Feverish (Bullet #3) (2 page)

He heard her snorting it through the
rolled-up dollar bill, first in one nostril and then the other. She
sat up and shook her head, and even though he couldn’t see her
face, he could tell she was wiping at the bottom of her nose with
her index finger and thumb to remove any residual traces. She stood
again. Okay, yeah, so she had a really cute ass, but he knew she
wasn’t his type…aside from the fact that she was a woman, and she
liked to fuck. That much he could remember from last night.

“Do you care if I shower, stud?”

Why was he feeling like such a pussy?
Probably because he hated hurting anyone’s feelings. He shook his
head. “No. Go ahead.”

She slinked up close to him. “I’d love it if
you’d join me.” He tried to smile but was afraid it probably looked
like he was wincing. “Or…would you rather lick the rest of the blow
off my tits? Like you did last night?”

Oh, fuck, that was right. God, he’d been even
crazier than usual. Chicks like this brought it out in him. Of
course, the cocaine hadn’t hurt either. But her offer gave him the
perfect excuse. “Sweetheart, as much as I like that thought, I
really shouldn’t. I overindulged last night.”

She licked her lips, looking like she could
gobble him down for good. “Yeah, I think you did for sure.”

“You know where the bathroom is. Help
yourself.”

By that point, she was up close and personal,
and she placed her hands on his chest, looking up at him. “When I
get out, we can get the party started again.” She started kissing
one of his nipples, pulling the piercing into her mouth and holding
the ring between her teeth. Then she started flicking it with her
tongue again.

That’s when Clay knew for certain that there
was no spark there. Sexual attraction was simple and easily fueled
with booze and chemicals, but in the morning (or afternoon, as it
were), under the harsh gaze of the sun, even the animal lust would
wane. God, what he wouldn’t give to feel that again, to feel
something the next day. It had been way too long, and just thinking
about it made him feel empty. This woman, trying to rekindle the
lust they’d felt last night, was only making it worse.

Honesty was the best policy, right? Isn’t
that what they said? He tried to force a smile as he ran his
fingers through his hair. “Yeah, but…I can’t. I have some things I
need to get done today, and the day is already half over.” He was
trying to be nice, so he just shrugged and tried to look sheepish.
Sometimes that worked.

“That’s okay. I could help you, or I could
just hang out until you’re ready.” She ran her tongue along her
teeth. “I could give you a little warm up right now.” She slid her
hands down his chest and started playing with the button on his
jeans.

Being nice wasn’t working. He wrapped his
hands around her wrists. “Look. You seem like a nice girl.” Liar!
Liar!
“But, uh, do you really see this thing
continuing?”

Her face dropped, and Clay felt like an ant
at that moment. God, he could be such a dick. The woman sucked in a
small breath and then her eyes seemed to fill with an inferno. Her
voice, which had been demure yet sexy up till this point, hit a
high and she screeched. “Oh, so you’re just another one of
them
. You think just ‘cause you’re a rock star, you can fuck
us like whores and then just dump us when you’re sick of us. Well,
fuck you
!” She pulled her wrists out of his grasp and
started slapping at him, her hands moving like fan blades.

He grabbed her hands again to stop them
before her manicured nails took out one of his eyes. It was time to
be a big asshole if she was going to be like this. “Sweetheart, I
really don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you leave me no
choice. You were a lot of fun. We
had
fun, didn’t we? But if
you think I’m gonna rush you out to the Justice of the Peace and
marry you, you gotta another thing comin’.” He paused, hearing the
old Judas Priest tune start rattling around in his head. He’d have
to play it on his guitar later. “It doesn’t work that way.” She was
still angry, and he could feel her strength in her arms. If he let
go, she’d pick up where she left off. He knew the coke was already
boiling her blood and rushing her brain, and there would be little
chance of reasoning with her. He clenched his jaw. He was losing
his patience. “I’m not the marrying kind. Hell, I don’t even settle
down. You knew that before you hit on me, right?”

Her eyes were full of fury, the pupils mere
pinpricks surrounded by light brown, but he could feel her letting
go of the fight. Her lips pulled down into a frown and she said,
“You’re a real fuckwad, you know that?”

He tried not to smirk. “Yeah, I know that.”
She stopped struggling, so he let go of her wrists. He was afraid
of hurting her if he didn’t let go.

Big mistake.
She launched her right
hand and slapped him hard on the cheek. “Fuck off, asshole.” She
acted like she was going to spit on him but instead turned on her
heel, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, and stormed out of
his bedroom. He hoped she was looking for her clothes and purse and
not planning to break things. He inhaled deeply, trying not to
laugh at how those melon boobs bounced in her fury.

He should probably see her out the door. He
walked into the living room where she was shoving her panties and
bra into her purse. She picked up the leather miniskirt off the
floor under the coffee table and sat down to slide it on. Clay felt
Jet rearing his ugly head, but maybe a little Jet was just what
CarmenLuciaAnja needed. “Look, babe.” He almost cringed hearing his
own voice, but he pressed on. “Don’t take it personally.”

She almost snarled. “How exactly am I
supposed to take it?”

He shrugged, resisting the urge to display
himself like a trophy. “Consider yourself lucky. Not a lot of women
can say they’ve slept with a rock star.” Add to that, Clay knew he
was well endowed and good in bed—one groupie had dubbed him
fucktastic
. This woman had no idea how lucky she was.

Except Clay felt like a skeezy slimebag even
thinking that.

No way would he let her in on that secret,
though.

She rolled her eyes and stood up, buttoning
the sleeveless leopard-print blouse up the front. “Whatever. I’ve
had better.”

He doubted that, even though it still took
him down a peg. But he couldn’t let on. “Oh, really?”

She snarled. “I don’t kiss and tell, but I’ve
fucked some of the best.”

All right. He couldn’t let it go. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Guys from Deftones, Five Finger Death
Punch, Black Veil Brides, The Last Savior of God, Fully Automatic,
Kytten Punched, Em—”

He felt his eyes narrow. He was pretty sure
she was full of shit about at least half of the bands she’d named.
“Fully Automatic?” He’d toured with those guys more than once. At
this point, he figured she was just trying to get under his skin,
and if he wasn’t careful, she would. Still…he knew the guys in
Fully Automatic quite well.

“Yeah. You know Ethan Richards?”

Oh, of course. And he could actually believe
that one. Not nowadays, but earlier in Richards’s career. If she
said she fucked him last week, Clay would start laughing. Ethan’s
girlfriend had just had a baby recently, and Clay was pretty sure
the guy had been clean for a couple years. He was convinced the
dude was still a prick, but that was beside the point. “You should
know the answer to that, considering our bands have toured
together.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve tapped that.”

God, Clay was going to make her launch into
another pummeling streak if he wasn’t careful, but he just couldn’t
stop himself. “You and half the groupies on the planet.”

She reached under the coffee table for one of
her thigh high boots and snarled at him. If he couldn’t control
himself, she was going to deck him again. “Fuck you, you
fuckstain.”

He had it coming, but she was losing her
creativity. He would just shut up and smile and lock the door
behind her when she left. He leaned against the wall and crossed
his arms over his chest while she zipped up her boot. Then she got
on her hands and knees to look for the other shoe. He hoped she
didn’t get splinters from the end table, because then he’d
never
get rid of her.

Then he spied the top of the boot behind the
chair next to the fireplace. He walked over to the chair and pulled
the boot out. He walked over to her, still on all fours but on the
other side of the coffee table, and held the boot in front of her.
She stopped and looked up at him, a scowl still on her face. She
reached out and tugged hard on the boot. She got up and stormed
back to the couch where she finagled it on. Clay managed to keep
his trap shut and just enjoyed hearing Judas Priest rattling around
in his head.

When she finally stood, she pulled on her
blouse to snug it down and then stomped over to the other chair in
the room, scooping up her tiny black purse and throwing the strap
over her shoulder. She licked her index fingers and rubbed them
under her eyes. She must have known she had a lot of caked-on
makeup there, and she looked a little better after she did that.
She walked over to the front door and unlocked it. She opened the
door, but before she walked through it, she turned around and
looked at Clay. He could barely make out her face because of the
afternoon sun streaming in, but he could guess the expression. She
said, “I hope you rot in hell, Jet Smith, and if you see two middle
fingers up at a concert, you’ll know they belong to me. Have a
great life, fucker.”

He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He almost
invited her back in to share a Tombstone pizza and flat Pepsi but
thought better of it. Better for her to leave like a bandage ripped
off a wound—quickly and, therefore, as painlessly as
possible—rather than drawing it out like a woman in labor. It had
been excruciating enough.

Still, part of him had to try to end it on a
nice note. “Have a nice life.” He wished he could remember her
name. Maybe he really
was
a grade A asshole.

She paused and considered him. Oh, no. The
jig was up. “You don’t even remember my name, do you?”

He sucked in a deep breath. “What makes you
say that?”

She walked back in the door a few steps,
leaving it open, and Clay could feel the warm air breezing in.
“Okay, then, what’s my name?”

Aw, shit. Well, maybe the first name that
came to mind was the right one. “Uh…Carmen sounds about right.”

“You motherfucker.”

He panicked. “Lucia? Anja!”

“It’s Tatiana, you cocksucker!” She grabbed
the doorknob but turned around, glaring. “You know what? You fuck
like a girl!”

She turned around again and slammed the door
behind her. He felt his brow furrow as he tried to decide if her
last sentence had been meant to be an insult. Exactly how would a
person fuck like a girl? What exactly was that supposed to
mean?

He wasn’t about to follow her outside to find
out.

Less than a minute later, he heard her car
backing out of his driveway. He hadn’t remembered how they’d gotten
to his place last night, because he frequently called a cab when he
was as fucked up as he’d been the night before. He walked over to
the door and locked it, then leaned his back against it and let out
a long breath of air. His shoulders relaxed, but his cheek still
stung where she’d slapped him. He could especially feel the bite of
the metal of her rings.

A small price to pay. At least she was
gone.

He ran his palms down his chest and stomach.
He was torn. Did he want to shower first or get something to
eat?

The decision wasn’t too difficult. Much as
he’d enjoyed the evening before, it was now leaving a bad taste in
his mouth, just as many encounters did anymore. A shower would
signal a fresh start and then he might have an appetite. He walked
back through the living room to his bedroom. He stopped at the long
dresser where his stereo sat next to stacks of CDs. He’d put in
some music and crank it first so he could hear it in the master
bathroom while he showered.

Part of him really wanted to listen to the
old Judas Priest CD
Screaming for Vengeance
, since that was
the album that had the song that was rolling through his mind, but
he’d have to go through his larger collection in his music room,
but because there was no order to the chaos in there, he didn’t
even want to attempt it. He’d always wanted to arrange the CDs in
alphabetical order but would get distracted every time he tried,
wanting to listen to each one he picked up. Maybe he could sweet
talk Mary into doing it sometime.

Instead, he looked through the stack of CDs
next to the stereo. These were newer purchases and albums he hadn’t
grown used to yet. He picked the top one of the stack, the latest
by Avenged Sevenfold, and put it in the stereo. Once it started
playing, he turned it up loud and made his way to the bathroom.
When he got there and took his jeans off, he set them on the
counter, considering he’d only worn them for a few minutes.

But then he changed his mind. He needed to
wash all of Tatiana off him, and new jeans and new bedding were in
order. Seeing her in the morning coupled with her foulness made him
realize he had to stop doing this.

He turned on the water in the shower, running
both hot and cold until the temperature was perfect. He got in and
smiled. He always told himself the same damn thing the morning
after, but he just couldn’t resist some of these chicks. Of course,
the booze and drugs didn’t help.

As he lathered up, he belted the song along
with M. Shadows. As the suds washed down the drain and he screamed
aloud, he felt clean and ready to face the day…or afternoon, as it
were. Just as he started shampooing his brown hair that was now
down past his shoulder blades, the music cut out. He got a little
worried at first but then wondered if maybe Mary came a day early.
He stuck his head out from the shower curtain. “Mary? Is that
you?”