by Lisa Suzanne
Ethan Fuller fucks. He fucks you up before he fucks you over.
I fucked the hell out of Maci this morning. I gave it to her in the exact opposite way I wanted to because she turned away from me. Because I was suddenly convinced beyond all reason she’s fucking lying to me about who she is.
I fucked her so raw the goddamn condom broke.
And that’s what comes blurting out of my mouth as my best friend questions what I have with her.
“The condom broke this morning.”
His brows furrow. “I ask you if you’re in love with her and you tell me the condom broke? Way to dodge the question, dickhead.”
He must see the fear twist on my face—the fear I’ve tried to hide but shoots its way up to the surface as I think for the millionth time today about what happened.
“Dude, calm down. It’ll be fine.” He tries to placate me, but he doesn’t know.
“She’s not on the pill.”
A light dawns in his eyes. “And you’re worried you knocked her up?”
I stand and pace the small space of the forward cabin like a caged tiger. “It’s a valid concern.”
“So what if she is?” He waits for me to say the word, but I’m terrified if I even think the word, I’ll jinx myself.
“Is what?” I ask instead.
“Pregnant.”
I freeze in my pacing. There it is. The word. All out on the table. The word Mark was overjoyed to hear when his wife said it to him. The word that scares me fucking shitless. “Then we’ll deal with it,” I finally say. I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms, suddenly exhausted as fuck and wishing I was on my own bus.
“It is what it is?” he asks.
“And it isn’t what it isn’t. Don’t put the word out into the universe.”
He chuckles. “If she is, she is.”
I blow out a breath. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to face that reality. She told me we were fine, and just as I told her, I have to trust she knows her body.
But there are things about her I already don’t trust—like the truth about who she is—so I’m not sure what to believe anymore.
The only truth I know for sure is I’m infected with a virus called Maci, and I’m pretty certain there’s no cure.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
MACI
We arrive in New Orleans the day before our concert, which means we have a night out on the town. Ethan rode with Mark, citing work they had to do as the reason he wasn’t riding with me on the six hour ride—but it was fine since I had work to do myself.
As we pull into the parking lot, a shudder of fear races down my spine. I’m not sure why or what it means, but I can’t shake the sudden feeling something bad is going to happen while we’re here. Maybe tonight, even.
I’m glad I had the time away from Ethan. Griffin forced me to focus on work, I finally answered the rest of those damn interview questions from Bridget, and I found out she scheduled me on a few different talk shows that tape out of New York when our tour stops there in a couple weeks. The feelings of shame and guilt from what happened this morning have started to dissipate as I allowed my mind to focus on other things.
I allowed a man I’ve hated half my life into my body more than once, which wouldn’t have mattered to me…except he came inside me. That’s sacred. That’s holy. That’s reserved for love, and that’s where I draw the line. I gave him something I’ve never given. Ever. Even Kai had to pull out when I let him in without a condom. I know it was an accident, but the idea that a part of him swims in a part of me has me feeling somewhere halfway between disgust and ecstasy.
“Do we have anything tonight?” I ask Griffin.
He shakes his head. “A rare night off. What would you like to do with it?”
“I’d like to get fucked up, New Orleans style,” I say. Alcohol seems like the right answer here—the very thing that’ll help me forget.
We hear a knock on my bus door, and Griff opens it. Ethan saunters up the stairs a few seconds later. He hesitates as he looks at me. My legs are curled under me on the chair at my table, and I’m sketching in my book. He seems like he wants to give me a kiss hello, but he doesn’t.
“I have an appearance tonight,” he says. “You wanna come?”
“You performing?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Mark wouldn’t do this one with me.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why not?”
“Location, location, location.” He rolls his eyes and slides into the seat across from me.
“Which is…?” I set down my pencil and close my notebook.
“Larry’s club.”
I raise a brow. “The strip joint?”
He nods. “You know it?”
“I’ve heard of it. Mark won’t go with you?”
He shakes his head. “He turned into a pussy once he got married, but it’s ten times worse now that he’s knocked up his wife.” There’s an edge of resentment to his voice, and I can’t tell if he’s serious or kidding.
“I’m down,” I say. Bridget isn’t going to be happy with me, but I don’t care. A night out with Ethan will seal our relationship in the press, who are already working hard to pinpoint what’s going on and whether there’s a story to tell. Besides, if I’m playing the part and still trying to hook him in, going with is my only option. I can’t help if it’ll have bonus consequences, too—like wild animalistic sex afterward. Maybe even during. I push that thought out of my head.
“I’m scheduled for eleven. I’m down for checking out Bourbon Street before we go,” Ethan says.
I straighten my legs from beneath me and sit up. “Just so you know, the last time I was on Bourbon Street, I saw a guy get stabbed in the leg.”
“Jesus,” Ethan says. “We’ll bring Chuck and Griffin with.”
I nod. “Definitely.”
His eyes darken. “Last time I was on Bourbon Street, I saw a chick sucking another chick’s tit and I saw a girl fingering herself on one of the balconies.”
“Your version of the street sounds better than mine, though a guy did flash me his dick once for beads.”
“Did he get them?”
I giggle and pinch my forefinger to my thumb. “A really small set.”
Ethan laughs, filling the small sitting area of my bus with so much unexpected buoyancy that it doesn’t feel like the walls are closing in on me for a change. It feels homey and warm, all from hearing a sound I don’t hear enough.
Ethan’s phone buzzes, and he checks it. “I have to run. We’ve got a radio in-studio acoustic set, and our ride’s here.” When he stands, he leans over the table and presses a soft kiss to my lips. It’s such a natural thing to do, for a man to kiss the woman he’s sort of seeing even though nothing’s been defined, and it causes my heart to skip a beat.
My goddamn traitorous heart.
*
I settle on a too-tight black top that shows off way too much of my breasts and a bit of my midriff and I pair it with ripped skinny jeans and boots with heels that’ll put me right about at Ethan’s height. My stylist is the one who packed my wardrobe lockers for these two months, and this getup came out of the one marked Clubs and Appearances.
I should feel uncomfortable, but I’ve had enough whiskey that I don’t. I’m not drunk, per se. I think I fall more under the tipsy column. I’m at yet another hotel. I thought about just staying on the bus to get ready for tonight, but considering I didn’t have to lift a finger to get all my shit up to my hotel room, it wasn’t a big deal. Griffin took care of everything, as usual, while I drank, smoked, and soaked for far too long in a hot bath.
All that tub relaxation didn’t manage to shake the weird feeling I have, though, that something bad’s going to happen tonight. I can’t remember the last time I was on Bourbon Street where something bad didn’t happen.
Ethan “picks me up” by knocking on my hotel room door a little after ten. He comes bearing gifts, namely a bottle of whiskey and a joint.
<
br /> “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” I say, and then I give him a hard kiss on the mouth before inviting him into my room. Griffin isn’t here—I told him I’d text him when we were ready to leave. I was hoping for a minute alone with Ethan before we head out for the night. “You always smoke before appearances?”
He nods. “I hate them probably more than anything else about this job, especially when I’m doing them solo. I hate that feeling like I’m on display and everyone’s watching my every move. Like a fucking magnifying glass on a hamster cage. I didn’t get into this for that shit. I just like banging on the drums, you know?”
I get it. It’s a weird analogy, but it’s spot on. “And getting high helps?”
“Immensely.”
I laugh, and he sets the whiskey on the dresser and lights up. I nod to the bottle. “You need some?”
He shrugs as he takes the first hit. Once he blows out the smoke, he passes the joint to me. “It’s a gift. Open it if you want it, but I already had some.”
“So did I,” I confess. I take a hit of his joint.
He raises a brow. “How much?”
I raise a brow right back—I have to keep up with him. Tit for tat. I exhale and pass the weed back. “Not enough for whatever you’re thinking.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “How do you know what I was thinking?”
“Your face gives you away every time.”
“Damn.” He shakes his head. “I need to work on that.”
I laugh, but it fades with the words that come out of my mouth next. “I think we need to slow down.” It’s part of the plan. I have to slow things down because I have to let him know this isn’t just sex. We’re moving too quickly if I’m going to stretch this out for the rest of this tour.
“Slow down?” he asks. He looks out the window, naturally. As usual. “We haven’t even gotten started. Not really.”
“I know. I just—” I cut myself off. I force myself to think clearly before I speak. I glance over at him. “What happened this morning, it scared me.”
“So take a morning after pill.” He says it so nonchalantly, like it isn’t one of the biggest moral decisions I might ever make.
“It’s not about that, Ethan.”
He passes the joint back to me and says, “You said it was fine.”
“I know I did.” I take a long hit. What if I’m pregnant? What if he put a baby in me when the condom broke this morning? I feel guilty I’m drinking and smoking when I could be pregnant.
I’m not pregnant. It’s a stupid thought.
Yet I could be.
What if I am?
Will drinking and smoking hurt it? Am I doing irreparable damage?
Pot doesn’t usually make me so paranoid, but tonight it is.
I blow out the smoke before I say anything else. “And I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“But it could be something?”
I need him to be calm right now, and his question makes me think he isn’t calm at all. “Where’d you get this pot?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“Seriously?”
“Chuck got it for me from some connection in Houston.”
“It’s not making me feel very relaxed.”
“Me either.” He stubs it out directly on the dresser in my room. “No more of that shit.” He twists open the cap on the whiskey and takes a long pull right from the bottle. “You ready to go?” he asks, slamming the bottle down on the dresser. A bit spills over the top, but neither of us cares enough to clean it up.
I nod, and then I text Griffin. He and Chuck meet us at the limo waiting for us outside our hotel, and then we’re on our way to Bourbon Street.
Griffin and Chuck chat while Ethan’s hand travels too high up my leg considering we’re in the back of a limo with two other people. I wish we weren’t, though. I have the sudden urge to grind my hips against Ethan’s. Naked. Pot, bad or not, tends to make me horny, and tonight’s no different. The paranoia has already waned a bit.
It’s dark in the limo, and Griff and Chuck are deep enough in their conversation that they aren’t paying attention to us. I bump Ethan’s hand so it brushes between my legs. He doesn’t react verbally, not at first, but he does it again, and then one of his fingers pushes against my pussy. If only I weren’t wearing jeans. I don’t say anything, either. Instead, I brush my hand against the crotch of his pants. He’s hard. I feel the thick outline of his dick, and I apply a little more pressure. I feel like we’re doing a good job of touching each other completely unnoticed in the dark in the back of the limo with two other people sitting just a few feet away from us.
The limo is a stretch. Ethan and I are sitting on the backseat, and our bodyguards sit on the seat facing sideways.
“Chuck,” Ethan says. I pull my hand away as Chuck’s head turns toward Ethan. “T-T-F,” he says.
Chuck nods, and he whispers something to Griffin. Griff glares in my direction, and then the two men scoot to the end of the car furthest away from us. Chuck pulls out some paperwork and Griffin is focused on whatever it is.
“What’s T-T-F?” I whisper. My eyes meet his as we move along the streets in the back of the limo, his face occasionally lighting up from a stream of a streetlight. The effect is almost haunting, those ice blue eyes hot on me in the dark.
His whispered answer still manages to come out hard and direct, and the words send a tingle of excitement down my spine. “Time to fuck.” He enunciates the hard k sound in the final word, and for some reason that single sound out of his mouth sends a pang of desire right between my legs.
“I’m not fucking you in the back of this limo.” I try to inject some exasperation into my voice, but I’m sure I fail because I want him.
“See, sweetheart, that’s where you’re wrong.” He nuzzles my neck and I tilt my head back to give him a better angle.
I let out a soft moan—in part because I can’t help it, but also in part because I’m testing Griff. When he doesn’t turn toward me, I have a feeling we’re safe. We could do what we want back here. Whatever Chuck told him worked—whatever they’re looking at right now is top priority, even over whatever’s going on with Ethan and me on this side of the car.
But as soulless as I sometimes am, I still have a heart somewhere in there, and I can’t do that to Griffin. I may not always treat him the way he deserves, but he definitely doesn’t deserve to sit five feet away from me while I have sex with someone else.
I shake my head and pull away from him. “No, Ethan. Not here.”
He rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh, and then he pulls his hands from my leg and turns toward the window. I tap his shoulder, but he ignores me.
“Are you seriously pouting because I won’t fuck you right here, right now?”
He finally turns toward me. “I don’t deal well with rejection.”
“Then don’t look at it as rejection. Let’s call it a postponement.”
He presses his lips together and raises both brows. “Until when?”
“The club?” I ask. Certainly we’ll be able to find somewhere to have sex in a strip club.
He shakes his head and rests his hand over his dick. When his eyes meet mine, they’re dark with desire. “Sooner.”
I raise a brow. “The street?”
“Bourbon?”
I nod. “It’ll give me something nice to think about the next time I’m here. Better than the stabbing I saw last time.”
He chuckles. “Okay. We’ll find somewhere on the street.”
“Like a dark doorway?”
He nods. “Or a balcony.”
“Oh, I’ve got one,” I say, watching his eyes light with excitement at all the possibilities. “A barstool.”
He shakes his head. “Real shame you chose jeans tonight.”
He’s right. Jeans aren’t good for a quick fuck.
“A bathroom?” I suggest.
He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Have you ever used a bathroom on Bourbon Street?”
I shake my head.
“I’ll find somewhere.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, changing the subject since I’m not really into the idea of public sex on Bourbon Street.
He shrugs. “I told Chuck I just wanted to walk the street.”
I shake my head. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“People will recognize me. Won’t they recognize you?”
“Some will, I guess.” He lifts a shoulder. “Byproduct of that reality show Mark and I did a few years ago. Most people don’t recognize the drummer of a band unless they’re a fan.”
“Was that fun?” I ask.
“The reality show?”
I nod.
“Yeah. I got to travel the world with my best friend. What’s not great about that?”
I remember watching him on the show. It was masochistic, but I watched every week anyway. Religiously. I stared at Ethan and didn’t even pay attention to the rest of the show. I saw the boy I knew, the boy who single-handedly caused the downward spiral of my life.
But I also saw a new side to him. A side I’m just now getting to know, one I don’t want to like, yet one I find myself falling for.
I brush the thought away. “You ever think of doing any other reality shows?” I ask.
He shrugs. “We’ve been approached for several. Some singing competitions, some behind-the-music types, and one was even interested in following us around on the road.”
“If you would’ve done that one, wherever we fuck tonight might’ve been caught on camera.”
“Hmm,” he says. “On camera. An interesting thought you bring up, Maci Dane.”
I laugh. “I don’t do porn.”
“It wouldn’t be porn. I’m not paying you.”
“Okay, then I don’t do sex tapes.” I roll my eyes.
“What about just the body, no face?” He looks so hopeful that I can’t help my chuckle.
“You’re not letting go of this idea, are you?” I say it more like a statement than a question.
