Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (16 page)

Chapter 17

A week after he went on tour, and even with him a thousand miles away, my life was nowhere close to normal. He’d poisoned me.

Love is a beautiful poison; well, it was, at least when I was alone.

“Keys, keys, keys,” I chanted as I rummaged through my purse. “Where the fuck are they? And why would anyone need this many pockets in a purse? This isn’t organization, this is a clusterfuck!”

Finally, out of sheer frustration, I dumped the leather bag over, the contents spilling out over my chipped laminate countertop. I scattered the items out and finally found my keys.

On the way out of my apartment I decided it looked, and smelled, like a funeral home. Jag had sent me flowers every single day, and each day the bouquets got bigger. It was sweet and it was eccentric, overboard—just like the guy sending them to me.

I opened the door and ran to my car, jumping in and turning the engine before the door slammed shut.

As I was backing out of the parking space I noticed the gas needle resting on E. “Shit! No!” I smacked my palm against the dash a few times to see if the needle would move, but all it did was budge a little lower. I was already running behind, and having to stop at the gas station would totally screw me.

I turned out of my complex, praying that I would make it to the gas station, coasting down any hill on my way.

Relief washed over me when I sputtered up to the pump.

I hopped out, swiped my card, and put the nozzle in the gas tank. I tapped my foot over the concrete, needing the gas to flow more quickly so I could get my ass to work.

A black Camaro rumbled to a stop at the pump next to me, Pandemic Sorrow’s “Winter Solstice” blaring from the speakers. Just as I placed the nozzle back on the pump, the girl driving the Camaro came prancing around, loudly popping her gum. She turned to look at me and, at first, kept sashaying across the lot, but suddenly, she stopped. She pulled her shades down the bridge of her nose and glared at me.

I pressed the button declining a receipt and reached for my door just in time to catch her snapping a picture of me while saying, “You’re Jag Steele’s girlfriend!”

I looked around, shrugged, and grabbed the door to my run-down Honda, the unoiled hinges creaking as I pulled it open.

“You lucky bitch.” She pushed her shades back against her face and trotted toward the store.

Are you serious? Did she really just take a picture of me?

For the entire drive to work I couldn’t get that moment out of my head. I felt like my privacy had just been invaded. Some girl that I didn’t know took the liberty to photograph me pumping gas. It was strange and for some reason made me feel a little dirty.

Unfortunately, the news that Jag was dating some
ordinary
girl had gone viral, which meant that my life had now been completely disrupted—just like he’d promised.

I had no idea that that many people had been snapping pictures the few times Jag and I went out. There must have been fifty different pictures from the day he took me to Chanel floating around the internet.

Even in the dimly lit bar I felt like people were staring at me, talking about me. I’m sure that to them, I was some desperate fan, a charity case, because I knew no one would understand why I was
really
with him.

To anyone else, I’m sure it seemed like I was no different than those girls tossing their underwear up on stage, flashing their fake tits, and screaming that they wanted to suck his dick, but I was.

No one aside from me and Jag could understand that we had a connection, that we liked each other. I liked the Jag that didn’t have eyeliner caked on his face, the guy that lounged on his couch in a pair of worn-in sweatpants and liked watching marathon episodes of
House
on Netflix. I was falling for the Jag no one else knew. I hated that, to everyone else, I seemed like a fan girl whose dream had come true, because that was not what this was at all.

Not.

At.

All.

During my shift, three people decided to
inform
me that I was Jag Steele’s girlfriend. Well, maybe they weren’t informing me necessarily; I’m pretty sure it was a remark made from a state of confusion and confirmation, but it was weird and I didn’t like the attention.

One girl, refusing to believe that a normal person had gotten him, told me three different times that I looked like Jag Steele’s girlfriend. All I did was hand her the drink she’d ordered, never confirming her statement, but throughout the night I caught her staring at me, pointing me out to her group of friends.

“You’re famous, boo,” Tess whispered in my ear while shaking a drink in a stainless steel mixer. She brought the container close to my head, the crushed ice grating against the inside as she leaned in to reiterate her last comment. “Famous. Your vagina has engulfed fame!”

Rolling me eyes, I finished pouring a shot of tequila and stuck a lime on the edge of the glass. “It’s weird.” I pushed the shot out to the guy who’d order it.

He picked it up, a perverted smirk glazing over his face as he whiffed it. “Body shot? I’d love to take one from you. You’re hot,” he slurred before clicking his mouth like he was calling over a dog.

I shook my head, wiping my hands down my jeans. “Nah, that’s okay.”

“Her boyfriend is Jag Steele, and he’ll kick your ass!” Tess shouted, pointing at the guy with the soda gun.

She never knew when to keep her mouth shut. I shook my head, walked to the bar, and leaned against it to watch whatever shit Tess was about to start.

“Jag Steele?” The man garbled his words, then snorted, “Yeah, right.” He gulped back the shot and shoved the discolored lime wedge between his teeth, his face puckering as the sour taste squirted in his mouth.

Tess nodded and placed a hand on her hip. “Oh, yeah. Top-notch cock right there.” Snapping her fingers in a zigzag motion, she said, “You don’t stand a chance, buddy.”

“Well,” the guy craned his neck to the side to look around Tess at me, “he’s a dick. You tell him I said so.”

My lips tightened, and I gave the drunk a thumbs-up.

Tess walked back to me, cracking the bar towel against my hip. “Don’t put up with dumbfucks like that. Girl, you need to own that shit. You should make a shirt saying your Jag’s cum-dumpster or some shit.”

She was so vulgar; I was convinced she had to be hiding a dick somehow, because some of the shit that came out of her mouth was straight-up male.

Laughing, I jerked the towel out of her hand. “No, thanks. I think I’ll just stick with letting the tabloids ruin my reputation. I don’t need to throw in a disgusting t-shirt, it’s already embarrassing enough.”

“You know,” she said, leaning back against the bar and focusing on me, “to be such a recluse, so damn secretive, you really picked a great guy to start fucking. Could you have gone any more
outta
your element? I mean, really… he is everything you hate, you do realize that, don’t you?”

I stared blankly at her; that comment echoed inside my head and random memories from the past few weeks blipped through my mind. Drawing in a breath, I laid the towel down and felt a soft smile shape my lips.

“Yeah. I thought he was. I really thought he was, but he’s not at all like I thought. He’s…” I wanted a word that described him and it took me a second to realize what word was perfect. “He’s broken.” I shrugged and started to the bar to get some more drunks their drinks.

“And you want to fix him, right? You want to fix the broken rock god?”

I shrugged again, because deep down inside, I think I wanted that broken rock god to fix me.

For the next week, my life went on like that. Jag calling once a day, sending me flowers, and people staring at me, strangers snapping pictures. Then paparazzi began to trickle in, waiting outside the bar to get a picture of me. The tabloids were eating this story up, and it was driving me insane. I wasn’t famous, I didn’t want to be, but if I wanted to be with Fame himself, I would have to learn to tolerate the bullshit.

Chapter 18

First class.
I said that for the hundredth time during my flight, and I shook my head as I settled back and fastened my seatbelt to land.

Jag had called Carlos and gotten me out of work…again. He’d bought the tickets and made arrangements before he’d even asked me if I wanted to come because he knew I wouldn’t tell him no. How could any girl? Much less one that was in love with him.

It was nice to be pampered, to be treated like a legitimate princess, to feel like someone really wanted me, needed me; to feel like someone
chose me
when they could have had anyone else in the world
.

As soon as I got off the plane I checked my texts.

Someone from the label is gonna have to get you. Jules is being a bitch and won’t let me leave. I’m sorry. I can’t wait to see you, to kiss you.

I grabbed my luggage from the carousel and made my way through the small airport. At the entrance was a man wearing a Pandemic Sorrow t-shirt
and holding a sign with my name written in glitter. The man didn’t look too thrilled to be holding something so girly.

I dragged my suitcase behind me, the wheels clicking over the grout lines in the tile as I walked toward the man.

“So, Roxy, I guess?” He narrowed one eye on me.

I nodded.

“I have to ask you a security question,” the man said, rolling his eyes.

“Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “Bitches be crazy. What’s your favorite color?”

I started to sweat. Had Jag said grey? Had he said glitter? Fuck!

“Uh, well, it’s not really a color…glitter?”

“All right. You know, it was pretty priceless watching that fucker do arts and crafts to make this sign for you,” he chuckled, and I followed him outside to a black stretch Escalade.

The man took my bag from me and put it in the back. Glancing over his shoulder, he mumbled, “Had he had time he probably would have had someone put glitter all over the damn car for you.”

I couldn’t help but giggle.

*****

As soon as we pulled around to the back of the arena, I saw their tour bus and my insides got all jittery. I smoothed out the Pandemic Sorrow t-shirt I’d worn. Sean had bought it for me when the band first came out, and I’d hoped it would make Jag smile.

I looked out the window and saw Jag standing by the back entrance, hands in pocket, and a shit-eating grin slapped over his face.

I didn’t wait for anyone to get the door, I pushed it open and hopped out, trying to disguise how ridiculously excited I was to see him.

“Seriously, a damn limo? I swear, I could strangle you…” I couldn’t keep that act up longer than five seconds. The moment he took a step toward me, I caved, confessing, “And I missed you.”

Jag grabbed the back of my head, slamming his mouth over mine in a greedy kiss. I loved the way his long fingers felt spreading out in my hair and gripping my head to pull me as close to him as possible. That was more than a kiss. That kiss was desperate and sweet, it was a physical expression that told me he needed me—us.

He pulled away. “I can honestly say I’ve missed the fuck out of you.” His eyes strayed down to my shirt and his lips curled.

Grabbing the sleeve, he tugged at it. “And where the hell did you get this shirt, huh, princess?”

“I thought it would make you horny.”

A smirk took over his smile. “Well, I’d have preferred you butt-ass naked…you didn’t answer me. Where’d you get it?”

I’d held out for a month, making him think I really had never cared for his music. I thought it was time I come clean.

Sighing, I said, “So, maybe I’ve been lying to you. Just a little bit. Maybe I used to be slightly obsessed with you when you first came out. But I swear, I did hate you when I met you. Just to be clear.”

“Oh, trust me. You made that painfully obvious.” He took my bags and we walked into the venue.

As we maneuvered through the corridors, I bitched about people following me and taking pictures of me. He seemed thoroughly amused, almost reveling in the fact that I was getting the smallest taste of how annoying it was to be stripped of any privacy.

The hallway was packed with sound equipment and people running around setting things up. I would have never believed it took this many people to pull together a rock concert. There had to be at least fifty people scurrying around backstage.

This was the first time, with the exception of that horrible meet and greet experience, that I had really seen Jag in his element.

We walked out into the arena. People were buzzing around the stage, and just as we started down the center aisle, a loud whoosh thundered through the air as the banner with their band logo unfurled. I watched in awe as it wavered in the air and men grabbed pulleys to anchor it down.

“Whoa! So all this is for you? How does that make you feel?”

I couldn’t imagine how that must feel when it’s all for you. When it is something you’ve done for yourself.

Jag stared at the stage and a wide grin swallowed his face. “Pretty damn amazing!” That reaction was genuine; it wasn’t cocky or arrogant. It was absolute pride and gratitude.

I took another quick glimpse around. The stadium seated thousands, and I knew the show had been sold out for months.

“Is this seriously real life?” I muttered under my breath, almost unaware that my internal thoughts had materialized into words.

Jag laughed and pinched my side. “Yeah, princess. Real fucking life.” He cupped his hands and yelled at the men on the stage. “Hey! Hey, guys!”

All of them popped their heads up and directed their attention toward Jag.

“Gonna need you guys to find something else to do for about half an hour or something.” He shot a look at me and rolled his lip underneath his teeth.

That was the look of “I’m about to tear into you, fuck myself into your soul just a little more.”

Before I had a chance to protest that I would not screw him in the stadium, a woman had hopped off the stage and was stomping toward us.

“What the hell are you trying to do, Jag? Huh?” The closer she got, the angrier she looked.

That had to be Jules, their assistant manager. Jag had told me plenty about the vulgar, vile things she’d been forced to endure working with them for six years. The woman deserved a badge of honor for sticking it out.

“I just wanna show her around,” Jag groaned, and tossed both hands up in the air like he was surrendering.

“Well, they don’t have to
leave
for you to do that.” Her eyes shot over to me and her entire demeanor changed. She smiled and her tone softened and sweetened. “Nice to meet you, Roxy—right? I don’t know what the hell you’ve done to this jackass,” she shoved Jag and he stumbled back a few steps from the unexpected assault, “but I’d like to thank you for making him somewhat tolerable.”

She balled her fists and dug them into her hips when she turned back to Jag. “I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not stupid,” she growled.

Again, Jag surrendered. “I’m not trying to do anything.”

“Yeah, sure.” She arched a brow and popped her hip out.

Jag pointed at the stage. “Tink, shut the hell up and get those guys outta here. You wouldn’t let me leave to go get her, so just let me have my fucking fun.”

Without thought, I bopped him in the back of the head. “Don’t be an ass to her.”

He rubbed over the back of his head.

“Man, I fucking love her. Exactly what you need, Jag. Exactly!” Jules smiled, then narrowed her eyes at me.

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at Jag. “I’m not fucking you in here! So just go ahead and get that out of your perverted little head.”

There were a few more exchanges between the two, arguing about whether Jag needed alone time or not. In the end, Jules caved.

“Oh, whatever,” she groaned under her breath, shaking her head. Tossing her hands into the air, she turned from us. “Get the fuck outta here,” she roared at the stagehands.

As I watched the workers stumble off the stage and exit the arena, my nerves bunched up. Jag pressed his body up against my back, wrapping his arms around me as he whispered in my ear, “So, princess…” He turned me to face him and kissed me, his tongue sweeping into my mouth and along the inside of my cheek before he trailed his tongue down the side of my neck, blowing over the damp skin and forcing chill bumps to cover me. “You’re not gonna what me in here?”

He possessively grabbed between my thighs. I knew he could feel the heat he was creating there because I felt him smile against my neck as a deep, seductive chuckle swept over my ear.

“Jag,” I pleaded, only half wanting him to stop.

“Hmm.” The noise muffled against my neck as he backed me toward the stage, his lips sucking in the scoop of my neck and his hands mauling me.

“You need to—” I stopped to swallow and catch my breath.

To be honest, the thought of fucking him on that stage was a huge turn-on. I just wanted to seem a little less than desperate to have him. His mouth devoured me. His kiss was enough to knock any sense left out of me.

He growled and pulled away from me, licking his lips as he grabbed my shoulders and looked at me with a carnal hunger. “I haven’t had sex in weeks! And I don’t care what you say, I’m going to have you right here, no protests, no complaints. Got it, princess?”

His mouth dove right back onto my neck. His warm lips and cold stud rubbed over me, then he went for my ear.

“You’re not…” I forgot what I was about to say because he slammed his mouth back over mine with a rough kiss.

Jag pulled my shirt over my bra, pushing the cups down so his mouth could work its way over my bare flesh.

Looking up, he licked over my nipple, then asked, “Not gonna what?” He laughed. “And I think this just needs to go, despite how hot you looked in it.” He tugged my shirt over my head and threw it to the side.

All I could do was watch him. The looks he gave me were temptation in and of themselves. The way he would look up from under his unruly waves, the eyeliner caked around his eyes, the background of thousands of empty stadium seats…

It was too much.

Placing his hands around my waist, he lifted me up and sat me on the edge of the platform. He clamored up the side, taking my hands and pulling me to feet to escort me back to the middle of the stage.

“Jag, what are you doing?”

A smirk fell over his face and he laughed. “Showing my girl a good time.” His fingers crept under the waist of my jeans and he unbuttoned them. He wiggled my jeans down my hips as he arched a brow at me. “Got a problem with that?”

My body no longer belonged to me. It was his.

He pushed my jeans down, stopping as he bent over to pull them from my feet.

“Stop being so hard-up, Rox.”

Freeing my jeans from the heel of my shoe, his hands slowly rubbed over the tops of my feet, my ankles, up my calves and thighs, stopping to pop the strap of my thongs before he yanked them off of me. Jag held them up, dangling them from his index finger before sling-shotting them across the stage.

His eyes dragged up my body and he unhooked my bra, peeling it from me and allowing it to drop to the floor.

“Now, that’s what I’ve been dreaming about for the past two weeks. You. Completely naked on a stage for my absolute enjoyment.”

A slight breeze shot through the arena and my skin tightened.

“You know, you still have every bit of your clothes on?”

“So I do.” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, then spun around and walked to the edge of the stage like he was just going to leave me there.

He loves fucking with me. God, I can’t stand it.

“Hey!”

Jag turned, smiling as he pulled the shirt up, exposing his carved abs and tan skin.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Well,” his fingers fumbled with his fly, “you said you wouldn’t…”

But I did. I fucked him right on that stage, even though people were walking around the corridor surrounding the arena. I didn’t care, I just wanted him.

That was another moment that would change my life, but I had no idea to what extent.

*****

Sitting backstage with the rest of the band, I was pretty much disgusted five minutes in. Rush made Jag seem like a saint. He was sick.

Suck and fuck?! Is that really what he just said? Girls seriously sign waivers to come back here and get fucked by them?
My stomach flipped and turned when the image of some random girl on her knees with Jag pulled into her mouth materialized in my imagination. I sat there, slack-jawed and staring at Jag as a shade of bright red painted his face.

Jules clearing her throat broke me out of my disgusted fog. “Sorry to interrupt this, really I am, but you guys have to get ready to go out. You’ve got about five minutes.”

She looked at me, her eyes softening a touch. “And if it makes you feel any better, this is the first fuck and suck they’ve had on this stint of the tour. Jag had asked me not to do them anymore, and made it very clear he would have no part in it.” Walking toward the door, she muttered, “It floored me, actually.”