by Abby Jimenez
He barely touched me. Just a light brushing of his lips against mine, the slightest feel of his breath on my face.
It shot through me in milliseconds. The static crackling between us ignited, and I did exactly what Kristen said I should.
I climbed him like a tree.
Chapter 12
Jason
♪ Electric Love | Børns
Get a room!”
A hand thumped on the hood of my truck and Sloan scrambled off my lap and pressed her back to the passenger door with wide eyes. We sat there and stared at each other, panting.
Holy shit.
“Jason, I think you need to take me home,” she breathed, biting her lip.
I wanted to take her home all right. I wanted to take her home and carry her into her bedroom. But unfortunately that wasn’t what she meant. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
I dragged my eyes to the windshield and got the truck started.
The tension between us on the drive home was like the arrow of a compass, turning to true north, the same way it had felt in the car wash, like it was work to not look at her. I kept glancing over at her, and every time I did, I caught her looking back at me.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to walk me to the door,” she said when I pulled into her driveway. “Seriously. Don’t get out. Like, at all.”
I put the truck in park. “What about your sink?”
Her cheeks were red. “You can fix it later or something. Stay here while I get Tucker.” She let herself out of the truck in such a hurry that her sweater snagged on the lock. She spun to unhook herself and I reached out and put a hand on her wrist. “Sloan—”
“I don’t trust myself around you right now,” she said quickly.
I smiled for a long moment at her wide eyes and pulled her sweater free. She hurried to the house. She dropped her keys twice before she got the door open.
When she came back outside, I waited until she was almost to the truck and I got out. She stopped dead in her tracks and let go of Tucker’s collar. He ran up to me and I pointed. “Get in the car, buddy.” He jumped into the front seat and I closed the door, not taking my eyes off her.
Her motion sensor lights weren’t working. She looked like an angel in the dim streetlight. The sky was dark and cloudless. No stars. Just her, her hair like a halo. The freeway breathed somewhere off in the distance and a breeze carried the faint scent of dirty, hot pavement.
I didn’t want to smell pavement. I wanted to smell her.
I wanted to get close enough to breathe her in again. I walked toward her and for every step I took, she took a step backward.
“I had a really good time tonight,” she said, biting her lip. Her back bumped into the garage and she looked up at me like a rabbit frozen in the grass near a fox, trying to decide if it should stay still or bolt.
I stopped two feet short, not wanting to corner her. “I’d like to kiss you good night, Sloan.”
She didn’t move, but her eyes dropped to my mouth.
The air between us felt charged.
The imprint of her still lingered on my skin. I could feel the press of her thighs, the weight of her soft body. Her perfume clung to me like fingers twisted into my shirt, drawing me toward her again.
“Come here,” I said, my voice low.
The command activated her. She flew at me.
I caught her in a swirl of her floral scent, and she practically climbed me. My lips were on hers in a second. Warm and wet, mint and raspberries on her tongue. The smell of her skin drove me fucking insane. Sweet honeysuckle drifted up around me and ensconced us.
I hooked a hand under the leg she had hiked up against me and lifted her so she straddled my waist. She dragged her hands through my hair and when she gasped, I let her come up for air and trailed my mouth along her jaw and down her neck.
She tilted her head back and let out a soft moan and I almost lost it.
That guy at the gas station had been right, we did need a room.
I staggered us toward her front door. Then suddenly she was wiggling away from me, her feet back on the ground. She put her hand to my chest, making space between us. She panted and her wide eyes flickered back down to my lips, and it looked for a second like she might reconsider, but instead she launched herself off me, turned, and tore full speed into the house.
The door slammed, the bolt lock clicked behind her, followed by the rake of the chain, and I stood alone in her walkway for a whiplashed moment in my rumpled shirt, my hair a mess, catching my breath.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck just happened?
It was like I’d been sucked into a tornado made of animal magnetism, tossed around, and then spit out alone in front of her house.
I had to adjust the front of my pants.
Goddamn, this woman had me. It was more than just physical. She fucking had me. I didn’t even want to leave. I felt like scratching on her door like a dog wanting to be let in.
Tucker whined at the house through the open window of my truck.
“Yeah, I know, buddy,” I breathed. “I wish I were in there too.”
I drove home and poured myself a bourbon.
Sloan.
She liked my music. It hadn’t even occurred to me how much that mattered until it came out. I wanted her to like it. Her opinion meant something. I wanted her to like everything about me.
This wasn’t just some woman. I’d suspected it when we’d been talking on the phone, but now I knew it. This was big, different from anything I’d ever felt. It was like the first time I’d picked up a guitar, that same sense of certainty.
I stripped down for bed, climbed under the covers, and sat up against my headboard, my cell in my hand. Tucker was always the safest topic. I started typing.
Jason: Tucker misses you.
She didn’t make me wait.
Sloan: He’s just claustrophobic in that lunch box. Let him out.
I laughed.
Jason: I really enjoyed our date.
Sloan: Me too.
Then I decided to take a risk.
Jason: You’re not mad I kissed you? I know you have rules about first dates.
A long pause ensued before she replied. When the dots started to jump, I sat up to wait for her text to come through, throwing back the rest of my whiskey.
Sloan: I’m beginning to think the rules don’t apply to you. Good night, Jason.
Chapter 13
Jason
♪ Make You Mine | Public
I couldn’t get Sloan out of my head, which was unfortunate, because I also couldn’t get her on the phone. She didn’t return my good-morning text until 1:00 in the afternoon, and when she did, all I got was a quick smiley face.
I unpacked and did laundry. Had a phone call with my new publicist, Pia, to schedule a meeting. I had a ton of media to do before my upcoming tour. TV, radio, magazine interviews. Sirius XM wanted an a cappella recording by the end of the week for its Coffee House channel. Saturday Night Live was biting, and I had to audition a drummer for the tour. The one I’d used on my album wasn’t able to travel. Then I’d have to do rehearsals right up until hitting the road.
The next few weeks were going to be exhausting. Today was such a waste. I had nothing scheduled and I could have been with Sloan the whole day.
It had taken me twenty-nine years to meet someone I was this into, and when I finally did, it could not have come at a worse time. In three weeks I’d be gone for four months.
I’d meant what I said, that she should come see me on the road. But I knew even now that it wouldn’t be enough. Yesterday hadn’t been enough. I was already used to talking to her and texting her constantly and neither held a candle to seeing her now that I’d met her. Going cold turkey today felt like withdrawals.
I played with Tucker for an hour, sitting on a reclining chair by the hot tub, tossing a tennis ball into the pool. He seemed depressed, and I actually debated taking him to Starbucks for one of those
puppuccino things to cheer him up. I think he missed Sloan, a sentiment I was quickly beginning to share.
I shot a text off to her with a picture of Tucker looking sad, his head on his paws. She didn’t reply for over an hour.
Sloan: Awww. I miss him. Give him a kiss for me.
I typed, smiling.
Jason: He says for ME to give YOU a kiss from HIM. So what are you doing today?
Sloan: Just running errands.
It didn’t feel like errands. She was too distracted today, almost evasive.
For a brief moment, I wondered if she was dating someone else.
Instant jealousy.
We’d never discussed whether or not she was dating. She’d been so opposed to dating me I’d just assumed she wasn’t on the market. But what if I was wrong?
Jason: What kind of errands?
She left me on read.
I used the gym in the pool house, trying to distract myself from my wandering thoughts about Sloan dating other people. Now I was shamelessly grateful she found my stage persona so impressive. I needed all the advantages I could get.
A few hours later I was sitting on a lawn chair in front of my trailer trying out a new capo on my guitar when Ernie made his way across the yard.
“How’s my favorite squatter?” He tossed me a beer and plopped in the chair next to me.
Tucker was so depressed he didn’t even raise his head to greet him.
Ernie loosened his tie. “Spent my morning with the bloodsucking lawyers. She wants her alimony adjusted.”
I opened the beer with a pith. “Which wife is this?”
“Four.” He grinned. “But I brought wife number five with me just to piss her off.”
I chuckled.
He pulled his shoes and socks off and put his feet in the grass. “Excited about the tour?”
The funny thing was, I had been excited about it. But now?
“Hey, what do you think about taking girlfriends on tour?” I asked.
“Girlfriend? When did you get a damn girlfriend?” He took a drink of his beer.
“I didn’t. It’s just someone I like. I like her a lot, actually.”
“I thought you wanted to be famous,” he said. “Now you wanna have a girlfriend instead?”
I laughed. “What, I can’t do both?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Nope. Not if you wanna do either thing well. This is not the time to be anchoring yourself with a girlfriend, my friend.”
I shrugged and took a sip of beer. “I’ve headlined tours before.”
“Not like this you haven’t. You’re touring with a label now. Your entire life is about to change, and in ways you can’t even fucking imagine. Girlfriends are jealous and distracting, and they suck the energy from your soul. Trust me on this. You won’t even have time for you.”
He swatted at a bee buzzing around him. “Who is she anyway? Monique or Monica or whoever the fuck? Oh God, tell me it’s not Lola. Man, you really screwed the pooch on that one—no pun intended. I mean, I get it, she’s fucking hot, but damn is she nuts.” He took a swallow of beer and looked over at me. “She still calling?”
I laughed a little. “Yup.”
“She’s never gonna give it up. You’re gonna get a severed nipple in the mail, wake up chained to a bed in her basement.”
I snorted. “Not funny.”
He tipped his beer at me. “You hear she put a golf club through Kanye’s windshield last week? Climbed the hood and then pissed into the crack in the glass. She’s gone fucking unhinged. Talented as shit but completely off the deep end.”
“Yeah, I saw that.” I shook my head. “What the hell do you think happened to her?”
He scoffed. “She’s a superstar, this business happened. The price of fame. If you let them, they’ll bleed you for every damn drop, and once you’re dry, they try fucking your corpse.”
I looked over at him. “Do you think it’s drugs?”
“Drugs, alcohol, a mental fucking breakdown. Who knows? She’s been circling the drain for a while if you want my opinion. She’s always been a bit of a paparazzi whore, a touch of Lindsay Lohan. It’s a goddamn shame she turned out like this, though. What a waste.”
I blew a breath out through my nose. I had to agree about the waste thing—my current situation with her notwithstanding. Lola was brilliant. A lyrical genius. I never met anyone that musically talented in my life. “You know she plays like seven instruments? And has a four-octave vocal range. Fucking effortless.” I shook my head. “We got along too. She was cool—I liked her.”
He snorted. “I bet you did. This is what happens when you mistake creative chemistry for actual chemistry. I did that once and ended up married to wife number three. Worst nine days of my life.”
I scoffed. “Well, to say I regret it at this point would be an understatement.”
I shook my head, looking out over the pool. I’d spent a week with Lola at her beach house writing, and she’d been perfectly fine the whole time. Focused, polite. Charming even. We’d hit it off immediately. We’d had some drinks to celebrate finishing the soundtrack, and one thing led to another—then it was like a switch flipped. Keeping me up until 5:00 in the morning while she wrote gibberish on legal pads, dragging me out to the beach to swim naked, not eating. Then sleeping for a whole day, and I couldn’t get her out of bed.
I shook my head again. “I was so worried about her I’d called her manager to come get her. That really pissed her off. He got there and she completely lost her shit, started throwing furniture off the balcony.”
Ernie snorted. “Well, to be fair, that guy’s a dick.” He bobbed his head. “Actually so is Kanye.”
I laughed a little.
The day after the furniture thing, the harassment started, and once it started, it didn’t stop. I didn’t know what the hell to do about it. She was relentless. Calling all hours of the night, crying and screaming into my voicemail, then calling back to apologize, texting nonstop, showing up at my recording studio and causing scenes when I wouldn’t buzz her in. Nothing I did would make her back off. I’d resorted to ignoring her, hoping she’d eventually get bored, but all she ever got was new phone numbers.
“God, what was I thinking?” I mumbled.
“You weren’t. And that song. I don’t know if I should feel sorry for you or congratulate you for your sexual prowess.” Ernie held up an index finger. “You fucked her one time, and she’s immortalized it in the Top Ten.” He sat back and laughed into his beer.
My jaw flexed. “I’m glad somebody thinks it’s funny.”
Lola had written a fucked-up, piece-of-shit song about us having sex on a beach. It was everywhere. It had even popped up in the truck with Sloan during the car wash.
She didn’t use my real name. She called me “Snow Bird,” and she’d never publicly confirmed it was about me, but it made me fucking furious. The thing was like a leaked sex tape set to music. I grimaced even thinking about it. That’s the moment when my concern for her finally turned to irritation. It had been half a year of this shit now, and I was officially over it.
Ernie undid the top button of his shirt. “So when did you meet this girl you’re thinking of taking on tour?”
“Two weeks ago. I saw her for the first time yesterday.”
He sat up. “Are you fucking insane?”
I shrugged. “What? I like her.”
He set his beer down and faced me. “Here’s the deal. Listen closely because I’m about to tell you something that took me five marriages to figure out. It takes a woman six months to show you her crazy. Six months, my friend. I don’t recommend ever taking a girlfriend on tour, but if you absolutely must, it should be someone you’ve known longer than ten minutes.”
I laughed.
“I’m not kidding. Listen to me, you’re thinking like Jason right now. Jason likes this girl and Jason wants to take her on tour and Jason’s all fucking twitterpated. You cannot be Jason at this point in your career. You need to be J
axon. Jaxon is a stone-cold motherfucker who wants to sell records. Jaxon doesn’t have time for the emotional baggage that comes with that shit. Fame is a jealous mistress. She doesn’t like to share.” He shook his head. “Do not ask that woman to come with you. In fact, you should probably stop seeing her.”
“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.” I tipped my beer into my mouth.
He sighed. “Well, I can’t say that surprises me. You’re gonna do what you’re gonna do. And what do I know, right?” He picked up his beer and stopped with it halfway to his mouth. “Just please, use a fucking NDA and condoms. Don’t end up like that last idiot. What a fucking shit show.”
I chuckled. “Still pissed about what’s-his-face, huh?”
“Hey, I fired him.”
I laughed. I loved Ernie. He was one of the best agents in the industry. He’d been a big-name musician himself in the eighties, so he’d seen it all. He was a little cynical when it came to women, though.
I checked my phone. Sloan still hadn’t texted. I stared out over the pool. “This girl feels different.”
“They all fucking feel different. See if you feel the same way next year when you’ve been on the overseas leg of your tour for six months and she’s either back here riding your ass or with you on the road and riding your ass there. You do not need that shit, I’m telling you.”
I drew my brows down. “Wait, what? What overseas tour?”
He gave me a raised eyebrow. “Didn’t you get the email with the dates? Eh, Christ, my assistant is shit.” He shook his head. “They’re extending your tour to the UK. Adding two more months here, eight months there. Pia’s working on the media blasts now. You’ll be home for the holidays for five weeks.” He looked over at me. “You’re welcome for that, by the way. They wanted you singing in Paris for their Christmas thing and I told them to go fuck themselves so you could see your family. They might even keep that promise, though I wouldn’t count on it,” he mumbled. “They wouldn’t put it in writing. Then you’re off to Dublin and London and wherever the fuck else.” He tipped his beer at me. “Congratulations and long live the queen.”
