by Jaye Ripley
“What’s that?”
Her body shifts around, rubbing against me, and her arms maneuver me around until my ass balances against the cold counter. She licks her lips as she kneels down in front of me.
“Mess up my lipstick.”
* * *
Holy Hell, that girl knows what to do with her mouth. Every time I attempt to write some lyrics, the memory of her parting gift to me pops into my head. And last night. Not once in all my years since my dick discovered girls has one ever affected me the way Mel does. I can’t even remember being able to perform as many times as I did. Once she gets rolling, my girl can be insatiable. And I love that about her. One of the many things.
The doorbell rings, cutting through my pornish memories. I check my phone to see if she’s texted me to tell me she’s on her way. Since the guys are busy packing up Mac’s place, it can only mean that Bethany sent her back to me early.
“Tell me that you’re agreeing to my offer of being my sex slave for the day in trade for pizza,” I say, swinging the door open.
Gemma stands on my doorstep holding an open box of junk. Her eyes widen. “Well, that’s one hell of an offer, but I’d need more than pizza to lock it in.”
All good feelings left over from the morning seep out of me. The bottom drops out from under me, and a storm churns in the pit of my stomach. “Gemma. What the hell do you want?”
“Are you going to ask me in? This box isn’t exactly light.”
“You could leave the box and go.”
She pouts, her perfectly made up lips shining. “Rude much? Let me in, Hunt, so we can talk.”
I have no desire to experience one of her classic meltdowns outside for everyone to hear. A year of peaceful bliss without them makes my neighbors much happier with me.
“Fine. Come in.” I take the box from her, and she steps past me. Damn my Southern gentlemanly manners. “What’s in here anyway?”
She walks in as if it were her own place or like it was yesterday that she lived here with me. I set the box down on the table and crash on the couch, watching her through the pass through. Without asking, she heads to the kitchen and grabs a glass.
“Want some iced tea?”
“How do you know I have any?”
She gives me the look that tells me I’m the stupidest moron on the face of the planet. “You live with EJ. That means you’ve got iced tea that would rot out your teeth. I can water it down.”
“No. I don’t want any tea. Thanks for the stuff. Is there really anything else to say?”
She stops pouring the tea into her glass. “Jesus, Hunt. I’m not going to bite. I know that you’re moving soon, so I wanted to come over and wish you good luck.”
Walking into the living room, she sashays her hips back and forth, the same way she would when she wanted something that usually involved me taking off my clothes. Her drinks from the glass are a little too long. Every time she licks her lips slowly, words flash in front of my eyes. Danger. Fraud. Cheater.
“You know, I wanted to come to your last concert at that place your friend owns.”
What a shitstorm that night could have been had she been there. Thank fuck for small miracles.
“I even asked EJ’s grandma about it when I ran into her beforehand.”
“And what did she tell you?” Oh, to have been a fly on the wall for Nana’s reaction.
“She let me know that, because of how things ended between you and me, perhaps seeing you that night might not have been the best idea. I thought about coming anyway.”
I’d bet good money that Nana told her to stay away in terms that would make most Southern women blush. Nana prefers using “bitch” to “hussy.” I love her.
“You can see a bit of the concert online. Fans posted to our social media pages, and Levi’s been editing videos together and uploading on YouTube.”
A look flashes across her face too fast for me to read it. “I’ve seen them. So who’s the girl in the video?”
Shit. Mel’s the last person I want involved. I don’t want to hurt any potential future with Mel by smearing the shit of my past all over it.
“She’s just a girl who got a thrill being on stage that night.”
“Mm-hmm. So that electric charge that practically jumps off the screen between you two. That anything serious?”
She’s baiting me. If I say yes, then she’ll focus on Mel. If I deflect, then she’ll know there’s more there.
“We’re seeing each other.” The truth is the easiest thing to deal with.
“Trying to get some local tail before you head out? I guess a guy should have his fun.”
The urge to pick her up and throw her out like trash ripples over me. But I pray that if she gets her chance to talk, she’ll leave faster than if I make a scene.
Gemma sits down on the opposite end of the couch to me and crosses her legs. I take a second to really look at her. It’s funny how we change with time. Where I once found her strong and sexy, she seems sallow and weak. She tries too hard to attract attention. Maybe she was always like this, and she sexed me stupid. Or maybe, I’ve got a much more appealing yardstick with which to measure her. Compared to Mel, Gemma’s a pale shadow. A wry laugh escapes me.
Gemma brightens. “What?”
I cover my mouth with my finger. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
“Me, too.” She sets her glass down on the coffee table. “You know, you’re heading off to Nashville. I see no reason why you and I shouldn’t have some fun before you go.”
And there it is. The telltale sign of the social climber and the whole reason I woke up from my boyfriend haze and saw the truth about her. It’s not me she wants. It’s the successful country star she imagines me to be. I should have known that the contract would bring her greedy ass back.
I stand up and move out of her reach. “There’s every reason. Like we’re not together anymore, Gem.”
“Are you still holding shit against me after all this time?” A little of her good-little-Southern-girl charm slips. “Come on, Hunt. You know the boys would never have left you even if you had changed the name. And look at you now. Everyone’s gonna know Tailgate Down.”
“Try not to salivate when you say it, darling. It’s not like you have a claim on anything.”
She stands up to face me. “Oh, I don’t know. Seems to me that while we were together, I helped you write some of your lyrics.”
“The fuck you did.” My voice hides none of my contempt as it raises.
Gemma walks toward me like a cat ready to pounce. She runs her finger down my chest. “You sent me a couple of messages on Facebook. We talked back and forth. And then you finished the songs. I would say that’s contributing.”
“And I would say, talk to our lawyers.” My manners stop me from swatting her hand away.
She sneers. “Who needs lawyers these days. The online sites will eat it up if I make my claim to them. You know that the only truth that matters is the one that gets on social media first.”
Rage runs through my veins. My hands fist. “Were you always this much of a bitch?”
“I don’t know. What was that break up song you wrote and gained attention with after we ended things? ‘Wicked Witch’? My ass The Wizard of Oz was your inspiration. Add that song to my growing list as well.”
I point. “Get the fuck out of my house, Gemma.”
Instead of turning and running away from my growling voice, she presses her body into me. “You and me, we used to have a pretty good time after we fought. Care to see if that’s still true?” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me.
Her mouth tastes like ash and dust. I purse my lips closed against her tongue and push her away. Fuck my manners.
“I’m not going to say it again. And if you even try to claim any of our songs, spread any lies about us, or try to claim that you and I are together…whatever you’re planning, I suggest you drop it.”
She laughs at me. “You never could see the bigger picture. Don�
�t worry, darlin’. I’ve got it right in front of me. As soon as y’all make it big, you can bet your ass you’ll be sending me some money.”
“Over my dead body.” EJ’s voice booms. “What the hell is going on here?”
Gemma’s eyes narrow. “Your lead singer and I were discussing terms.” She pats him on the shoulder as she brushes past him. “Good luck in Nashville.”
I shiver once she leaves the house. How in the hell did my dick ever prefer to be in her? How could it not sense the paradise that was coming its way in the form of Mel?
“What did the Wicked Bitch want?” EJ asks.
“I’m not sure. She returned some shit, although I’m tempted to burn everything inside that box. She tried to flirt with me. When that didn’t work, she threatened me. And the band.”
EJ starts digging through the box. “We’ll get to that in a second. First, answer me this. Angry fuck?”
“No.”
“Revenge fuck?”
“Hell no.”
“Pity fuck?” He pulls out a T-shirt and holds it up to see if it would fit him. “No? Then why in the hell did you let her into our place?”
Why did I? Sentimentality? Closure? No on both parts.
“I don’t know. Manners, I guess.” I run my fingers through my hair. “She could give the devil a run for his money.”
EJ sits down on the couch, grabs the glass off the coffee table, wipes the lipstick off, and takes a sip. He sets it back down. “Ugh, watered down. Anyway, man, that’s the least of your worries.”
“How is my ex-girlfriend threatening to come after us for royalties and claiming she helped write lyrics the least of my worries?”
EJ turns toward me. “Did you know that the door was wide open when I came in?”
Was it? When Gemma handed me the box and walked by me, her presence had freaked me out so much I must have forgotten to close it.
“So?”
“So…it’s not so much the open door as who I watched walk out of it before I parked the car.”
All the air in the room gets sucked out. “Oh shit. Please don’t tell me—”
“Yeah. Mel drove off right before I came in. You got troubles, brother.”
24
Mel
What a bitch. No one deserves an ex like that. At the same time, the fact that she’s Hunter’s ex makes me wonder. What the hell did he ever see in her? And if his judgment’s that far gone, then what does that mean about us?
Once I had told Bethany all about my night together with Hunter, she had sent me back to his place. She hates to waste perfectly good orgasms. When I drove up and saw the door open, of course it made me worried for him. But when I walked in there unannounced, I witnessed something truly ugly and disgusting.
I drive around in my car, ignoring my phone. It pings every few seconds with messages from Hunter. He’s called multiple times as well, but I keep swiping to ignore him. My head needs a little space to sort things out.
Bitch did have one point worth listening to. Public perception. My presence in Hunter’s life could be a major liability. Small time girl, no college education, bartender. Although he seems to love my tats, society tends to push girls like me into convenient little boxes. But that’s not the worst part.
I meant it when I told him last night that we were moving fast. He may not have said it out loud, but my body knew what he felt with every thrust. The L word. While I’m not against love in particular, I don’t say it out loud. To anybody. But I can’t deny what coursed through me, pumped by my hopeful heart. Even Bee picked up on the tiny shift inside me.
Anyone who sees us together must think I’m opportunistic. Hell, the band probably thinks I’m as bad as his ex. Maybe worse since we’re so close to them coming in to their success. Last night, I should have ended things.
But now, after seeing that piece of shit with her finger on him, all I want to do is claim him. He’s mine. Because isn’t that what last night was about?
And when he gets to Nashville? Surely the label’s going to market him as the next hottest bachelor. How am I going to feel about all the new screaming fans he’ll earn? A girl can’t slap every bitch that comes after him.
My phone rings for the hundredth time, and I pick up. “What?”
“Oh God, Mel. I am so sorry. That was Gemma, my ex.”
“Yeah, I figured that. She’s…something.”
“How much did you see?”
Is he really that stupid? I finally pick up the phone, and that’s what he asks me.
“Wrong question, jackass.”
He sighs. “You’re right. Listen, will you come back here?”
“Fuck no.” In no way do I want to return to the scene of the crime.
“Can we meet some place so we can talk?”
Moments tick by as I contemplate where to declare neutral territory.
“Please, Mel.”
He sounds tortured. And a tiny ripple of pleasure sits in my chest. It’s not like he’s the villain. But he let her into his place instead of turning her away. So let him suffer a little.
“How long will it take you to make it to Fire Ninja’s?” I pull a U-turn and head the other direction up the boulevard.
“I’m leaving right now.” A door slams in the background. The same damn door he should have closed in her face. “Be there in 20.”
“Make it 15 if you can.” That’s pushing it, but I can’t resist giving him shit.
From his place and with mid-day traffic, he will be closer to twenty, which is fine. I actually need as much time as I can get to make a firm decision.
* * *
My legs sweat against the plastic booth seat. Asian-style club music pumps over the speakers. A little early for the cool vibe, but the darkened room brings the closed-in club atmosphere despite it being the middle of the day. I suck on some edamame while I wait.
The door chimes open, and Hunter peeks out from behind the partition, searching for me. He talks to a hostess who points in my direction. He thanks her, and walks in my direction. His feet move fast, but his face carries a wary weight. I could jump out and meet him half way, but pride anchors me to my seat.
He sits down across from me and takes off his baseball cap. Running his fingers through his hair, he looks up. My gaze holds no clues for him as to how things will turn out. Talk first. Eat. Then final decisions.
His fingers drum on the table after he asks for water and a Sapporo.
“Drinking in the middle of the day?” My eyebrow quirks up.
“Figured it was necessary. Look, Mel—” He stops when the waitress brings him his water.
I interrupt. “Your ex is a piece of work.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, no shit.”
“So why was she there?” His answer won’t change the fact that she was. But it burns me that less than a couple of hours after I left him sated from a blowjob, she stood breathing in the same air that I had.
“She brought me a box of stuff.”
“How long’s it been since you’ve seen her?”
“A year.”
Her evil plan to get inside worked. Bitch has game. “You do realize you’re the dumbest asshole on the planet, right?”
His head pops up as his mouth opens. “Pardon?”
“She so played you. She played you like her own personal fiddle. Every single note.”
He slumps back in the booth. “I should have shut the door.”
“Which time?” My voice carries across the room, and the guys making sushi look up. Lowering my voice, I lean into the table. “Which time?” I repeat in a lower voice.
“Both. Shit. I’m so sorry.” He reaches his hand across the table.
Do I put him out of his misery now or let him languish for a few more minutes? Thinking about it, his ex gets lumped in with the inevitable groupies. Unless he’s pursuing her, which I doubt based on how uncomfortable he was with her, then she’s a non-issue. And how can I be pissed with his interaction with her when I still work f
or Trey?
The waitress cuts in to take our order. Since I know he’ll be picking up the tab, I order the sashimi platter, two pieces of eel, tempura vegetables, and some hot sake.
“And for you, sir?” she asks.
“Don’t think you’re eating any of my stuff,” I warn him.
He orders a California roll and some chicken teriyaki. The waitress leaves, and I look down at his hand that’s still on the table.
“What, you don’t like sushi?”
“It’s not really my thing. I’ll live.” He shrugs. His shoulders slump a bit, and the forlorn look on his face kills me.
I reach across and hold his hand. His fingers tighten around mine, and he lets out a long breath.
“I don’t know what you heard or saw,” he starts.
I squeeze his hand. “Hunter, I have a question you need to answer.”
He sits up straight, a little too enthusiastic to serve penance. “Okay.”
“Did you guys kiss?”
His hand stiffens in mine. His brow creases. “She kissed me.”
“Did you kiss her back?”
He shakes his head. “Hell no. I pushed her away and told her to get the fuck out.”
“Something you should have done in the first place,” I remind him. Taking a deep breath, I steady myself to end his pain. “Good.”
The waitress brings the veggie tempura and the hot sake with two small cups. I pour hot liquid into both and push one across to him in front of his bottle of beer.
“What do you mean by ‘good’?” he asks, eyeing me.
“Well, if you had kissed her back, then I was gonna have to kiss her based on our mutual agreement. And no one should have to kiss a foul bitch like that. So drink that down, Cowboy.” I pick up my warm cup of sake.
He stares at me for a second, dumbfounded. I pick up his cup and place it in his hands, clinking it with mine. “Here’s to not having to kiss her. Because BBC.”
Hunter’s cup hangs in the air. “What’s BBC?”
“Bitch Be Crazy.”
His laugh echoes throughout the entire open space. He swallows down the sake, takes my cup out of my hand, brings my hand to his lips, and kisses it.
