But the night is still young, and so far, a complete bust as I shove through the exit and climb into Dany’s chauffeured vehicle.
∞∞∞
Dany’s “bus” is actually a modified, totally obscene SUV that fights its way through the maze of lights in downtown Toronto. Bottles circle and slosh expensive liquid on expensive leather. Dany doesn’t care. I’m not even sure he notices. They’re singing the national anthem now, but my buzz has degraded from pleasure to pain. Nausea rises with each sway and bump of the vehicle. I just have to make it to Sultana where I can retreat to my new favorite hangout: toilet stalls. It would be nice to not give a shit without puking my guts out one of these days.
We ignore the line snaking from the club’s entrance and march toward the bouncer who waves us in. The group disperses on individual campaigns the second we’re assaulted by flashing lights and powerful thumping, which leaves me free for my own mission.
I feel much better after clearing my stomach of its contents, and rinse in the sink. After popping a mint, I’m a different man when I leave the washroom—upgraded, confident, and ready to finish what Damiana started. My body still hasn’t recovered from her seduction and is now on the hunt for relief.
I settle at the bar and order a drink beneath the watchful eyes of two barely legal fangirls. They can’t be more than twenty, but I’m hungry for inane drama. They oblige with chatter about sparkly shit on cellphone cases, university gossip I don’t understand about people I don’t know, and the shortest skirts in existence. The girls are so sorry about my band break-up. They can relate because their sorority… I throw back a couple more shots, and let them gush while they slurp a few rounds of the fruity crap cramming up my tab.
“There are private rooms in the back,” the curvy brunette informs me.
Her friend’s eyes widen in agreement. “So private,” she adds.
I know. I’ve spent many hours in those rooms and appreciate that these girls know the game. How many celebrity conquests have they lured into their web, how many free drinks have they collected? It’s going to save me a lot of time and post-party angst.
“You are so much hotter in person,” the brunette says once we’re settled in our new hangout. I wish I remembered her name. It had a poetic quality that would work nicely in a song. Daphne? Danica?
“What was your name again?” I murmur against the strawberry-scented flesh of her neck. She’s climbed on top of me, her fingers already working their way up my chest.
“God, you must work out all the time,” she says, ignoring the question. Her friend whines from above my head and reaches down to fight with my shirt. I push up to help free it and give the blonde access as well. Heat spreads through my blood at their combined efforts, pooling in my crotch. A groan leaks out as the brunette’s mouth moves along my hips to the button on my jeans. I don’t usually like threesomes, often more awkward in reality than they’re worth in fantasy, but right now, the only place I want to be is here. I want to forget that smartass, complex woman who can stop a guy’s heart with baggy sweatpants.
Omigods draw me back to the present. A chorus of oohing and ahhing over my body and every reaction it makes to their attention. So many dirty words meant to cement their legacy on my list of lays. And shit. I’m bored. Horny as hell, and fucking fed-up. I’ve come pretty far to back out now, but my efforts are definitely aimed more at completion than enrichment. Soon both are writhing over me, a maze of limbs and hair, grunts and moans. So many sounds they think a guy wants to hear, but there’s nothing these two sirens can do to stop me from glancing at my phone when it buzzes.
I stiffen at the name and leave a swell of bare female flesh protesting on the lounge.
Thought you should know, this “loving support” thing is torture. Mom still believes grilled cheese is an accepted form of therapy. Dad won’t stop apologizing for storing his fishing crap in my closet because obviously that’s why I’m depressed. This is your fault. SAVE ME!
I grin and tap out an “on my way.”
∞∞∞
Hannah is in my arms the second the cab drops me off, and we retreat to the Drake’s finished basement.
“I already miss you,” she mumbles into my chest.
“I miss you too,” I reply against my better judgement. She pulls back, eyes broadcasting everything I was afraid I’d see. Then she grimaces.
“You smell like a drunk women’s locker room.”
“I was at Sultana.”
“Alone?”
“I wasn’t there long.”
“Groupies?”
“A couple.”
“At the same time? You’re such a stud.”
Her head settles against me again, and I kiss her hair. “They were boring.”
“And naked, I bet.”
“Yeah, but not nearly as hot as you eating cereal on my couch.”
My next song is going to be an attempt at capturing the poetry of her laugh.
“Sure, whatever.”
“It’s true. They’ve got nothing on you, babe.”
“I should be pissed,” she mumbles.
“Are you?”
“A little.”
I brush her hair back for a better view of her eyes. Damn. No wonder they haunt me.
“If you were in the middle of something, why’d you come?” she whispers, those blue orbs sucking me into her universe.
“You asked.”
She breathes a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t get you out of my head. I tried.”
I grin. “You didn’t try very hard. It’s only been a few hours.”
“It was enough to know I was better with you.”
“I’m still here. I’ll be here whenever you want me.”
Her nails press into my back.
“Thank you. Sorry, I ruined your wild night.”
“My night’s just starting.”
∞∞∞
“Are you seriously planning on sitting here and watching TV with me for the rest of the evening?”
“Sex would be weird with your parents upstairs. They already hate me.”
Hannah swats my arm.
“I just thought you’d have better things to do.”
“Like?”
“Gym. Some groupies.”
“Ha.”
“Were they good?” By her tone, I’m not off the hook.
“Enthusiastic.”
She folds her arms and shifts her attention back to the screen.
“Han…”
“No, I get it. God forbid a rock star keeps his dick in his pants for two seconds.”
Shit.
“I hope you were safe,” she says, entirely unconcerned about my health. The quiet pain on her face—damn. There’s a look I’d do anything to avoid.
“We didn’t get that far.”
My phone buzzes. Who invented these annoying things anyway?
“Jacob again,” she says, reading the display.
“Yeah. They want to set up a meeting this week. Ultimatum Time.”
I feel her stare, her search for signs. I’m careful not to give any away. This is not her problem and won’t ever be as far as I’m concerned.
As if that’s ever worked on Hannah. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“So what, either you sign the contract or the band is done?”
“Nah, not the band. Just my career.”
Those ocean irises are still digging into me as I wash away that sentence with a swig of beer.
“So that’s it then? End of story.”
There’s no critique in her tone so I can’t be annoyed.
“What about your own implosion?” I ask my adorable black kettle.
She takes the hint and grunts. “My situation is different.”
“How so?”
“I…” Her argument transfers into a slow smile. “Okay, yeah. Same thing. Are we strong, weak, or insane to throw everything away?”
“Probably all three.”<
br />
She turns my hand and traces the lines in my palm. I study her graceful fingers as they explore mine in a pattern that tries to make sense of a world her head can’t.
“I couldn’t do it anymore, Wes.” The words come out too quietly for the way they fill the room. “I couldn’t live someone else’s life. I had to blow it up.”
“And start over?”
“I have to figure out who I am and embrace it no matter what that looks like. I’ll let the pieces fall where they will, but it has to be real. That’s the prison. That’s the hopelessness: being the person you think you should be instead of the person you are. I’m a fraud.”
“You’re a viper.”
Her eyes glisten as they gaze up at me. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”
I brush a light kiss on her forehead. “I do. We’ll figure the rest out.”
We’re interrupted by a shriek. The basement door swings open, footsteps pound on the stairs.
“Hannah? Are you down there? O.M.G., Holland just asked Shandor to play their January shows! He’s…”
Sylvie freezes on the landing.
“Wes.”
“Hey, Sylvie.”
“I…”
“I should go,” I say to Hannah. Her heart is broken for me. It’s the worst part of Sylvie’s news. “Have a great night.”
16: FIRED
“Fuck!” I slam my door shut and stalk to the minibar. A generous pour burns its way down my throat. Then another. And another. The shot glass smashes against the wall, and I shove my hands through my hair. Important meeting, my ass. Apparently we’re past the ultimatum stage, straight into the “auditioning a replacement” phase of the band feud.
Thanks for the heads-up. I manage to delete the “you dick” before I send my text to Jacob. The phone rings a second later. I slam my finger on “accept.”
“What the fuck, man? You’re replacing me and didn’t even give me notice?”
“Hang on. What are you talking about?”
“Sylvie fucking Drake is freaking out because her boyfriend is playing the January shows with Holland.”
He’s quiet. Dammit, it’s true!
“The promoters are panicking, Wes. We needed to put their fears to rest and assure them the shows would happen. Of course the spot is still yours if you want it, but you’ve been refusing to talk. What were we supposed to do?”
He’s still a dick. I shouldn’t have deleted that part.
My thoughts are too all over the place to come out.
“You still there? We were going to talk about this at the meeting next week. I’m sorry you found out the way you did.”
“Yeah? Me too,” I hiss.
“Shandor Xodyar is a fantastic musician. He will do the songs justice. He’s been in the industry a long time. He knows the game.”
“Oh, well in that case.”
“All you have to do is sign the contract, Wes. One signature and you’re back on the bus.”
“But not her bus,” I say.
He doesn’t get the joke. “No, she’d have her own, per the contract. But you would—”
“You can tell Holland I wish her and Shandor the best. If I wasn’t going to sign the damn contract before, I’m sure as hell not signing it now.”
∞∞∞
Spence calls. Hannah calls. And finally, Holland. I ignore all three and turn off my phone. I feel like punching someone and decide to take my aggression out on gym equipment. Then my bar, because this is worse than getting kicked out of my parents’ house or watching my first guitar splinter all over a driveway. I can stand betrayal from the people I hate. It’s being broken by those I love that leaves me paralyzed on the couch. There’s no hope for peace by targeting the enemy with my anger this time. No, because the target doesn’t deserve it. My adversary is Holland Drake and that’s all my brain needs to accept that I’m in the wrong. Holland is always on the side of right.
So where does that leave me?
Am I strong, weak, or insane?
I’m not a hypocrite. I also have no idea who the hell I am without Holland.
∞∞∞
I wake with a start to a familiar smell. Flowery, but in a fresh clean way.
“Hannah?”
“Thank goodness! I’m glad you’re here. I was so worried about you. Your phone was going to voicemail. Holland called us and said you had it out with Jacob. She wanted someone to check on you.”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes again. Not nearly enough time has passed since my make-out session with the whisky bottle for this, or any, conversation.
“You’re wasted again.”
“Maybe?”
“Okay, then we’ll talk later. I’m getting you some water.”
I grab her wrist. “Go home, Hannah.”
“Right.” She smirks. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“I’ll be fine.” That protest was all I had left in the arsenal.
By the time she returns, I’m half-asleep again.
“Here, drink this.” Liquid slips past my lips and cools my stomach.
“You’ve met this Shandor dude, right?”
“Not now, Wes. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
I push myself up. “No, I want to know. What’s he like?”
She shrugs. “Dark hair, mid-twenties. He’s cute.”
I shake my head. “Not girl shit. Is he a decent guy?”
“Seems like it. My family approves of him for Sylvie.”
The Drakes approve of him. If he’s good enough to date one of their daughters…
“He’s worked as a guitar tech and crewmember for a while,” she says.
“So he knows how to take care of people and keep his head out of his ass.”
“I’ve only met him a few times, but he doesn’t seem like the diva-type. He’ll listen to Holland, respect her. He’ll have to if he wants to keep dating Sylvie.”
I try for a smile, but it comes out as a nod.
“It’s pretty late. Slide back,” she says, pushing me against the cushions of the couch.
Now, I do manage a twist of the lips. She stretches out along my body, and I slip an arm around her to secure her to me. She wraps her hand around mine.
“Good night, Wes.”
“Good night, Han.”
∞∞∞
When I wake up, Hannah is out cold. My head is in a vise and my stomach flips through raging waters. The light is so damn bright. The traffic outside deafening. Hangovers suck.
She stirs as I climb over her but sinks back into sleep when I tuck a blanket around her. I study her soft features for a moment, still in disbelief that she’s here. That after everything I’ve put her and her family through, she understands me enough to accept my flaws. How did I miss this growing up? How did I miss her?
Oh right. Holland.
My chest constricts as I study the complicated woman on my couch. It wasn’t Holland who haunted my thoughts last night, even while I tried to erase her with other women. It’s not Holland I’m desperate to protect at this moment or who I was relieved to find in my arms this morning. No, it’s Hannah. Somehow the snarky ex-lawyer has crept into the void I’d given up on.
There’s no Holland anymore when I’m with Hannah Drake. It’s a terrifying thought, and I escape to my bathroom before it comes to life.
∞∞∞
Hannah’s made coffee and looks like she’s showered and cleaned up as well when I venture back to the living area.
“Morning, sunshine,” she says.
My lips curve in an ironic twist. “Morning.” I pour myself a cup of coffee and lean across from her at the island. All she’s missing is a newspaper and she’d be the picture of breakfast leisure.
“So what’s on the agenda for today? Looking at MBA programs?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“Well, now that you’re not a musician, I just assumed you’d get yourself a tie and go work for Daddy.”
“Ha. Actually, I figured I’d fol
low your career path and watch judge shows for a living.”
“Speaking of that, did you know Judge Stanton is retiring?”
“Isn’t he like a hundred?”
“Well, yeah, but still…”
“Shit, what will you do with your extra half-hour each day?”
“Annoy you. Oh, I know! We can meet up at Hanover Deli on your lunchbreak.”
I raise my brows. “You mean my lunchbreak from this fictitious job at my father’s company I won’t have?”
“I bet he’d hire you.”
“I bet he wouldn’t.”
“I’m willing to be a reference.”
“Awesome, thanks. Hey, aren’t your parents freaking out right now?”
She passes her mug across the counter. “Can you fill this up?” I do while she says, “No, they know I’m here.”
“And they’re okay with that?” I carefully slide the full cup back to her.
“They sent me. Sylvie and I told them what happened.”
“Wait, what?”
She shrugs. “Now that they know you didn’t kidnap me as part of some malicious plan to tear apart my family, they trust you.”
“Even with the Holland thing?”
“Eh, I’m pretty sure they’ve realized you hurt yourself more than anyone else at this point.”
“And she gets clinical on me.”
“It’s called honesty. You should try it.”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t really fit my badass mystique.”
She grins and lets her gaze roam over my body. “Nor does your shirt.”
“You don’t like my shirt?”
“I don’t like any shirt on you.”
Fuck yeah. “Funny, because I love my shirts on you.”
17: VIPER RISING
I’m late. They’re waiting. An entire conference room of suits watches me as I stand behind an open leather chair. By their expressions they’re not as impressed by the fact that I showed up as I am.
Viper (NSB Book 3) Page 14
