by Sadie Grubor
"Do you have any preferences for dinner?"
"I'm not hungry," I tell her.
"You need to eat before the show tonight," she pushes, her voice gentle, concerned.
"I'll be fine," I insist. "I'm really not—"
"Order two different things she likes," Zarek finally speaks.
At his words, I lift my head and look up his body. Our eyes meet, his conveying a silent don't fucking argue with me. Clenching my teeth, I try to hold back my anger.
"Oh-kay," Mal says, slipping back out of the room.
The door clicks shut, and my anger snaps. Pushing off his chest, I glare down at him.
"Don't give me that look," he says, placing his hands behind his head. "You need to fucking eat."
"Wow, I didn't realize you were an expert on nutrition and the needs of my body." I don't hide my sarcasm.
A grin splits his lips just seconds before he pounces on me.
"I'd say I'm pretty well versed in the needs of your body," he says as he climbs over me, a trace of laughter in his voice.
To accentuate his point, he wedges his hips between my thighs, rocking into me. My body reacts instantly. The memory of all the ways he touched, caressed, and played me like I was his favorite instrument come rushing back, adding to the sensation of his grinding.
Braced on one forearm near my head, his other hand slips around to the back of my knee. He lifts, coaxing me to hook my leg over his ass as he rolls his hips, rubbing his hard denim-covered cock against my throbbing clit.
His hand slides up my thigh, stopping to squeeze my hip before continuing the path up my body. Skating his fingers up my neck, he stabs them into my hair.
Hairpins fall free, loosening and ruining the stylists work, but I don't care. I can't care. Zarek's possessive touch is the only thing I can focus on.
Fisting my hair, he angles my head so his mouth can assault a spot behind my ear—the same spot he found could drive me into a frenzy.
I bite my lip, but a moan still escapes.
"I've missed your sounds," he rasps, then his mouth returns to the spot, sucking and gently biting.
My body immediately responds in orgasmic bliss. I moan his name and my fingertips and toes tingle, my body burning from clit to nipples.
Zarek kisses along my jaw.
Stopping his lips at the corner of my mouth, he says, "Looks like I still know the right strings to play."
I stiffen for a moment. Did he just play me? Is this where he walks away?
"Hey," he whispers.
Pushing up onto his palms and knees, hovering over my body, he frowns down at me.
"What just happened?"
I shake my head and try to slide out from beneath him.
"Uh-uh," he grunts, lowering to pin me under some of his weight. "Tell me."
"What is this, Zarek?" I blurt, the afterglow clearly loosening my lips.
"It's us," he answers, running one finger around the shell of my ear.
"Us?" I ask in disbelief.
Instead of responding, he shifts the topic.
"What's your plan, G?"
I know he's asking me about the pregnancy, the baby, but I'm still in the denial phase.
"About what?" I respond, earning a frown of annoyance.
He lifts himself off me, rolls, and sits on the edge of the bed.
Crawling up the bed until my back meets the headboard, I pull my knees to my chest. "I've only had a couple of weeks to think about it, and to be honest, I've mostly pretended it would just go away."
"Jesus, this isn't something that just goes away." His voice is low and patronizing.
"I know," I snap. "I'm aware, but the choices I have to make aren't exactly something I anticipated." Lowering my voice, I finish, "I don't know if I can do it."
"Are you keeping the baby?" Zarek's never been one to beat around the bush.
"I…" my voice breaks, "I don't know," I whisper.
Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, Zarek drops his face into his hands.
"Why would you…get rid of the baby?" His question is muffled by his palms, but it still sounds angry.
Placing my hands over my eyes, I drop my forehead to my bent knees, and growl, "I don't know, Zarek." I stress his name. "Maybe because I know too well what it's like to grow up not knowing who your father is. Maybe it's because my career is just getting traction and this could send me off the rails forever. Maybe because I'm not exactly good mother material."
Lifting my head, I crawl off the bed, cross my arms over my chest, and face his back once again.
"I didn't exactly have the best fucking role model growing up. I wouldn't know where to start being someone's mother, let alone doing this shit on my own," I exclaim.
"You have support." His tone is flat, calm…too calm. "There are people around you who would help. They sure as fuck helped run interference when I tried to get to you."
Dropping my arms, I straighten my spine.
At first, the comment makes me angry, but the way his head droops melts it into guilt, and my body relaxes.
"I'm sorry," I choke out.
At my apology, he sits up, twisting at the waist.
"I thought it was best to walk away with happy memories than risk it turning into a toxic affair," I admit, tears falling from my eyes.
Well, there goes my makeup too.
"Fuck." He stands, coming around the bed. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
His strong arms embrace me, holding me to his chest.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles into my hair. "I still have some anger to work through, but I shouldn't work it out on you." He presses a kiss to my head.
"We're a hot mess," I hiccup, "I'm sorry to involve you in my mistakes."
He gives me a squeeze before sliding his fingers beneath my chin. Lifting my face to his, he presses a quick kiss to my lips.
"You're going to be a great mom." His forehead comes to mine.
"I can't do it," I finally allow myself to admit.
His head jerks up.
"You said you weren't sure," he states.
More tears slip over my cheeks.
"I can't have a baby, be someone's mother," I rush out. Panic pounds in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Placing my hands on his chest, I push out of his arms.
His brow furrows.
"You should go," I tell him, closing my eyes.
"Don't do this again," he says between clenched teeth.
Shaking my head, I keep my eyes closed, unable to face him. "I'm… Zarek, please go. I shouldn't have gotten you involved in this." I turn my back to him.
"Well, too fucking bad," he growls. "I'm here, Gemma."
Why did I get him involved in this mess? He doesn't need to be dragged into my mistakes, but I just toss all my baggage at this man like he's a fucking bellhop for my problems.
I walked out on him, cut him out of my life, and now I selfishly draw him back. No matter how much I want, need, and crave this man, I can't allow myself to pull him into my issues. While his arms feel like home and seem to cure all my problems, all I would do is lay more bullshit at his doorstep.
Opening my eyes, I focus on a small silver fleck on the wall and make my next stupid mistake. Annoyance tugs at my chest.
"It's not your baby." My words fall out, harsh and cold. "This isn't your problem to deal with, and you don't get a say in what I do."
The air in the room changes, growing tense, angry.
"Un-fucking-believable," he shouts. "You're such a bitch."
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I clench my eyes shut. He's right. I'm purposely a bitch to save him from me, but the insult still stings.
Zarek stomps around the bedroom, grabbing his shirt from the floor next to the bed. I try not to look at him, but I fail.
His scowl is set deep in his flush face. The muscles in his jaw and arms tense. Slipping his shirt over his head, he spins, catching me watching.
The anger melts from his face, replaced
with softness, his eyes begging to understand.
To stop a sob from escaping, I cover my mouth and dart for the bathroom.
"Gem—"
The slam of the bathroom door cuts him off.
Twisting the lock, I press my back to the door and sink to the floor.
The pounding on the door starts, each thump vibrating against my spine.
Clasping both hands over my mouth, I muffle the pitiful sounds escaping as tears seep between my cheeks and palms.
The sound of the door closing resonates. He finally gave up.
Laying on the tile floor, I curl into a ball and let the tears and sobs flow free.
"I love you too much to drag you into this," I say to the empty bathroom, and it feels like confirmation that I did the right thing.
Chapter Six
Zarek
Going as far as opening the door to her bedroom, I try to leave, but close it back, unable to make myself do so. Instead, I return to the bathroom she's trapped herself in, away from me, sit on the floor, back to the door, and lean my head against the wood.
The crying increases, shredding my fucking soul, and then her voice, broken and desperate, says, "I love you too much to drag you into this."
There's a pang in my chest, and I bring my hand up to rub it, but it doesn't go anywhere. It grows like warm air is inflating me. And, fuck me, if my eyes don't get blurry.
Pushing off the floor, I face the door and press one hand to it.
I'm not the only one who fell during that week so long ago. She fucking loves me.
Leaning forward, I press my forehead to the door. The muscle in my right cheek twitches, and then both tighten, pulling my lips into a large grin.
Well, fuck, G, you just went and sealed your goddamn fate.
"Look what the cat dragged in," Zora says from her reclined position on the sofa, not bothering to look up from the tablet in her lap.
Striding forward, I approach the couch. Turning at the end of the sofa, I drop down, preparing to sit.
"Hey!" Zora draws her knees up so I don't crush her legs. Her tablet almost slips to the floor, but she catches it in one hand. "Asshole," she growls, shoving one foot into my side.
The hit sends a sharp pain along my ribs, and I grab her foot, locking my hand around her ankle.
"Don't do it," she demands, trying to tug at the limb.
"Now, now," I tsk, poking one finger in the arch of her foot.
"I swear to God—" Her scream of laughter cuts off the impending threat.
Digging my fingers deeper and deeper, she flails. Her tablet lands with a thud on the rug. When she joins it, I release her ankle and stand. Lifting my arms over my head, I declare, "I am the champion!"
"You," she pants, "are a cheating bastard!"
Grinning down, I find great pleasure in my victory.
"I'm gonna shower," I say, stepping over her body. "Give me fifteen and then come up. I've got some things for you to take care of."
"Fuck you," she mumbles.
"You know what? Give me thirty. I need to rub one out," I overshare, taking the first step.
"Gross!" A pillow hits my back.
Laughing, I take the stairs two at a time before she can further retaliate.
Sure, our behavior is immature, but if you can't act like a couple of kids with your sister, that's just crazy. Zora may have a serious head for organization—managing my antics, cleaning up after my messes, and is completely unafraid to whip my ass into shape to keep me on track—but she also keeps me grounded, frequently reminding me that at the end of the day I'm just her brother and she's just my bratty little sister.
Zora doesn't just do this for me either. Each of my band members—Zane, Sasha, Matt, and Kyle—rely on her for way more than what I hired her to do. Especially, our bassist, Matt, and our drummer, Zane.
Matthew Levy came into my life in kindergarten. I'd like to say we were friends from the letter A, but that would be a lie. Matt grew up in a bad home. Like a fucking scary ass bad home. He didn't come from the wrong side of the tracks. His family was all the wrong on the other side of those tracks. Between the three women in his father's stable, he never knew exactly which one was his real mom, and, well, his dad preferred manipulative mind fucking as a past time. It wasn't until sixth grade that we became friends. That was the year his father got murdered and he was sent to foster care. In this instance, foster care was the best thing that could have happened to him, because it was our house and my parents who fostered him.
Zora and I may act like total fucking degenerates, shocking our parents by what we say or my onstage antics, but they were the best fucking parents ever. They kicked ass at parenting and a few kids were lucky enough to experience them through the foster care system. The luckiest being Matt, but also our lead guitarist, Sasha Cole. They were with us for almost three years before the state mentioned moving them. My parents started the adoption process, and in the longest fucking process ever, we were made a legal family. Though, legally, Matt and Sasha are Sisko children, they use their birth names on stage.
Kyle James, our rhythm guitarist, and Zane Black, our drummer, entered the fold in middle school. Kyle sort of latched on to me after I stopped an older asshole from stuffing him in a locker the second day of seventh grade. While Zane arrived mid-year, having moved from California to Illinois for his mother's work as a special education therapist. With two therapist parents, his father a relationship therapist, he is by far the most emotionally stable person I've met. However, he is the biggest pain in the ass any of us have ever met.
We all have each other's back, no matter what, but to say that Zora and Matt butt heads would be the understatement of the mother fucking year. And when Zora gets in his face, he uses the extra six inches in height to his advantage. She usually ends up on her tiptoes about to topple into him.
Now, I'd be a fucking fool if I didn't suspect he wanted her to fall against him. I'd also be a lying fucker if I said it doesn't bother me at all that I've caught him watching her too long, too much, or the sneaky glances she returns. The asshole.
My sister isn't supermodel glam. She's fucking worse. The girl next door with a mouth as dirty as a porn star. Assholes notice her way too often, but if I try to intervene, she hands me my balls.
Which brings me back to our immature behavior and the reason I'm peeking around corners and listening for movement.
The tickle attack will not go unavenged. I know her too well for that.
Tiptoeing down to the main floor of the penthouse, I glance around the corner.
"What are you doing?" she asks, raising one brow. "You look like a cartoon character," she teases.
"I know retribution is around one of these corners," I explain, glancing around the room.
"We don't have time for your punishment," she sighs. "You need to eat and head over to Gemma's show." She waves her hand out to a selection of dishes.
Sitting down in a seat at a dining table, she forks chicken and lettuce into her mouth.
"What are you eating?" I ask, knowing she wouldn't taint her food, so I'm safe.
"Chicken Caesar salad," she says around another bite.
Walking past the food, I snatch her bowl away.
"I wouldn't do that," she warns.
"Like you'd do something to your own food," I snort.
Stabbing a piece of chicken and lettuce, I shove it in my mouth in a grand gesture, just so she's clear on how I won.
It takes me two chews. Just the two.
A grin spreads on her face, and her laughter follows me all the way to the sink.
Spitting out the food, I hit the knob on the sink and stick my open mouth beneath the stream. Swishing the water around, I spit, and repeat.
Grabbing a paper towel, I scrub at my tongue and turn my widened eyes on her.
"How the fuck did you eat that?" I ask, my question muffled by the towel.
Holding her stomach, she takes deep breaths to calm herself.
"I didn't
eat," she gasps, "the dressing."
Zora lets out a whoosh of breath before continuing.
"The section I ate from was plain."
"That was sick and low." I grab a bottle of water from the buffet set-up. The snap of the plastic sealed opening reassures she couldn't have done anything to it.
"It was just anchovies and pepper." She grins. "Lots and lots of them."
"To mess with a man's food." I say, followed by a fake gasp.
Getting up from the table, she enters the kitchen and reaches into the oven. Pulling out a covered silver tray, she slides it onto a counter. When the lid is lifted to reveal cheeseburgers and fries, she takes a plate for herself and returns to the table.
Leaning close, I study the food and sniff at it.
Her giggle draws my attention.
"I don't fucking trust you," I exclaim.
"Awww, you can trust me, big brother." Her voice is sickening sweet and an evil sneer forms. "But you should fear me." She shoves a fry in her mouth and chews.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, grab a fry, and toss it in my mouth.
"Thank fuck," I moan. It's just a fry. A normal, everyday, glorious, fucking salty French fry.
"Zarek," a man yells from behind a camera. The way he's moving makes me pretty sure he's videoing. "Are you here to see Gemma?"
"Really?" Zora grumbles, keeping stride next to me. "Like her fucking face isn't all over the side of the place declaring her performance here tonight," she continues, waving to the entrance of the theater.
"Gemma says you aren't a couple," the guy yells at my back.
I stop and spin on my heels.
"Zarek, don't," she warns in a low tone.
"Of course we aren't…a couple," I agree, even using air quotes like a super douche.
"So, you lied?" the man asks, holding his device up higher.
Grinning, I cross my arms over my chest.
"Nope," I shake my head. "A couple would define us as two separate people. Trust me when I say the moment we are together, there’s nothing separate about us." Winking, I turn and stride through the theater entrance.
"You sayin’ you're just sleeping together?"
