Bad Rules

by Charlotte West

  With each thrust, he drove me higher. I was in a frenzy.

  “Ash,” I moaned.

  He plunged deep and I ignited. BOOM. Lights. Fireworks. A supernova exploded inside of me. I came on a cry. He was right behind me, tensing, then holding me close. The mirror fogged.

  “Fuck,” he said, just kind of slumping over me.

  My legs felt weak, wobbly, and Jell-O-like. “Yeah” was all I could say.

  Best sex ever.

  I awoke tangled in sheets, vision obscured by my hair. My mouth was sticky, dry. Where the hell was I? More importantly, how did I get there?

  Brushing the mop of hair from my brow, I noticed three things at once. I was wearing a man’s T-shirt, the hem nearly reached my knees, and it reeked of smoke. The hotel room was small, shoebox size. A half-empty bottle of Apfelwein rested on the nightstand, along with two glasses and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. And lastly, I wasn’t alone. Someone snored lightly beside me.

  I breathed deep and fought off the urge to wretch. Definitely too much to drink. Not the first time. But it was the first time I’d blacked out. I remembered fucking Ash in the bathroom, but the rest of the night was a blur of laughter and drinking. My eyes traveled to my bedmate. He lay on his stomach and was one hundred percent naked. The sheet draped low exposing his muscular back, then molded to a perfect set of buttocks. His arms extended on either side of him. Bed hog.

  I recognized his close-cropped hair. Asher Price. Apparently, I’d gone back for seconds. Not my usual MO. My thoughts traveled to Addy. We’d made a pact at the airport. Chicks before dicks. I scrambled from the bed, plucking my discarded clothing from the floor.

  The bed moved. Asher rolled over on his back. He rubbed a hand down his face, scratching at his five o’clock shadow. “Jesus, it feels like I got run over by a fucking Mack truck.” He reached to the nightstand, his big hand closing around the neck of the Apfelwein. Shifting up on the bed, he took a swig from the bottle and choked. “This stuff is shit.” His eyes landed on me, blue and burning. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

  I smiled. “This has been fun and all, but I’ve got to go.” I had to find Addy. And beg her forgiveness. I must have ditched her at the club. Some best friend I was. “Have you seen my phone?” I searched the floor. “I need to call Addy.” Five condom wrappers littered the carpet. Whoa. My gaze met Ash’s.

  He smirked. “You’re a wild cat, you know that? You couldn’t get enough of me. ‘More Ash,’ you kept saying.” Oh, that I suddenly remembered: us fumbling into the hotel room in the wee hours of the morning. My breathy moans as he pushed me onto the bed. Me begging for encore after encore. “Addy’s with War. They took off early this morning to do some sunrise Vespa ride or some shit.” He rose from the bed, sheet pooling at his feet, totally naked, erect and unabashed—in fact, he seemed kind of proud, like a peacock on full display.

  He plucked my bra from where it hung on the headboard and offered it to me. I frowned at him and went to snatch it out of his grasp, but he pulled away at the last second. “Derren and Lix hooked up with a set of twins last night,” he said. “It’s just you and me for a while, sweetheart.” I silently damned Addy. I thought I’d ditched her. Instead it was the opposite. The little tramp ditched me for some long-haired rocker. Right away, I realized the hypocrisy in my thinking. Pot meet kettle. Asher drew closer. “This shithole hotel doesn’t have room service.” With a single finger, he lifted the hem of my shirt to peek underneath. “Let me eat you for breakfast.”

  I arched a single brow. “I thought you only kept women around until they put out.”

  He fisted the thin fabric of my tee, pulling me into him. “I’m not done with you.”

  I chewed my lip. Addy was MIA. I was alone in a foreign country. And the truth was, I wanted Asher Price again. I wasn’t done either. I knew better than to lie to myself. Big sigh. I flicked a hand. “I guess if you must, go ahead and have your dirty way with me.”

  I resolved to have a good time with Asher. One season. And when the tour ended—or the good time, whichever came first—I’d float away just like I did with all the others. I should’ve been born with wheels on my feet. Skating away was what I did best.

  Now

  Beyond the windows, planes taxied and took off. Six o’clock in the evening and the airport bar was surprisingly empty, save for a group of frat boys hanging in the corner. They’d arrived, polished off six pitchers of beer between the three of them, and currently were rowdily watching a ball game while sneaking glances at me. I liked to think it was my “riots not diets” T-shirt that caught their eye.

  The bartender, a cute guy with a trim beard, slid my order—a bacon cheeseburger and milkshake with Baileys—in front of me. “On the house,” he said with a wink. Tucked under the plate was a piece of paper. One hundred bucks says it’s his phone number. I flipped the paper over. Just as predicted, the bartender’s phone number was scrawled on the back. I crumpled the digits in my fist and stuffed them in my pocket. I wouldn’t be calling him.

  I was scrolling through my phone watching funny cat videos when the leader of the frat boys decided to grow a pair and approach me. He sauntered forward, a drunken tilt to his step. He had sandy blonde hair and dimples. Not bad looking. I didn’t like his smile. Too arrogant, too privileged. Asher had the same way about him, but it worked with his rocker vibe, with his I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. On this douche canoe, it just came off as slimy, greasy.

  “Scott.” He held out a hand.

  “Lily,” I said, tucking my fingers under my thighs and swinging my legs. His hand dropped but not his confidence. He leaned on the bar, crashing right into my personal space. “Isn’t your flight leaving soon?” I asked, picking up a fry and nibbling on it.

  Scott licked his lips, his gaze momentarily arrested on my mouth. “It doesn’t leave for a few hours.” He glanced over his shoulder where his friends eagerly watched. One of them mouthed, don’t be a pussy. Scott’s eyes came back to me. I raised a brow. He had the good sense to look mildly embarrassed.

  Using the straw, I stirred my milkshake. “You know you don’t have to let them speak to you like that,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  I slurped the last dredges of my milkshake; Bailey’s cream filled my mouth and I savored it for a moment before going on. Yum. “Calling you a pussy. It’s a metaphor for losing power. As if being a female makes you weak.”

  “They’re just messing around.”

  “At the expense of my womanhood.”

  He jerked back as if mortally wounded by my response. I’m offended you’re offended. “You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

  My spirits dived, weighted down by my disappointment in all of mankind. “Why did you come over here Scott?” We’d drawn the attention of the bartender. He’d stopped wiping glasses to stare at us.

  A line appeared between his eyebrows. “I thought we could get to know each other.”

  I tapped my fingers against the bar top, pressed my lips together. “Well, my name is Lily. But you know that already.”

  “Lily is a pretty name.” God. I bet women usually ate his smooth move bullshit right up. Scott was back in the game. I guess he didn’t think I was such a bitch after all. He half smiled and encroached on my personal space again. He smelled like beer and expensive cologne. I preferred a more natural scent. Asher never wore perfumes. He showered with Irish Spring.

  “Yeah, I’m just a delicate little flower,” I said. “What else would you like to know about me?” I met his eyes. They were brown. The color of shit. “I’m in my early twenties. And my grade point average is above a four point zero.”

  “I like smart girls.”

  “Do you?” I practically purred. “What else do you like, Scotty?” I dropped my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “How about anal play and dildos?”

  His eyes dilated, his smile brightened. “I’m totally into that.”

  I gave him a teasing smile
. “I mean on you of course.” I closed the inch gap between us, ran a finger down his cheek, then made a big deal of craning my head to check out his derriere. “It’s a big turn on for me.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know…” Oh my god, he was actually considering it.

  I laughed.

  “Everything okay over here?” The bartender swooped in, a glower firmly in place and directed at Scott.

  I opened my mouth to reassure the bartender. I didn’t need rescuing. In my fairytale, the princess saved herself.

  “Everything is fine,” Scott answered.

  “Seems like you’re harassing my customers,” the bartender said.

  “Technically, she’s harassing me,” Scott said.

  I smiled at Scott, forgetting his former douche baggery.

  “Either way, I think it’s time you and your friends leave.” The bartender motioned to the door.

  Scott’s jaw flexed, he popped his knuckles. The bartender squared his shoulders. The air filled with testosterone. My attitude soured. I mocked fanning myself. “All this manly behavior is making me feel faint. I think I should go.” I patted Scott’s cheek. “Thanks for the free entertainment. But you’re a hard pass for me. No offense, but you kind of look like you might have a sex doll called mother.” I polished off the last bite of my burger.

  The bartender smiled lazily. “I think I want to marry you.”

  I wiped the corners of my mouth, balled up the napkin, and dropped it on the plate. That put my running tally of marriage proposals at an odd seventeen. “Thanks,” I replied. Then I dug around my purse, pulled out a twenty, and placed it on the bar. “And thanks for the drinks and meal, but I pay my own way.” The last time I let a man cover my drinks, it’d cost me way too much. I gave both a serene smile and exited.

  Time to fly.

  Addy and Warren lived in an annoyingly perfect beachfront house that her father had purchased for her. Not so coincidentally, Billy’s house was just across the street. I had the cabbie drop me off at the gate. Security cameras dotted the fence. I’d texted Warren my plan, to surprise Addy and come on tour, earlier. He’d helpfully provided me with the gate code. I punched it in. The wrought-iron monstrosity swung open.

  At the massive wood door, I paused, hand closed in a fist, ready to knock.

  My heart was doing strange things in my chest, expanding and deflating at a dizzying speed. I flexed my fingers, chasing away the tremors. I banged on the door and let out a deep breath.

  The door creaked open. My bright smile faded. I stood frozen, mesmerized by the vision in front of me. Six-foot-four, with closely cropped dark hair and a glower that rivaled Satan himself. Asher Price, my lover, my stalker, my sworn enemy stared down his autocratic nose at me. His lip lifted in a sneer, and I matched it with one of my own. I may be small, but I was mighty, righteous with fury. I picked up my duffel and slammed it into Asher’s midsection. It didn’t faze him. He didn’t budge an inch.

  Fucking brick wall.

  Seriously.

  The bag dropped with a soft thud onto the gleaming tile floor.

  I threw my shoulders back, a boxer ready to enter the ring. Nothing to do but brazen it out. “Hey, dickhead,” I said. “Tell Addy I’m here.”

  Now

  Asher didn’t do as I commanded. Damn him. He never listened to me. His big body held preternaturally still as he studied me. I shifted on my feet, feeling way too much like an ant frying under a magnifying glass. Ever so slowly, he braced his arms on either side of the door, blocking my entrance. He gripped the doorframe, veins in his beautifully tattooed arms stood out in stark relief. He tilted his head in a what-you-going-to-do-about-it pose.

  I ignored the impulse to kick him in the shins—his perfect, perfect shins. “Let me through,” I demanded.

  He tsked and shook his head. “Say please, Lily.”

  My chest heaved, breasts rising and falling. His gaze caught on them. I snapped my fingers in front of his face. Asher was like a magpie, but instead of being distracted by shiny objects, he was diverted by boobs. Pig. “Please,” I said, then, “you knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.”

  His smile was not a smile at all. It reminded me of a shark—all shiny, sharp teeth. “Still a judgmental bitch, I see.”

  I winced. Scott calling me a bitch had made me laugh. The insult slid off me—water off a duck’s back. But Asher’s words cut me to the core. And he knew it. He knew just where to stab, how to twist. I despised that word, especially when used as a replacement term for nagging or aggressive. I refused to be passive. I refused to be shamed, which is exactly how that word always made me feel. As if I’d stepped above my station. Asher may know my sore spots, but I knew his too. An eye for an eye seemed appropriate. I opened my mouth to rip into him.

  “What’s going on?” I recognized Warren’s voice. “Who the fuck is at the door? Addy is trying to take a nap.”

  Ash didn’t take his eyes off me. “Some grifter got past the gate. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of him.” His voice lowered, his eyes narrowed. “Tell the devil I said hey when you get back to where you’re from.” The door started to swing shut.

  I stuck my foot in the threshold. “It’s me, War,” I cried out. “It’s Lily.” The door slammed into my foot and I yelped, jumping back.

  A scuffle ensued as Warren tried opening the door and Asher tried closing it. Warren won, wrestling Asher to the floor into some sort of overly complicated sleeper hold. “Say uncle,” Warren said.

  “Ow, you motherfucker,” Asher ground out.

  Warren tightened his hold on Asher’s neck. “Say it.”

  “Fuck,” Ash wheezed. He tapped the floor. “Uncle.”

  Warren smiled but didn’t let up his hold. “Now say, mom loves me the best and you were a mistake.”

  Ash grunted and somehow extricated himself from Warren’s hold. The two gargantuan men stood, heaving and staring at each other. Then Ash moved lightning fast and nailed Warren right in the nose.

  War’s hands went to his face. “I think you broke my nose.” His bones cracked as he pushed them back into place. “Too far, fucker. You took things too far.” Warren inhaled. His nose was already turning a hellish purple color. “Jesus, you smell like an ashtray and stale beer. You been out drinking again, man?”

  Ash glowered, shaking out his hand. “Spare me the disappointment, War.”

  “You’re a mess,” War said, his face somber. “You need to clean up your act before we go on tour. Get your shit together.”

  My gaze volleyed back and forth between War and Ash. Ash looked pissed, his lips were pursed, and his jaw had an awful tick. Worse was War’s face, worried and pained.

  “You been drinking too much, Ash?” I asked softly, stepping forward into the entryway.

  This brought the angry rocker’s laser stare right to me. “Quiet, sweetheart. Men are talking.”

  It was a brilliant tactic, and one I fell for right away. I knew he was baiting me, using it as a distraction from the question. What a way to deflect. A rage monster roared inside me. I lunged at him. Asher laughed almost evilly. A strong arm hooked around my waist. I shrieked, hissing and swinging at air.

  Asher rubbed his ears. “You sound like a cat doused in water.”

  I struggled against Warren’s hold, giving Asher the finger.

  “You two need to figure your shit out,” Warren rumbled still holding me tight.

  “I’m not the one prone to fits of violence,” Asher ground out. “You sure you want someone so unstable near your pregnant wife? I say we lock her outside. Addy never has to know she was here.”

  “Who was here?” Addy’s sweet, sleepy voice filled the entryway. War turned, easily bringing me with him. Damn my small size. She startled. “What happened to your nose?” A blink. “Lily?”

  “Hey,” I said, giving Addy a short finger wave, my anger deflating.

  “My fucking brother punched me in the fucking nose,” Warren explained.

  I guess that was enough o
f an answer. She sent Asher a disapproving frown before focusing on me. Addy’s eyes lit with laughter. “You trying to steal my husband or what?”

  I huffed, blowing bangs out of my eyes. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  Addy crossed her arms. “So you didn’t show up at my front door to surprise me, find Ash instead, then need to be held back by Warren?”

  Huh, she’d hit the nail on the head. She knew me better than I thought. I chewed my cheek. “I guess it’s exactly what it looks like.” I peered up at Warren. “You can put me down now. I’m not going to freak out.” At least not in the next few minutes. An hour from now, it’d be anyone’s game.

  Warren grunted and set me on my feet. As soon as my toes touched the ground, I launched myself at my friend. We hugged the best we could, considering Addy’s ginormous belly.

  I pulled back and Addy squeezed my shoulders. “You came,” she said, tears in her eyes.

  “Are you going to fucking cry again?” Asher groused. “Don’t cry.”

  Addy scrubbed a tear off her face. I turned and frowned at Ash. His face was bereft of emotion.

  “I’m not going to cry,” Addy said, before bursting into tears.

  “Don’t listen to him,” I said, patting Addy. “Your feelings are valid, and you’re allowed to cry whenever you want.” I believed crying to be a feminist act; it wasn’t weakness, it was strength—a sign of emotional intelligence. And a way of taking up space. Women should never apologize for their feelings.

  “Fuck’s sake,” Asher said. “I wasn’t saying she couldn’t cry.” He had, in fact, said just that. I decided against pointing it out. Because I’m nice. Kind of. “I just don’t like it.”

  “Oh, so I guess she should suppress her feelings to make you more comfortable,” I lashed out at Ash. “Oppressor,” I hissed.