuticle chewing—“rooms. Two top floors. Used to be an Inn.”
“Or more like convenient rooms for cheating husbands to bang whatever promiscuous barfly they picked up down here?”
