“I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on, Stone. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know…”
“Try.”
I glare at her. “What are you trying to get out of me?”
“Something real…” she stares right through me and touches my hand. “Something you.”
Damn. I exhale and drag my hand through my hair, thinking. Wanting for the first time to impress a girl. Actually, needing to impress her with something that’s not Stone Steele rock star. “So,” I clear my throat, “she probably didn’t die from Typhoid. I bet she was murdered.”
“Interesting.” A slight smirk works over her lips and she sits on the ground. “Why do you think that?”
“True love knows no boundaries… she had an affair.” I nod.
“Oh, juicy.”
“Her husband killed her, buried her in an unmarked grave, and her lover came back and had this placed,” I touch the headstone, “so he could always come and look at her. True love– not even bound within death.”
“Oh,” she clasps her hands together, “look at you, Tarzan, going all swoony romance and shit.” She shoves me. “Who knew you had it in you?”
I shrug, fighting the stupid grin that wants to break out on my face. “I’m mostly full of shit.”
“Uh-huh.” There’s a moment of silence, a moment where we’re just looking at each other, confused. Scared maybe. Because this is the kind of shit that destroys you.
“You believe in true love?” she asks.
“No,” I lie. “Do you?”
“It’s a crock of shit.”
I laugh. She laughs, then glances down to her lap, nervously pulling at a string on her shirt. There’s something about the quiet, the eerie darkness settling in between the trees and tombstones. Something about her that’s undeniably attractive– something swimming around us that I want to drown in. I slowly reach up and skim my fingers along her warm jawline. “There’s something about you,” I whisper before I grab her face and drag her toward me, stopping when she’s centimeters from my mouth. “You drive me crazy.”
“Good,” she whispers, her breath washing against my lips.
“I just…” I lay my lips against hers, soft at first. Then hard. She opens her mouth and my tongue brushes against hers. There’s this tension, this sense of want and fear and all this shit that I haven’t felt in so long. I don’t know what she’s thinking, and at any minute, she could shove me away. And I like the thought of not knowing.
She grabs the back of my head, scratching her fingers through my hair as she tugs me against her. I kiss her deeper, harder. Brutally holding onto her and then, she shoves me away, staring at me while shaking her head.
“I mean, I brushed my teeth…”
“Sorry,” she says, “I just… I don’t know.”
I smile. I have to because that gave my ego a huge fucking whack, but I don’t want her to know that. “It’s fine,” I clear my throat, “I’m a lot to handle. I know.”
“You’re such a dick.”
Laughing, I nod and close the space between us, grabbing her face and pulling her to me.
“Stone,” she breathes.
“Shh,” I say before pressing my lips over hers again. I kiss her soft. Gentle. In a way that demands nothing yet says everything. I want her to know this is not about sex or some stupid conquest. It’s about her. When I pull away I keep my hand on her jaw and brush my thumb along her lower lip.
“I hate you for making me like you right now.” She closes her eyes on a breath.
“I know. I hate you, too.”
I’m into her– Into her where I constantly think about her and it’s been years since I’ve been like this with a girl, but I can’t read Phoenix at all. Part of me wants to lay it out there and just tell her, but that shit’s hard. So, I’ll just keep my mouth shut and pretend her back and forths don’t bother me.
She slowly pulls away from me, making her way over to one of the headstones. “So, how long is your tour coming up?”
“A year.” Fuck a year. I’ll be gone a year, there’s no way this could ever work. “What part of the tour are you coming in on?” I ask.
“When you guys get over to the east coast. New York down to Miami.”
“So…about three weeks?” I say.
“Yep.”
Two weeks of her every-fucking-day. On tour. God, that’s going to be a disaster. I’m sure she will literally shit herself when she finds out about the suck and fucks. I mean, how the hell do you explain that to a girl? Yeah, babe. So, we have these little get togethers where Jag and Rush usually have girls escorted in that get to take turns on their dicks. I mean, I may have participated in a few, but I rarely ever fucked any of them– usually just took a blow job or two. Fuck. I shake my head just thinking about it because, truth is, I’m a sick bastard. It’s all fun and games when you’re high and living it up, but now, right now, while I’m staring at this chick that I like, that I want to spend time with, that I want to kiss, it’s pretty fucking repulsive.
On the way home, we’re both silent. I’m trying to think of ways I could convince her to date me while I’m touring, and I’m sure she’s thinking of all the reasons she should leave me alone.
I pull up in front of her apartment and she looks over at me with a smile. “Thanks for hanging out today. It was fun.”
I go to lean across the console and kiss her, but she’s already got the door open and stepping out onto the curb. “Yeah,” I clear my throat. “I had fun, too.”
“It’s nice to have a friend,” she says before closing the door.
A friend. This girl just friend zoned me. Fuck!
20
Phoenix
Lauren stares over the table at me. “You friend zoned Stone Steele?” She laughs and shakes her head. “Only you, Phoenix. Only you.”
“Well, he was getting all touchy feely and kissing me in graveyards.”
She looks up with noodles hanging from her mouth before she coughs them out. “In graveyards?”
“Yeah, it was… never mind. Look, I can’t get involved with him.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not stupid?”
“No, you’re stupid for not getting involved with him.” She crams more noodles inside her mouth and grabs her wine.
I stare down at my plate, twirling the noodles around my fork, wondering if maybe she’s right. “Voss…” I start.
“Voss was Voss. I told you, he was a raging dick. Stone actually seems alright.”
“He’s great, but—”
“But what? He’s a rocker so he’s off limits because Voss was a dick dribble? That’s like saying any man with a penis is off limits because most guys, rocker or not, are dick dribbles, Phoenix. Hate to break it to you.”
The lady in the booth next to us glances over and clears her throat. Lauren turns toward her. “Sorry, I like to use the word dick and fuck in my vocabulary, but I’ll try to keep it down.”
The woman’s eyes widen and her cheeks redden before she turns back to her dinner party.
“Your mom has to be so proud that all that you’ve turn into such a proper lady.”
“She prays for my soul every night, I’m sure,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Lauren snorts into her wine glass. “Anyway, I think you should unfriend zone him.”
I cram the noodles inside my mouth, the spicy twang causing my eyes to water.
Lauren’s brow wrinkles. “Are you…crying?”
“No,” I fan my mouth. “It’s hot.”
“Oh, I was about to say… anyway, unfriend zone him. Like have him over for dinner or some shit and then yank his pants off and hump his brains out.”
I swallow and take a needed sip of water. “Hump his brains out.”
“It’s my answer to everything. Don’t question it. It’s sound advice.”
“Of course it is.”
I finish my dinner and excuse myself to the re
stroom, and when I come back, Lauren has my phone in her hands, her fingers jabbing wildly over the screen.
“What are you doing?” I go to snatch my phone from her, but she yanks away from me.
“A favor.”
“Lauren…”
She gives the screen one more tap, smiles, and drops my phone on the table. “And no need to thank me, you’re already welcome.”
My heart beats faster and faster as I reach for my phone. I go to the screen still lit up and gasp as I read the text she sent Stone: I miss you. Come over for dinner tomorrow. I’ll cook some pot pie for you. <3 <3 “You did not!” I nearly growl.
“Oh, I did.” She grins.
“Miss you? You told him I missed him, and that I would cook fucking pot pie for him? I don’t even know what the fuck pot pie is.”
“It’s a pie like thing with stuff in it.”
I glare at her. “You don’t even know what it is.”
She shrugs. “It sounded Martha Stewarty.”
I point at her. “I am going to kill you.”
“No, you won’t, you just need to get laid to take the edge off.”
“I don’t want to get laid, and I don’t want to feed him pot pie!”
“So testy.” She laughs. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Playing house with a rocker, you can go all Stepford Wife and shit.”
My eye starts to twitch as I stare across the table at her.
“See,” she points at me, “that’s Voss’s sperm demons bubbling to the surface. You need to get your vagina exorcised. Quick. And, thanks to me, soon enough you’ll be screaming, ‘this vagina is clean’,” she says mimicking that creepy old lady from The Poltergeist.
The woman at the table next to us is now staring with her mouth open.
“Come on, Lauren.” I push away from the table. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“It could have been worse, trust me. It could have included a promise of anal beads and an ass so slick it’s like a Slip and Slide.”
Covering my face with my hands, I make a beeline for the front of the restaurant. My phone dings in my hand and I glance down at the text from Stone: I miss you too, friend. I love pot pie. <3
Lauren’s peeking over my shoulder and squeals. “Aw, see, he put a little heart.” She walks around in front of me and clasp her hands together. “I’m so good at this.”
“Well, you better be good at cooking a pot pie is all I can say.”
“Me?” She holds her hand over her chest and takes a step back.
“Yes, you. The least you can do is help me.”
“Well, that’s just asking for disaster, but whatever.”
Sometimes in life you question why you are best friends with a person. That is me. Right now. Not only did she make me seem like some whiny cunt, she promised pot pie! Pot pie! Like I’m some 40s house wife. So now Lauren—my best friend—has committed me to cook. And he’s going to eat. And then what? I’ll be stuck alone with a guy I tried to friend zone although I want to ride him like I stole him.
Amazing. Simply amazing.
21
Stone
“Man,” Jag whacks me on the back and I nearly drop my phone, “what are you doing?”
“I…nothing.” I finish typing my text to Phoenix, shove my phone back in my pocket, and follow him, Rush, and Pax through the crowded dance floor.
A random girl latches onto Jag and he, of course, kisses her. When he finally lets her go and struts off, she wobbles for a second, and I’ve seen this shit before, so I go ahead and grab her just as she goes limp. Her friend stares at me, wide-eyed. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god,” she mumbles over and over.
The girl is dead weight in my arms. “Jag, you dick,” I shout, “come back here!” He turns around, tosses his head back, and slowly makes his way back over. “Look,” I glance at her friend, “do you have some water or something.” She slowly nods and hands me her drink. I dip my fingers in the cup and splash a few droplets on the unconscious girl’s face.
Jag stops beside me, sniffing and thumbing under his nose. “I have that affect, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Help me hold her up, would you?”
Groaning, he grabs one of her arms and helps support her weight. I splash a little more water on her, and she scrunches her nose up before slowly opening her eyes. “I uh…I just…” She’s dazed as shit when we help her stand. Me and Jag both make sure she’s steady on her feet before we release her.
“Thank you,” she says. We nod and walk off.
Jag laughs as we make our way up the stairs to the VIP area. “That’s awesome.”
“Man, you gotta stop doing shit like that.”
“Why?”
I stop on one of the stairs and stare at the back of his head as he opens the glass door. God, he’s such an arrogant little shit sometimes.
Inside the VIP room, it’s much quieter. Cooler. It doesn’t smell like sweat. There’s white leather sofas scattered around. A private bar, which Jag is already halfway to. Rush and Pax are surrounded by women. Rush glances over the heads of the group, grinning as he points across the room at a bleach blonde standing in the corner. “Oh shit,” I mumble as soon as my eyes lock with hers. That’s the cougar from Miami, the butt spelunking cougar.
She sets her drink down before she tiptoe teeters over in her hooker heels, just like a Botox-ed up Peg Bundy. She gives me a kiss on each cheek. “Imagine running into you again,” she says.
I rub over the back of my neck. “Yeah…”
She glides her hand over my arm. “Boy, have I dreamed about what we did.”
A waitress walks past with a tray of drinks for someone else. I don’t give a shit. I snag one, quickly bringing it to my lips.
“Dick,” the waitress mumbles and I salute her.
“Oh, you’re a dick alright,” Cougar woman snarls, reaching for my crotch. I back away from her, trying to think of what I can do to get away. I mean, she’s in the VIP area and if I’m honest, I’m a little terrified of her. My asshole is clenching just thinking about that encounter.
“You know, it’s protocol that I don’t hook up with the same chick twice, so…” I take a step back and she follows.
“Oh honey, I don’t play by rules, surely you remember that?” Her finger trails over my chest and I frantically glance around, hoping one of the guy’s will see I’m in trouble.
“Yeah, I don’t remember much of anything.”
Rush is making his way over here. Thank fuck. I’m sure he’d love to get some ass play from this woman. He clasps one hand over my shoulder as he empties his glass in his mouth, then burps. “Hey, isn’t this the cougar that violated your asshole?” he laughs. She, on the other hand, does not. “Oh,” he snakes his arm around her waist, “don’t be angry. Older women are my weakness. You don’t give two shits and your pussies have been worn in, so they can take a good pounding.”
And with that, I take a step back, followed by another and another. I head to the corner of the room, girl’s trailing their hands over me when I pass by, stopping to tell people how good it is to see them again when I can’t even remember who they are. Smiling. Pretending. When I make it to the corner, I pull my phone from my pocket, checking to see if Phoenix texted me back.
Phoenix: See you at 7 tomorrow.
Smiling, I lean against the wall and just observe the shitshow surrounding me. Rush is hitting on the cougar. Jag has his hand up some blonde’s shirt. Pax has a brunette on his lap. Everyone in here is either somebody, or wants to be somebody. Fame chasers. And all I see is a load of shit. Fake smiles. Fake laughs. All the guys are after a quick fuck, and the women… they just want a brush with fame. And here I stand, completely aware of how fucked up it all is. Of how lacking this industry leaves you feeling. I tap out another text to Phoenix. Can’t wait to see you.
Because I don’t have to lie to her.
22
Phoenix
The oven closes and I take a deep breath before glancing
back at Lauren. There’s flour all over my kitchen. Pieces of carrots and celery scattered on the floor.
“I feel like we forgot something.” She grabs the crinkled piece of paper the recipe is written on and shakes her head.
“Why did you write that down on paper? You should have screenshot that.”
“It’s my Grandma Doe’s recipe…oh shit. Shit!” She runs to the oven, opens it, and jumps up and down. “Give me one of those things that keep your hands from getting burned.”
I grab a potholder hidden underneath the bag of carrots and throw it at her. She pulls the pie out of the oven and drops it on the counter, staring at it.
“What did we forget?” I ask.
“The chicken.”
I slowly turn around. And there, on the cutting board, sits the raw chicken. “Wow…we’re…”
“Just don’t,” she laughs. “Stick it in the skillet and I’ll try to get this top off.”
I grab the chicken and toss it in the skillet. It pops and crackles while Lauren swears at the pie top for being stuck to the pan.
Fifteen minutes later, we’ve managed to remove the top and cram the chicken inside. And now we’re both standing in front of the oven, staring.
“You know if it’s disgusting, I’m blaming you,” I say.
She shrugs. “It’s fine.” Sighing, she hops up on the counter and swipes her hand through the dusting of flour, drawing a penis. “You know, this is bullshit?”
“Oh really? Well, you’re the one who volunteered me to play Betty Crocker.”
She snarls her lip. “Martha Stewart, Phoenix. That bitch was hot when she was young… and not that, just dating and life and all the things. It’s just bullshit.”
“Yeah, I’d agree with that.” I grab an already open bottle of wine from the side of the counter and pull the stopper out. I don’t bother with a glass I just place the mouth to my lips and drink.
Stone: A Standalone Rock Star Romantic Comedy (Pandemic Sorrow) Page 11
