My lips danced up her neck and I pulled her head back, kissing up underneath her chin. Tracing my tongue across her lips, I sucked her bottom lip into my mouth, scraping my teeth across them as I bit down and pulled. I drew in a heated breath, then laid my mouth over hers again as I grabbed her ass and jerked her hips against mine. Roxy’s hands reached for my waist and she started to pull at the button, her breath falling ragged as she grazed her hand over the material. The feeling of her trying to contain herself almost made me lose it.
“There’s not one part of me that’s fake. Nothing on me’s been nipped, tucked, injected, or airbrushed.” She backed farther away from me. “I – I can’t do this.” She fell down on her couch, shaking her head.
“I don’t want fake. That’s not what I want.” I grabbed her, yanking her back up to me and crushing my mouth against hers. “You’re perfect,” I said, kissing her hard before I tore myself away from the heat of her body. “And…I wasn’t going to let you do that, anyway. You, you would regret that, princess. I don’t want you to regret anything with me.”
Roxy stared at me, her mouth hanging open a little and a confused look sweeping over her face.
I laughed and made my way to the door. “Not exactly what you expected, huh? I’ll call you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, princess.”
I let myself out and left her standing in the middle of her apartment. I wanted her to know she was different. For the first time, I wasn’t going to fuck something up.
Chapter 22
The next day, after scoring some coke from a dealer, I met Stone out for lunch. I kept my head hung, my shades pushed against my face, and my hands tucked in my pockets as I skirted through the jam-packed Beverly Hills sidewalk. Hopping over the wrought iron patio fence, I made my way to the table Stone was sitting at and yanked out the heavy chair. The sound and vibrations of the metal scraping against the concrete made my skin crawl. I took my shades off and flinched against the bright-ass sun. The light forced my pupils to shrink and made my eyes sting, so I shoved my glasses back on and slouched down in the uncomfortable chair.
Before I had a chance to say anything, a gangly guy sprinted over to our table. “What would you like to drink, sir?”
My leg was bouncing up and down. I didn’t bother looking up at him as I said, “Bourbon. You got Angel’s Envy?”
“Yes. Would you care for it on the rocks?”
“Yeah…and a water. It’s hot as hell out here.” I could feel sweat beading up on my brow and beneath my unruly hair. I wasn’t sure if it was actually that hot outside, or if it was because I hadn’t taken anything that morning and my body was in shock.
“I’ll be back to get your order in just a minute.” The waiter scampered over to another table, and I directed my gaze down to the ground, watching one of the mangy-looking pigeons pecking at crumbs.
“It’s eleven thirty!” Stone mumbled, leaning over the table.
“And?” I shrugged. “If that bitch hadn’t made a bonfire out of all my drugs, I’d be high instead. I only bought enough last night to last me a few hours. Just got some to stock my stash back up and haven’t had a chance to do a line yet.”
He groaned and ran his fingertips over his brow. “Man, you know, you really were doing good. And now…” Shaking his head, he flopped back against his chair. “Now you’re right back where you were seven months ago.”
I was tired of being nagged by everyone, being reminded that I couldn’t even stay sober. It was none of his business. It was nobody’s business what I did to my body. Sinking further down into the chair, I groaned, “Just shut the hell up. I’m not as bad as I was then. I’m functioning, aren’t I? And like you can say a damn thing. You do the same shit!”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do, but the difference between me and you is I’m in control of it. It’s recreational for me. I do it sometimes. For you it’s like fucking water, you shrivel up without it. You can’t function without drugs. You can’t just stop with a good buzz. You have to get fucked out of your mind.”
“You done?”
“Shit, I just don’t want to have to go to your fucking funeral, that’s all. Jag, you’re playing with death. You’re not invincible. And you keep it up and you’re not gonna win, rock god or not! Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison…hell, Layne Staley? Ring any bells?”
Rubbing my hand over the back of my neck, I nodded. “I know. But it’s not like it was before. I’m not gonna OD, okay? I don’t have a problem. I got complete control of this. I swear.”
The waiter came back and set my drinks in front of me. I immediately took the bourbon in my hand and dumped it in my mouth; the taste washing over my tongue granted me a slight sense of relief by unwinding some of the tension in my shoulders.
“So. I’m probably gonna beat the shit out of Pax,” I said, tapping the metal of my ring against my glass.
Stone laughed and sunk down in his chair, his fingers twisting the paper from his straw into a ball. “Why, what’s the dipshit done now?”
One side of my mouth flipped up, and a sarcastic laugh trickled from my throat. “River.”
“Seriously. What’s he done?”
Anger slowly rose inside my chest just thinking about it. The fact that someone who’d been like a damn brother held so little regard for me was sickening. “Yeah. Last night at Rush’s party. I went up to get some blow from the bathroom, heard a headboard banging against the wall. Heard moaning, all that shit. I was headed back downstairs, and I saw them come out of one of the rooms.”
“Them? You mean River and Pax?” Stone’s jaw dropped open a little. The smile he’d been wearing vanished, and his eyes squinted against the sun reflecting from one of the silver dessert trays a waiter fought to balance on his hand. “What?” His brow wrinkled, and he tilted his head to the side.
I nodded and tipped my chair back. I stared at my drink, watching the beads of sweat roll down the edge of the rounded glass.
“Damn,” he huffed. “That’s fucked up. Pax? Really, Pax? What the hell. You don’t do that. You know River was only doing it to get to you.”
“Oh, I know. I don’t care what she does. Not like I’ve been a saint with her or anything. I don’t care about her. I’m just pissed at him. Just want to, you know, beat the shit out of him for fucking with me like that.” I paused and emptied the rest of my bourbon in my mouth, swishing it around a few times before swallowing.
“How are you gonna handle that? You want him gone?” Stone considered that comment for a moment, then shook his head. “We got to go back on tour. We can’t kick him out, at least not until the tour’s over.”
“Ah, fuck. I’m not gonna let a piece of sorry-ass pussy break up the band. He’s a damn good drummer. But, honestly, that fuck-face is the least of my damn worries right now.”
Stone was staring at something behind me, and suddenly he plastered a smile across his face. I spun around in my chair and saw some porn star making eyes at him from across the patio. He glanced back at me. “What do you have to worry about now? Do I even want to know? What did you do, catch something again?” He laughed and gulped back some water.
The entire thing had been eating me up inside, and I just needed someone to talk to about it. I wanted someone to tell me that signing Layne over wouldn’t make me a piece of shit; that Stephanie was right and I didn’t deserve to have anything to do with him. Sadly, Stone was the most levelheaded and responsible person I knew.
I watched Stone tilt his chair back as he continued to ogle the girl on the other side of the patio.
I took a long breath and just said it. “Found out I’ve got a kid.”
Stone tossed his head back, grabbing both sides with his hands before he looked back up at me. “Ah, shit, Jag! With who?”
“Stephanie.”
The legs of his chair hit the patio with a thud. Leaning his face toward me, his eyes grew wider by the second. “Stephanie? Your old girlfriend? That Stephanie? What the – when?”
“That kid with her at Dad’s funer
al.” I paused, waiting on him to acknowledge that he remembered him.
“Oh, shit. No way! He’s a kid…like, what, about six or something?”
“Five, almost six, and he’s mine.” I yanked my phone from my pocket and flipped through to the text she’d sent me of his birth announcement and handed it to him.
Stone took the phone from my hand and stared at the picture. He didn’t even look up at me as he spoke. “Fuck me.” His eyes shot up from the phone, a blank expression falling over his face. “And she just now told you? You didn’t know?”
“Nah, had no clue. Guess she was pregnant when she left and went back home. Just now decided to tell me because she wants me to sign my rights over. Evidently her fiancé wants to adopt him.”
“Did you do a paternity test?”
Shrugging, I mumbled, “What for? The kid looks just like me. The timing’s right, and hell, she put my name on the birth certificate. I’d just as soon be done with it. I mean, what’s it matter? She was with me the entire time she was out here anyway.”
“Bro, I’d still get a paternity test. What if she tries to come after you later for money or something? You can’t be too careful.” He glared at me and swiped his hand over his mouth. “You’re gonna sign him over, just like that?”
“Man. I don’t know.” I slouched further down in my chair, my knees banging against the table. I combed my hand through the top of my hair. “I don’t fucking know.”
Chapter 22
Halfway through our lunch, the porn star came sashaying over to our table, and shortly after that, Stone left with her. I didn’t want to go home, so I just made my way inside the restaurant, locked myself in the bathroom, and did a few lines. Then I aimlessly drove down back roads until I finally pulled over on West Seventh. I grabbed my phone and dialed Roxy’s number. The phone rang once, and then she answered. “Hello.”
“Well, hello, princess. Want to come out?”
Roxy let a few moments pass in silence before asking, “Where?”
“Well, I’m standing outside your apartment building. So we could go anywhere you want to.”
Her voice elevated to a high-pitched pant. “You’re what?”
“Waiting on you.”
“Jag. I’m not even dressed. I –”
“Oh, really? You just walk around your apartment naked? Maybe I should just come up there then, because I don’t have a damn thing to do.”
Roxy sighed into the phone. “And you’re not one to take no for an answer, are you?”
“Wouldn’t be where I am if that were the case.”
“Fine,” she groaned. I knew she was acting like this for show. If she didn’t want anything to do with me, that girl would’ve just said so, or hung up on me. But instead she said, “Give me a few minutes.”
I tossed my phone down, thought about it for a minute, and then shoved a bump up my nose. I stepped out of my car and stretched. About ten minutes later Roxy came trotting out in a long, pink maxi dress. Allowing a smile to crawl over my face, I walked over to the passenger side of the car to open her door.
A slight blush painted its way across her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said, gathering her dress up and sitting down.
I slumped down in my seat, started the car, and said, “So. Where do you want to go?”
She shrugged, then shook her head and laughed.
“What?”
“It’s just…” she snickered again. “It’s just…what the hell am I doing with you? In your car?” She mumbled to herself, “I’m in fucking Jag Steele’s compensating-for-a-small-dick car.” Her eyes darted up at me, a wild flame flickering across them. “I’ve convinced myself that’s why you wouldn’t do anything with me last night. Because you’ve got a little dick!”
I shifted gears and revved the engine. “Really. Is that what it looked like to you the other night when you caught me jerking one off in my car? You stood there watching me. I could see the drool oozing down your chin.”
“Drool?” she snorted. “Uh, no. I stood there because I couldn’t see anything. I wasn’t really sure what you were doing. Ridiculous car,” she pretending to quickly stroke a dick, “short hand movements – has to equal a small penis.” Arching one brow, she finished her insult with, “And really? Are you that into yourself that you’ve got to be tugging on your nuts too?”
Ignoring the entire ball comment, I said, “Small dick. Is that what you think, princess?” I chuckled to myself. “Well. Depending on if you get that attitude of yours adjusted or not, you may never get to find out.” I shot an arrogant smile at her. “And I can promise you, you’d be missing out if that ended up being the case. I fuck better than I do anything else. Fucking’s my first talent; singing, that’s just a close second.”
“Just drive somewhere already, would you?” she smirked. “Before I get out of your car.”
I let the top down, floored the accelerator, and drove down through side streets until we were dumped out by the Santa Monica Freeway. I merged on. Speeding down the interstate, I whipped in and out of cars, one time fishtailing and making Roxy scream, right before she punched me in the arm. Finally, I pulled off on La Cienega Boulevard and made my way onto North Rodeo Drive.
Roxy glared at me. “And what exactly are we gonna do here?”
“Play dress up?”
“Excuse me?” she crossed her arms and glared at me.
Shrugging, I let the wheel slide through my fingers and turned down a street to park the car. “Isn’t that what chicks like to do? Shop? On Rodeo Drive?”
She groaned. “I’m not most chicks.”
“Oh, come on, now.” I slammed the car into park and flashed a smile at her that would make most women drop their panties. She didn’t even acknowledge it. “I mean, you said yourself last night you’d been mean to me. The least you could do is humor me.”
“Ugh!” she huffed, unbuckling herself. “Just fuck me,” she grumbled as she climbed out of my car.
“Oh, not now.” I hopped over the curb. “Don’t feel like going to jail for indecent exposure, but thanks for the offer. Maybe later?”
Roxy narrowed one eye at me and cocked her hip out to the side as she slammed the door shut. “Look. Just because I let you make out with me last night, and just because, for some reason, you’ve got, like, this ridiculous sexiness about you…” she trailed off, looking frustrated and pissed. The wind had blown her hair across her face, and she was furiously swatting it back in place.
“Oh.” I skirted around to her and grabbed her hips, digging my fingers into her side. “So now you admit you’re attracted to me?”
She whacked me on the chest and jerked her hips out of my grasp. “…doesn’t mean that if you keep up with this cocky-ass attitude I won’t go right back to ignoring you and making you watered-down shots.”
I laughed and placed my arm around her waist, securing my sunglass over my eyes and slipping my free hand into my pocket. “Okay, princess. Whatever you want.”
We crossed the street lined with palm trees and hadn’t even made it down half a block of the white sidewalk before Roxy stopped dead in her tracks. I glanced over my shoulder. “What?”
Her eyes darted around and her face turned damn near white. “People are staring. It creeps me out.”
“You mean getting stared at like that’s not normal? Huh.” Reaching back around her waist, I pulled her tightly to me and laughed. “I almost forget that’s not normal. You get used to it.”
“Oh, my God. Please tell me I’m not going to end up on the front of some damn tabloid with the headline ‘Jag Steele’s Newest Slut’?”
I pinched her waist. “Probably.”
“Fuck!” She shook her head. “I so should have just stayed in my damn apartment.”
“Yep. That’s pretty much how I feel every fucking day.”
No sooner had I finished my sentence when one of the sleazy paparazzi crept up over the hood of a luxury vehicle and snapped a picture.
“Yeah, that’s most
definitely gonna happen now. Sorry, princess.”
Roxy flipped her sunglasses down and held her hand up over her face. “I’m gonna have death threats from people now.”
“Oh, come on, now. I’m not that bad.”
“No, you’re not, but my sister’s pathologically obsessed with you, just like half of the female population.”
Laughing, I said, “Well, maybe I should be the one concerned about the death threats, hmm?”
“Jagger?” the paparazzo called. “Where’s River?”
“Fuck if I care,” I shouted.
“Well, who’s this new girl?”
We kept walking and I switched sides with Roxy, hoping I might block her from some of the pictures.
“Who is she, Jag?” he yelled, still taking pictures as we walked.
We passed Hugo Boss and several pristinely dressed housewives.
“Man, just leave me the hell alone for once.” Pointing to the double glass doors to my left, I glanced down at Roxy. “What about Chanel? Women love that shit, right? Come on.”
I didn’t give her a chance to protest; I practically shoved her through the door. I pushed my glasses on top of my head, and the bright white interior nearly blinded me. As we made our way farther inside, the overwhelming smell of expensive perfumes and leather bags almost knocked me out.
One of the personal shoppers was busy adjusting a scarf on a mannequin, stopping to look up only when we walked in. Her face beamed when she recognized me; I’m sure she figured her day’s commission had just been made. She rubbed her hand over the scarf one last time, straightened her jacket, and proceeded to take heavy strides over to us. The woman extended her hand and began rambling with an overly bubbly, annoyingly excited, high-pitched voice. “Well, good afternoon. Jag Steele, right? Huge fan of your music, huge fan. Have all your albums. I’m Trish. What can we do for you today at Chanel?” The woman finally drew in a breath.
I tossed my hands up. “Ask her.” I pointed at Roxy. “I’m not here for anything. Whatever she wants. Get her some perfume, a few bags. Clothes, makeup; you know,” I waved my hand around the store, “all that woman shit you got here.”
Jag (Pandemic Sorrow #1) Page 15
