I ran my hand through my hair, then down my shirt to smooth out the wrinkles and brush the coarse hair from it. Placing my arm around her shoulder, I pulled her in close to me. “Next time, princess, I get to pick what we do. Okay?”
“Sure thing, pussy.” Roxy jerked away, shooting a smart-ass grin at me. “You scream like a damn girl.”
The girl had just called me a pussy, and for some reason, it made me want her even more.
Chapter 24
Six days later, I was almost out of foods that can make you sick. And Rush had pretty much caught on to the fact that I was just lying. I had to come up with something so I wouldn’t have to hang out with the guys. Telling them about Roxy wasn’t an option. They’d just give me grief, and God only knows what Rush would end up saying to her; not to mention that she’d realize what fucking whores we really were if she had to hang around the rest of the band.
I’d told Roxy I’d go to some hole-in-the-wall with her to listen to a band. I hesitated at first because of the part of town it was in. Walking into bars and clubs in LA and Beverly Hills is not out of the ordinary, but strutting into some rundown bar crowded with a bunch of fuck-ups like myself and no security – that just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.
I knocked on her door and she came out huffing and puffing. She slung a ragged-looking purse over her shoulder.
“What, you too good for the Chanel bags?”
She narrowed her eyes, making it obvious that she was frustrated about something when she snapped, “No, just the opposite!”
I threw my hands up and backed away. “Whoa!”
Roxy slammed her door, then jingled her keys in the air. “I think we should take my car this time. Your driving scares the shit outta me; I’d rather not die. Plus I don’t want the fucking attention we’d get rolling up in that ridiculous car of yours.” She gave me an eat-shit look. “Unless you’re too good to ride in a piece of shit car?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” She stomped off; apparently, she was pissed about something. I walked after her. “Hey,” I swatted at her ponytail and grabbed her arm, pulling her in for a kiss.
Roxy spun around, rolled her eyes, and gave me a half-ass, sorry excuse for a kiss before turning to walk out onto the sidewalk. “I’m not your girlfriend; I’m not your whore, you know? Don’t expect me to just kiss you whenever the hell you want!”
“What the hell’s your problem?”
She stopped just as she stepped into the parking lot, turning to glare at me. “You know, I don’t even know what I’m doing with you. I don’t date people, I don’t really even like people. Don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I don’t really have any friends I hang out with. It’s just me and sometimes Layla. So all this – you especially – is out of the ordinary for me, okay?”
I was speechless and for some reason I felt like I should apologize to her, but I wasn’t even sure what to apologize for. “O-kay…” I started, but was abruptly cut off.
“I just –” She shook her head and made her way toward her car. “I’m not the kind of girl you need. This is an absolute waste of time.”
Pausing at the front of her car, I tapped my fingertips over the fading black paint on the hood. She was acting like a bitch, and had this been any other fucking woman, I would’ve turned around and flipped her off, told her to kiss my ass. But I knew her anger wasn’t at me, it was a shield. I knew that because I pulled the same shit. Being an ass was a way to protect yourself when things get too real.
I sucked in a quick breath and peered over my sunglasses at her. I could see tears starting to pool in her eyes, but Roxy quickly blinked them back, her expression growing harder with each second.
“All right, princess –”
“Stop calling me that!” she groaned.
Running my tongue over my lips, I let out a breath. “That’s what I’m gonna call you, because that’s what I want to call you. So you can just go ahead and get over that, okay? And what I was trying to say before you fucking cut me off was that if you don’t want me to go with you, that’s fine. But I think you are exactly the kind of girl I need. Right now, you are the girl that I want –”
“Right now…” she huffed under her breath, and shoving the key in the door of the car.
Her interruptions were pissing me off. I let a quiet growl rumble up my throat. “You’re the girl I want, and damn it, I get what I want. And I’m gonna ignore the fact that you just said I was a waste of your time, because I know you don’t mean that or you would have already told me to fuck off!”
She groaned and jerked her door open. “Just get in the car.” She hadn’t even crawled completely inside before the engine sputtered, almost not kicking in completely.
Opening my door, I slid into the seat, keeping one foot on the pavement and my fingers wrapped around the doorframe. “So, I’m gonna take that as a notion that you don’t want me to leave you alone, huh?”
She smirked and rolled her eyes as she shoved the gear into reverse and floored her accelerator. The door slammed back on my thigh, and I jerked my leg into the car.
“I told you to get in. I don’t have much patience for bullshit, if you haven’t noticed.”
This chick was fucking crazy.
This was the first time I’d been in her car. It was an old Honda, most likely the car she’d had since she was sixteen. The grey cloth seats were frayed, and there was a troll doll with rainbow-colored hair hot glued to her dashboard. She slapped the face of her stereo a few times, and it cut on. One of the songs from my album blared through the speakers. Roxy immediately reached over and pressed the AM/FM button, her cheeks turning an uneven crimson.
“Oh, really?” I laughed. “Thought you didn’t like my music. So why do you have the CD?” I asked, pushing the eject button and waving the silver disc around.
Roxy shoved another CD in and cranked up the volume, ignoring my question.
I pushed the CD under the visor and sat back as she swerved out of the parking lot. “Oh, fuck! Really? This is what you listen to?” I moaned.
Roxy glanced over, letting the wheel slide between her hands as she mouthed the opening lyrics to a Kesha song.
Pop! I could take anything but pop. I was a fucking rock star, and this girl that I kind of had a thing for liked pop? I face-palmed and shook my head.
“What?” she asked. “Oh, that’s right. You like rock, huh?”
“Just not what I expected.”
“Hmm. Well,” she switched songs, “what about this?”
Seether’s “Broken” came blaring through the speakers, and my body relaxed, and became less rigid. “This – this is good music.” I reached across and turned it up, then belted out the lyrics.
“My favorite song ever, and they are in my top three bands,” she said, shooting me a smart-ass grin.
“Really? And who are the others?” I fully expected her to confess that Pandemic Sorrow was number one.
“Let’s see…Chevelle and Escape the Fate.”
“What?” I wrinkled my forehead. “And just what about me, hmm?”
She checked traffic and then sped onto the freeway before glancing at me. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re in my top three too.”
“But –”
She laughed, and a wide grin spread its way across her perfect mouth. “My top three bands I think suck ass!”
****
We walked into a rundown, sorry excuse for a music hall and I excused myself to find the restroom, but before I’d taken three steps away from her, Roxy grabbed my arm.
“You think you could lay off the coke a little? Get drunk, hell, get shitfaced if you want. Just – I just don’t want you high around me. Not tonight, okay? I just can’t take it tonight.” Her eyes seemed desperate.
I ran my hand over the back of my neck. “Sure.” I turned to walk to the bar with her. “Sure thing.”
Roxy stood there, staring off at the shelves of liquor. I could see her jaw clench and then release it.
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I put my arm around her waist. “What do you want? A margarita? A Long Island iced tea?”
She jerked away from me. “Absinthe.”
“Absinthe? Is that even legal?” This girl was harder up than I’d thought. She looked like a damn princess, but at times she walked and talked almost like a prisoner.
Her face turned toward me, still cold. “Yes. Where have you been? It’s not the real stuff Van Gogh drank. It’s regulated.”
I leaned over the bar top and my elbows slid over warm beer. The bartender walked in my direction. I was about to order our drinks, but Roxy stopped him. “Hey, Joe. Two absinthes.”
“All right, sweetheart.” And with that Joe turned and grabbed a bottle of iridescent green liquor.
I pushed off the bar. “Well, damn. Could you give me my balls back please, princess? Let me act like a man a little?”
She completely ignored that comment.
“Don’t worry.” Roxy cut her eyes at me. “It doesn’t really make you trip your balls off. It just gets you drunk a lot quicker than other liquors.” She lowered her voice and mumbled to herself, “Not like you’d be worried about that. The more fucked up the better for you, right?”
I’d had about enough of her condescending attitude. I leaned in by her ear and placed my arm around her waist, possessively holding her. “You know, I like you and all, and I can take a little bitchiness, PMS, whatever the hell hormonal shit you chicks go through, but I’ve had enough for tonight. I haven’t done anything to you, and if you can’t handle this – if you can’t handle me – then just say it. I’m not a guy that’s just gonna put his ‘shut-the-fuck-up-ears’ on and let you dog me out.”
Her eyes widened and she drew in a deep breath. For a second, I could have sworn she was going to punch me. “I’m sorry,” she huffed. “You’re right. It’s not your fault.”
I was a little stunned. I didn’t expect this girl to just give in like that, so I just nodded.
We were handed our drinks, and as we turned to find a table, Roxy groaned. “Oh, Jesus! Seriously?”
I noticed the stares we were getting, and I couldn’t help but laugh because I knew Roxy hated it.
A short blonde walked over to Roxy, peering at me from around Roxy’s shoulder like I was a poisonous snake. “What the hell, Rox? That’s Jag Steele! You’re with fucking Jag Steele?”
Roxy took a quick glimpse at me, then turned back to the girl, who was staring, wide-eyed, and slightly foaming at the mouth.
“That?” Roxy asked, shoving her thumb at me. “Shit, Dee. That’s not Jag Steele. What the hell would I be doing with that dumbass?”
I ignored the comment and shoved my hands in my pockets.
Roxy giggled. “That’s just Darryl, some guy I met at the bar.” She shot her eyes back over at me, then cocked her hip out. “Huh, you know, he does kind of look like Jag Steele, doesn’t he?”
“Uh,” Dee panted, taking several steps toward me. “Yeah! He could be his damn twin!” She studied me closely. I fully expected her to touch me any second. “Well, almost. I think Jag’s got his lip pierced, not whatever that is below this dude’s lip.” She squinted, focusing on the metal sticking through my skin. “What kind of piercing do you call that?”
I liked and appreciated the anonymity Roxy had just granted me, so I decided to adopt a British accent to sell it a little harder. “Oh, this?” I asked, running my fingertip over the studs. “It’s called a viper piercing. I get I look like that bloke a good bit. Maybe I should start signing autographs for him, eh?”
“Oh, British? Sexy.” She punched Roxy in the arm and laughed. “Well, if you guys want to come sit with us, we’ve got room.”
Roxy’s eyes skimmed over to me. “Ah, I think we’re just gonna hang out over here. You know I’m not one for big groups,” she said, glancing at me again, a sliver of a smile curling over her lips.
Dee shook her head and smiled. “You’re so weird, Rox. Nice to meet you – Darryl, right?”
I waved and Roxy grabbed my hand and led me over to a corner of the bar. We sat down at a wobbly table, completely removed from everyone else.
“You can’t even see the stage good from here,” I said.
Roxy lifted the table up and slid one of the coasters under a leg. Coming back up, she tested the table for stability, then set her eyes on me as she took a sip of her drink. “But you can still hear the music.”
I sat there taking her in. She was different, there was no doubt about that. She was anything but normal.
“What?” she asked. “Stop staring at me like that. It’s creepy!”
I craned my neck toward her, my eyes bulging out in an effort to look as much like a crazed lunatic as possible. “What, I creep you out? What’s it look like? Like I want to make a coat out of your skin or something?”
“Stop,” she squealed, pinching the skin on my chest and twisting.
“Shit!” I shot back in my chair. “Did you just give me a nurple?”
She almost spit her drink out, but cupped her hands in front of her mouth as she tried to swallow back the liquid. “God. You really are just a big dork, aren’t you?”
I smiled. “No. But you’re different.”
She shrugged one shoulder at me, then slammed her glass down. “Told you!”
“No, I don’t mean different in a bad way. You just – you’re real. I’ve forgotten what real people are like.”
“Oh.” Roxy nodded. “I guess you’re not used to girls denying that they’re with you, huh? Well, I don’t like attention, so…” she slammed her lips back over her straw and looked away.
“So, you’re gonna have one hell of a time hanging out with me then, hmm?”
“Let’s just not talk about that. Right now, you’re Darryl.”
“You aren’t as prissy as you look, you know that?” I asked, bringing my drink to my mouth. I took a sip of the bitter green shit in that glass, trying not to spit it out. “Damn. That is disgusting.”
Roxy shook her head. “Yeah, well. You’re every bit the diva you look.”
This damn girl and her freaking insults.
She laughed for a second, then pulled her straw from her drink and licked the tip of it. “A girl that grows up in Van Nuys in a house with a meth dealer doesn’t really get all the refinement and frilliness of the girls in Beverly Hills, you know?”
I just stared at her, not sure what to say. Sometimes, silence is key for a guy.
Roxy glared at me. She sucked her bottom lip in and let out a sigh. “I’m scared. That’s all. Just scared.”
My hands were starting to shake, and it was getting hard for me to focus on her. I really just wanted some of that blow I had in my pocket. Leaning back in the wooden chair, I tried to ignore the thought of it, tried to forget that the lump in my pants was something I wanted. “What are you scared of?” I asked.
“Every-fucking-thing. Just everything,” she said softly, a blank void filling her eyes.
Before I had a chance to respond, drums pulsed through the air. A loud, poorly tuned guitar rang out after it, and then the bass came in. The speakers were loud and the sound wasn’t set right. I honestly hadn’t been to a show just to listen in years. It was beyond strange. The music was so loud that there was no way I could talk to Roxy, so after a few songs I took the opportunity to get up from the table.
Roxy glared at me. She shook her head and pretended to snort back a line, then shook her head again.
Damn. I grinned, gave her an okay sign, and maneuvered through the crowd. I found my way into the filthy-ass restroom. The floor was nothing more than concrete with puddles of old urine all over it. The walls were covered with ink pen and marker, crude drawings of genitals, and phone numbers. And none of the stalls had doors. This place was way too disgusting for me to dump some of this expensive-ass powder out on a surface and snort it into my body. I was pretty sure that everything in that room was coated with a thick film of feces, jizz, and possibly gonorrhea.
As I gazed around that bathroom, I panicked. I needed some coke, not a bump, I needed a fucking line. I wiped my hand down my face, racking my brain to find a way to make this work. I went into a stall and grabbed the one remaining toilet seat liner. I folded it over a few times, and then I carefully smoothed it out over the top of the toilet tank and sprinkled some powder on it. I reached into my wallet, grabbed my card to cut the line, praying no one would walk in and find me hovering over a rust-stained commode. I grabbed my silver straw and snorted the thick line, taking in several short sniffs after I’d gotten it all up as I quickly rubbed my finger under my nose.
I waited the few minutes it took until my entire body heated, and then I slammed my head back against the rickety metal stall and let out a sigh. Walking to the sink, I ran my tongue over my teeth, my gums tingling. Numb: that was the best – no, that was the only feeling I ever wanted to experience.
I shook my head at my reflection and peered up my nostril. I made sure there wasn’t a trace of white grit anywhere, because if there was Roxy sure as hell would find it. I narrowed my eyes at myself, my lips curling up to one side. Who in the hell did she think she was anyway, telling me, Jag-fucking-Steele, not to do a damn line if I wanted?
My hands slammed against the door, forcing it against the exterior wall and gaining me several stares when I walked out into the bar. I’d been in the bathroom long enough that the band had stopped for a break, and as I made my way back to our table, I literally walked into a guy.
“Sorry, man,” he said, flipping his slicked down, emo-black hair out from in front of his eyes. “Holy shit!” His eyes grew wider, and I placed my finger over my lips, hoping he’d keep his mouth shut and not announce my presence to the world.
“You’re Jag Steele,” his voice cracked.
Just as I was about to explain that I was really just a guy named Darryl, the guy pulled his fist to his mouth and bit down on his knuckles. “Oh, shit! Jag Steele’s at my show. At my fucking show.” His hand moved to my shoulder. “Man, let me get you a CD. I’d love for you to listen to it, tell me what you think. You’re like my damn idol, man. Holy shit!”
Jag (Pandemic Sorrow #1) Page 17
