Unbearable

by Amity Cross

  "I wanted to apologize," I said, watching the tremor in her hands. She was standing awkwardly and I wondered what a fierce as fuck woman like her needed to be nervous about. Was it nerves? Or fallout from whatever problem she was hashing out with the hotel manager?

  "Don't worry about it," she muttered, holding her hands against her stomach.

  "Shit, I was an idiot to you yesterday. You didn't need to pick me up. I'm sorry. Won't happen again."

  There was a cheery little ding as the elevator arrived and the doors swished open. She didn't make a move to get in, so I placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her into the car.

  "What floor?" I asked, as the doors slid shut.

  "Eighteen."

  I was on the same, so I pressed the button and we stood in silence as the car began to rise. Fuck, was the air close in here?

  "I know I'm a fucking idiot most of the time," I said, my voice loud in the emptiness. "You shouldn't have to deal with that."

  She was staring straight ahead, her arms still wrapped around her stomach like a layer of protection. "Okay."

  The elevator arrived at the eighteenth floor and we stepped out into the hallway.

  "Is there anything else you need?" she asked, trying not to look at me.

  "No. That was it."

  Without a word, she turned right and walked down the hall away from me. With a frown, I turned left and felt the distance grow between us.

  As I opened the door to my room, I couldn't shake the feeling that something else was going on with her.

  Shaking hands, no eye contact. It wasn't a problem with nerves because she'd ripped me a new asshole yesterday without blinking. That only left one thing.

  Was Sasha Montgomery jealous?

  Sasha

  The first time I saw Mick Savage in the flesh was at a concert in Sydney just over three and a half years ago. I stood right at the front against the barrier, a thousand or so people squashed behind me, and watched him walk on stage.

  I'd seen pictures of Affliction before and they were even hotter in person, but none of them had anything on Mick. Not even Jake West, bad boy heartthrob. Mick was…electric.

  He was tall, muscled, tattooed, sexy as hell hair...short back and sides quiff...and when he picked up his guitar I swore my knickers soaked straight through. Back then, if he'd asked, I wouldn't have said no, but he wouldn't have in the first place. As soon as the gig was over, I went out for a drink with friends across town and went home. I wasn't one of those girls who waited around the stage door or whatever hotel the band was staying at. I went for the music and the guy on the stage went straight to the spank bank.

  I thought about him every night after that. I thought about him as I touched myself. I imagined him saying all the things that no man had ever said. I imagined my hand was his and I came hard. Every. Single. Time.

  A few weeks later I got the call that would seal my fate. Two weeks after that, I flew to the UK to join Affliction on tour as their stage manager.

  The first day I got to go behind the scenes at one of the most famous rock venues in London, The Astoria, and set up the first gig of their tour. It was a dream come fucking true and one step closer to the ultimate prize. I was desperate to prove myself, so I didn't see him at first. I was eyeballs deep in the lighting rig when the band showed up for sound check. I had a totally flattering harness wedged right up my ass crack as I was lowered from the rigging, right into the path of Mick Savage, the man I thought about when I masturbated. Yeah, to say I was mortified right then was an understatement.

  Shit, I knew I'd meet the guy, but I stupidly didn't think it'd be an issue. Dean Furlough introduced me round and everyone was nice enough, I supposed. I don't really remember because all I can see when I think about that day was how flustered I was in the presence of my sexual fantasy.

  Mick took my hand, shook it and smiled. He stole the rest of my heart that day and never looked at me again.

  I glanced over the email on my tablet and grimaced.

  The band were playing through one of the new songs in the studio and I could hear it echoing out of the speakers set into the wall above me. I glanced up through the soundproof glass and my breath caught. Mick had his back to me, but that didn't stop my gaze drifting to his one hundred percent sexy as fuck ass. He liked to wear tight jeans and black muscle tanks and that spoke to my lady parts in a way that was utterly embarrassing in the unrequited sense of the word.

  I hadn't fantasized about him in months. Scratch that, I'd tried not to fantasize about him since I got the full-blown management gig, but he still crept in despite efforts to the contrary. I didn't have time to date other guys, so my mind constantly betrayed me. I thought about all the sex I wasn't having and tried not to beat my head against the wall. Right hand it was.

  Reading over the email again, my heart sank even further. The label was throwing a VIP party for some charity thing and anyone who was something to do with them was invited. Because Affliction were in town recording, that meant their presence was required. I hadn't had to deal with very many of these things yet and the thought of dressing up and going to some uppity label do made my stomach turn.

  Crew were hardly ever invited to the VIP parties. I guess we were too rough around the edges for a bit of red rope, but it also meant I didn't have to see what I knew deep down was going on. Knowing about it was one thing...seeing it was a whole new kettle of fish.

  Occasionally, I'd run into a conquest in a hallway or an elevator and I didn't envy the look of rejection most of them wore. I reckon it was safe to say that I didn't mind being on the low priory invite list. I'd rather be in a dingy cheep-ass bar, drinking beer and dancing to all the rock classics on some junk heap of a jukebox. That was my scene. All that other crap was fake as hell.

  So, imagine my horror at the fact that I was now required to attend and have all my shortcomings shoved in my face. Super.

  I knew West didn't like these things anymore, but the other guys would be all over it. Mick would be all over it. VIP parties were the manwhore's playground after all.

  As the song came to an end, I took a deep breath and pushed my way into the studio.

  "The label's throwing a party tonight," I declared like I was ripping off a Band-Aid.

  "Party?" Rob asked.

  "VIP, fancy, the usual. Your presence has been requested."

  "Requested?" West scoffed. "More like required."

  Not raising my gaze from the email, I said, "I'll forward you all the details and have a car waiting at eight. Don't be late."

  Before there were complaints from the peanut gallery, I left the studio and retreated back into the safety of the sound booth.

  "Hey, Sasha." I turned to see West pushing through the door behind me.

  "What's up?"

  He glanced through the glass at the guys and made sure the door was shut. "Is everything okay?"

  I liked West and all, but this couldn't be good. "What do you mean?"

  "You don't seem yourself lately."

  "Myself?" I scoffed, knowing exactly what he was getting at. My mood had sunk way below the surface the moment Mick Savage landed in that stupid plane.

  "Sasha, I know you came on with us at a really shithouse time, what with all my problems-"

  "It's fine, West. Really." I waved him off. "I didn't expect smooth sailing all the time. I get it." I tossed my tablet onto the couch. "How's Blair? I haven't had a chance to ask you yet."

  He eyed me suspiciously and drawled, "She's fine."

  "Is she coming out?"

  "She wanted to sort out her things back in Melbourne. She'll be here in a few days."

  "Good to hear."

  "Don't worry about the party," he went on. "Have a night off for fuck's sake. I'll keep an eye on Mick and make sure he doesn't step out of line."

  I knew West was only trying to rid me of some of the pressure, but it was the wrong thing to say. His name was the wrong thing to say when I was trying so hard to just l
et everything go.

  I snatched up the tablet from where it'd landed on the couch and made for the nearest exit, trying to hide the massive ache in my heart at the thought of what would inevitably happen tonight. "Well, if I have to suffer through this craptacular party, I better go get something to wear."

  Ignoring West's confused look, I let the door bang closed behind me.

  For a charity event, it sure looked like a stock standard nightclub, complete with booze, scantily clad women and obnoxious house music. I stood in the middle of the fray and people just walked around me like I was a fucking pole or some shit. An obstacle between them and the bar, or them and something a little more delectable. If they knew who I was and what I did for a living, would they want to talk to me then? Would they really want to talk to me for who I was or what I could do for them? It was all a bit…fake.

  Have fun, West said. Have fun? How was I meant to do that when I didn't fit like a square peg in a round hole. The punk rock band manager in amongst all of this? I wasn't nearly drunk enough to handle this crowd and if you had to be off your face to enjoy something, then it probably wasn't worth going to in the first place.

  "Lokin' good, Montgomery."

  I started at the sound of Mick's voice in my ear and went to turn, but at the last second, his hand slapped my ass. Not very hard, but there was unmistakable hand to rear action and annoyance began to flare.

  Opening my mouth to chew him out, he was already disappearing through the throng of women dressed in itty-bitty scraps of material. A few turned to glare at me because he'd deigned to give me a PG rated grope and I rolled my eyes. Seriously, why the fuck did he even apologize if he was going to act like a fucking child less than twenty four hours later? Spinning on my heel, I made a beeline straight for the bar.

  How were you meant to get over a crush when what you couldn't have was rubbed in your face every single day from the moment you got out of bed until the moment you fell back into it? I really wanted to know so I could be put out of my misery. I had an incurable affliction and needed to be put down.

  Taking my gin and tonic from the bartender, I turned and surveyed the crowd. Apart from the band, I didn't know any of these people. I knew some of them were other managers, bands, label honchos, shareholders, brand ambassadors and from the looks of it, B-grade celebrities and models, too.

  Taking in what all the women were wearing, I had to swallow a groan. Is that what guys wanted? Tiny little dresses, big tits, small waists and an inch of makeup? If it was, then I didn't have a hope in hell. All of them were draped on the arm of some ridiculously good looking man and I was just standing there in my cheap black leather-look mini-dress feeling inadequate. My hair wasn't styled or straightened, it was just long and out, I didn't have much makeup on and I hated wearing lipstick. I had on six-inch black stripper heels, but that only brought me up to eye level and my tits to an easier leering angle. I didn't look like anyone else here.

  Some people were just beautifully wrapped boxes of shit. And here I was, wrapped in old newspaper. I wasn't blingy enough on a good day to attract male attention, let alone the wiles of Mick fuckin' Savage.

  A dark shadow sidled up to me and I glanced out the corner of my eye. I'd caught the attention of some random guy, a rough around the edges type in dark trousers, open collared shirt and suit jacket. Shaved head, not overly built, the hint of a tattoo on his chest. I wondered what he did and most of all, I wondered what he wanted.

  "Hey, how's it going?" he asked, leaning against the table.

  Eyeing the guy, he didn't seem that bad, so I humored him and myself and said, "Hey."

  "Sorry if this comes out in the wrong way, but you look like you're having as much fun as I am." I glared at the guy and he held up his hands in mock defense. "Not a fan of sarcasm?"

  "Sorry, " I sighed, realizing I was being a bitch to the one person who thought I was interesting enough to talk to. "I just really dislike these things."

  "That makes two of us." He held out a hand. "I'm Dex."

  Taking his hand, I shook. "Sasha."

  "What brings you here if this isn’t your style?"

  "I manage Affliction, so I'm required."

  He let out a slow whistle. "Hard gig?"

  I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it. "It has its moments. What do you do?"

  "I'm a promoter for a small downtown club." He glanced around the crowd before leaning in. "I wasn't invited, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity, if you get my meaning."

  "Sneaking your way in so you could make some contacts, eh?"

  "Shh," he hissed with a playful wink. "Listen, you look like a bit of an alternative girl…"

  "Alternative to what?" I couldn't help taking a jab.

  "The mainstream." Dex waved his hands around with a laugh.

  "Point."

  "There's this gig tomorrow night. I know a couple of guys in the bands that are playing. Anyway, it's a punk thing. Totally off the grid kinda shit." He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and handed it to me. "It looks like it would be more your thing."

  I knew he was laying it on thick because I was a contact and I could do things for him and his club, but he was the only person who'd looked at me all night without a petulant sneer. I gave him a break and took the flyer.

  It was a punk gig...a real punk gig. Total DIY, street style. The flyer was cut and pasted and photocopied like the ones for the gigs I used to go to as a rebellious teenager. It was my kinda scene, more than this shit hole of a club was.

  "Looks good," I said, actually genuinely interested for once in my life.

  "It's a bunch of local bands," Dex went on. "Total plug and play. No cover charge and they get paid in beer."

  I laughed at the memories this was bringing up. Eighteen years old, barely legal, getting shit-faced on the cheapest beer I could afford and going mental in the mosh pit as my favorite local bands played hell for leather. The thing about pits at a punk gig, if you didn't come out with a bunch of cuts and bruises then it wasn't worth it. They could get brutal. I used to be the only girl in the middle of it and wore it like a badge of fucking honor.

  "Guess I'll see you there?"

  "Yeah," I said, stuffing the flyer in my bra. "Maybe."

  I was beginning to feel a lot better after a craptacular night stuck in a corner, but when I glanced up it was directly into my worst nightmare and I was completely unprepared.

  Mick had his hands all over some busty model-beautiful woman. She was laughing at something he'd said, her perfectly manicured hand coming to rest on his chest. There wasn't a millimeter of space between them and what I wouldn't do to be her right now. I squashed the stupid thought back down, but I still couldn't look away. The whole thing was like a train wreck waiting to happen.

  Jealousy spiked through my entire body and literally kicked me in the lady parts. Why couldn't he touch me like that? There was no competition between her and I because she was the kind of stunning I wasn't. It would be her and others just like her every single time.

  Women like me never got the guy.

  Mick lowered his lips toward her ear and at the last second, his gaze flickered up and collided with mine. Unfortunately for me, my heart wasn't on my sleeve, it was on my fucking face for the entire world to see. There was no way he could've missed it.

  His expression changed into something I couldn't understand. Surprise? Crippling shock? All I knew was that the gig was up. My secret crush didn't seem so secret anymore.

  "Are you okay?" Dex asked, drawing my attention back to reality.

  "Um. Yeah."

  "Are you sure? You don't look so good."

  Panic began to set in and I dumped my drink on the nearest table. "I've gotta go."

  I threw an apologetic smile at Dex before bolting across the club. I had to get outside before the tears that we're collecting in my eyes spilled over. I had to get out before anyone saw.

  I could tell myself that I didn't care all I wanted. I could say a lot of
things, but none of them would be true.

  Mick Savage would forever be under my skin and now he knew it.

  Mick

  At first, I didn't understand the look on Sasha's face. All I could see was pain and she was staring right at me.

  What was I doing? I had my hands all over a random woman who wanted a bit of fun and Sasha was staring at me like I'd ripped her fucking heart out. I was a free agent, I didn't owe anyone shit, but fuck it all to hell and back. The look on Montgomery's face.

  Not bothering to apologize to Amanda, or was it Anna, I swatted her hands off me and pushed through the crowd trying to reach Sasha before she made it outside. At the last second, I caught sight of her as she pushed past a bouncer and disappeared. Fuck this shit. I was going to ask her about it once and for all. She was jealous. There was no mistaking it.

  I emerged out onto the street just as she slipped into a cab. Shit. How the fuck could she run so fast in those sexy as fuck striper shoes? Burying my hands into my hair, I cursed out loud, making a few passers by do a double take. Why the fuck did this make me so…disappointed in myself? I'd hurt her and I didn't know. I didn't… Was Sasha Montgomery into me? Was I into her? Since when did I give a fuck if I hurt some chick's feelings or not?

  Flagging down a cab, I told the guy to take me back to the hotel. Maybe I could catch her before she locked herself in her room. I didn't know what I was going to say, but I had to say something. This was one wound I couldn't let fester.

  As the cab pulled up out the front of the hotel, I threw a couple of twenties at the driver and shoved the door open. The doorman gave me a startled look as I rushed by, but I was too busy looking for a down and out woman in a black dress. Jogging into the lobby, I ignored the curious glances from the hotel staff and was just in time to see Sasha step into an elevator, but the doors closed before I could even get close. Thumping the call button with my fist opened up another car behind me and I slammed my finger on number eighteen.

  Staring at my reflection as the digits ticked by on the display, I took few deep breaths. What was I fucking doing chasing after her like this? Shit. Fuck. Cunt.