“Fine. Truth or dare, but you can’t ask the same question.”
A very satisfied smile comes over his face as he moves closer.
I’m nervous again. My heart is racing. He’s staring at me, the smudged eyeliner, scruffy beard, and tattoos making him look like a rocker demon about to possess my soul. I feel like letting him do it too, which is the scariest part of this scenario.
“Truth or dare, little girl,” he asks in a low growl.
“Truth,” I whisper, afraid if I say dare he’ll make me touch him again, and I know if I do that there will be no going back.
He closes the space between us and stops just in front of me. “Okay … tell the truth … if I were to get down on my knees right here in front of you, and put my tongue between your legs and lick your clit until you come screaming, would you stop me? Or would you let me do it?”
I nearly faint at his words. My jaw drops open. I stare at him and in that moment, I know he’s dead serious. He will do this to me if I just don’t say no.
I practically come in my underwear just looking at him. Two licks. That’s all it will take. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.
My mouth moves around in imitation of speaking, but again, words escape me.
He reaches up and puts his hand over my breast, squeezing it and pinching the nipple through my dress. He’s so bold and so uncouth, and I wouldn’t change that about him for all the money in the world.
I moan. “Tarin … this is so unfair…”
Voices come from the hallway. A split second after I move away from Tarin, the door bursts open and Scott walks in. It’s like a cold shower, but with people watching me take it. Horrible doesn’t begin to describe how it feels.
“Yo, yo, yo! Don’t all you rock-n-roll fans rush me at once. I don’t want you mess up my new threads.”
I turn around, my face frozen in shock and horror at what might have just happened.
“What?” Scott looks at me, his expression going from pleased to confused. He looks down at himself. “You don’t like it do you? Dammit, I knew it was too much. Why didn’t you say anything before I got up on stage?”
I shake my head, unable to respond.
“Dude, it’s good. You’re all good.” Tarin walks past me like we weren’t about to lick each other from head to toe in the middle of his family room and shakes Scott’s hand. “Congrats, man. You got skills. If you want, we can hit the studio tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure, that’d be awesome.” Scott’s back to being thrilled with himself and I’m working on recovering from sexual shock. I walk slowly around to the couch and pick up my shoes that are next to the coffee table.
“I’m going to bed,” I say, my voice not my own. I shove my bra under the couch with my foot. I’ll get it later.
“But I just got here,” whines Scott. “Don’t you want to celebrate my awesome self?”
I kiss him on the cheek as I walk by. “Tomorrow. When I’m not as exhausted. You are awesome, though. I am your biggest fan of all time.”
“Jack wants you to call him,” Scott says as I walk out the door.
I’m able to remain silent until I pass through the door. Then I scream at the top of my lungs when I get out into the hallway, no longer able to manage the pressure. The frustration echoes around my head, banging into my skull and making me wish I’d just held it all in. Holy headache.
“What’s her problem?” asks Scott.
“She’s just frustrated. She has to give me an ass massage tomorrow.”
I shut the door to the family room behind me to keep from hearing anymore of Tarin’s nonsense. There is no way in hell I’m touching his ass, even though I now know it’s not really as hairy as he made it out to be.
I trudge up the stairs and go into my bathroom. The shower removes every last trace of Tarin off my body, but it can’t erase the feelings that still plague my system and the memories of his face and body that are burned into my brain.
Still wearing a damp bathrobe, I collapse into bed and fall into a restless sleep. I dream all night of Austin, a ghost standing just out of my reach. He just floats there and stares at me, saying nothing. I beg him for his forgiveness, but it doesn’t come for me. The only thing I can feel is pain, and the worst part is that I don’t know if it’s his or mine.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I’M AWAKENED BY SOMEONE TAPPING on my door. I slide off the bed, knowing before my feet even hit the floor that today is going to be a major chore. I have a headache, either from the terrible cocktails or the self-loathing that has taken me over, and my tongue tastes like I’ve been licking cat butts all night. The clock says it’s seven o’clock in the morning.
I crack the door open, fully expecting to see Scott there. My heart drops to the floor when I realize it’s not him.
“Time to work out, sunshine. Why aren’t you dressed yet?” Tarin’s looking me in the eye like nothing happened last night. He’s freshly shaved and showered, the bastard.
I put my hand over my mouth so my breath doesn’t leak out into the hallway. “I overslept. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“Are you sick?”
“No. Just a little hungover.”
“Mmm…” He nods his head. “I hear great sex’ll do that to ya.”
“Shut up.” I close the door in his face. He walks away laughing, and I rest my head against the wood frame, a long sigh breezing out of my lungs. I am so going to wish last night never happened.
I slog through the tasks of showering and dressing for our morning workout. I put on my navy blue running shorts, a white jog bra, a hot pink tank top, and light green running shoes. It looks like a toy store vomited on me, but I don’t care enough to try and match anything; I’m too hungover with regret.
Everyone is down in the foyer waiting for me thirty minutes after my wake-up call, dressed in workout gear that’s way less obnoxious than mine. Except for Scott of course. His shoes amp my headache up another couple notches with their horrible orange fluorescence. He has a collection of truly awful footwear, but today he’s outdone himself.
Scott smiles up at me. “Ready for a run?”
I shake my head, trying not to smile back. “You’re enjoying this torture way too much.” I hold up my hand to block the view of his feet. “Could you please turn off your shoes? They’re giving me a migraine.”
“That’s just the booze talking,” he says, stepping outside ahead of me.
As I walk through the front door, Ricky says, “Tarin made you one of those nasty bubble gum drinks, didn’t he?”
“Two of them actually,” I said.
“Damn, that ain’t right,” he says to Tarin. “Taking advantage of the boss like that.”
“Hey, I didn’t force her.” Tarin’s pretending to be all put-out when I know very well he’s totally proud of himself. He’s a giant, walking penis throbbing with testosterone right now. “She did everything she did last night without any encouragement from me.”
I snort loudly but say nothing as we jog down the driveway en masse. My heart-rate is already elevated now, thanks to Tarin, and I haven’t even left the property. Damn him and his casual sexy grins and attitude. I hate that this mean-boy gone nice is affecting me like this.
We get to the sidewalk and Zach is in the lead followed by Tarin. Scott and I are last, jogging side-by-side. Leonard must have stayed at the house because I haven’t seen him at all this morning. I’m glad Tarin’s in front of me and not behind me watching my butt, or next to me making me all hot and bothered. It’s bad enough I have to watch his back, ass, and legs and know that I was under him on his couch just a few short hours ago. The memories make me blush.
Guilty. So, so guilty.
“So, d’ya like the show last night?” asks Scott. He’s playing it casual, but I know my answer’s important to him.
“You were awesome. I’m sorry I took off, I just couldn’t listen to that last song.” The memory of the lyrics tries to bust into my conscious mind, but I beat
it back.
“I know. Sorry about that. I tried to tell Jack not to do it but he wouldn’t listen.”
“I wish he wouldn’t push me into a corner like that.” I’m getting stressed just thinking about it. He should have known better.
“I told him you don’t react well to pressure, but he’s doing his own thing. He said …” Scott cuts off in the middle of his sentence, and all I hear now is the pounding of our feet on the sidewalk.
Row hedges and trees go by in a blur as we eat up the pavement with our group stride. Sweat is running down my back and my heavy breathing belies the pain I’m in running hungover like I am, but this conversation is not over.
Scott continues. “Anyway, I’m happy with how it went. We’re going to do another one in a couple weeks.”
“What did Jack say?” I ask. Maybe I don’t want to know the answer, but I’m not thrilled with the idea of him and Scott talking about me behind my back.
“I think I’d like to plead the fifth on this one.” Scott tries to speed up, but I grab his shirt and pull him back.
“Not happening, but nice try. Tell me or else.”
“Or else what? You’ll make me run before nine in the morning in the eighty-five degree heat? Oh … wait … already suffering that torture. Try again.”
I lower my voice so Tarin won’t hear me. “Just shut up and tell me or you’re going to be giving His Highness an ass massage after this run.”
“Was he serious about that slave stuff?” Scott asks, sounding way too happy about it.
I punch him in the arm. “Seriously … shut up and tell me.”
“Fine. But don’t shit on the messenger, okay? I was just there listening. I didn’t contribute to the madness.”
“Still waiting…”
“He said he thinks that he needs to do you a solid. Help you like you helped him.”
I frown, confused. “What?”
“I know, right? The guy’s wishin’ and fishin’. That’s what I told him, but he’s convinced.”
“Convinced of what?”
“That you need him. That you need help.”
My brain tries to put that together. “That makes no sense at all.”
“According to him it does. And since he’s helping me write some great stuff, I didn’t argue too hard. But I swear, I did try to get him not to play that song.” He runs for a few more pavement squares before he finishes. “You know, though, if you remove the part where he’s throwing his heart out there on the street for you to run over with your car, the song’s good. I mean, the melody’s solid, the lyrics are rip-your-heart-out amazing, and the crowd loved it. It was a five-panty hit. I swear, a pair of red lace ones landed right on my face after the first chorus, like it was shot from a panty cannon or something. They smelled good too, like bubble gum. Weird right? Who puts bubble gum in their underwear? Anyway, he’s going to release it as a single.”
I feel like I’ve been bashed in the chest with a baseball bat, the way my heart is caving in on itself. “Like hell he is,” I growl, taking a sharp right turn out into the road. I yell over my shoulder as the group of guys slows down, each of them looking over their shoulders at me in confusion. “Go ahead! I’ll meet you back at the house, keep going without me!”
Scott takes off first, running on his toes. The little wanker is more than happy not to get in the middle of the shit storm he just conjured up for me. Tarin is the last to continue on, but he does it, turning around to jog backwards. He lifts his hands up, as if to ask what the hell I’m doing. I just wave him off and continue back towards the house.
I need to find my cell and call Jack right away before he goes too far down that road. No frigging way do I want to see that song about my life and my issues going public. Anyone who knows him and what we went through will realize the song’s about me and my personal business. Word will spread and then the whole world will know. He needs to be perfectly clear about what it will mean to me before he makes that decision. I pray our friendship is more valuable to him than the money.
Chapter Thirty
I ROUND THE LAST BEND on the trip back and see Tarin’s driveway ahead of me. There’s a gate that connects the high fence circling the property. It should be locked up tight, but for some reason it’s open. I could swear I remember hearing it swing slowly closed as we were leaving, but maybe I’m just thinking about another time that happened or another gate from my past. There have been so many.
I slow down to a jog and go through, stopping only to press in a code on the keypad that will shut the gate behind me. Once I’m sure it’s closed all the way and not opening back up, I run up the driveway to the front of the house and go to the front door. I try the front handle, even though I’m almost positive it will be locked. It swings open easily.
Frowning in confusion, I hesitate before going inside. That’s weird. Why didn’t Ricky or Zach lock it up behind us? This door has a keypad too, but when I glance over at it, the light is green. No alarm is set and everything looks normal. The door and keypad should only be like this when one of us inside. What the hell?
I walk into the foyer. “Leonard? Are you in here?” I had assumed he was in his place behind the main house, but I guess not. He must be inside, maybe having breakfast.
No one answers my call.
I walk swiftly to the kitchen but find it empty. There are half-filled coffee cups on the counter, but no Leonard.
I turn towards the hallway again, yelling, “Marta?!” The housekeeper who’s here most afternoons might have come early. I hope it’s her and not just us being really careless and leaving things open like this.
Still no answer.
Walking out into the foyer again, I hear a noise upstairs.
The hairs on my neck stand up. Leonard has no reason to be upstairs when we’re not home, and Marta always starts in the kitchen. Josh told me yesterday that it’s some weird superstition she has about always cleaning the house in the same order: first kitchen, then bathrooms, laundry, and bedrooms, and everything else last. Coffee cups on the counter means she isn’t here yet.
I take the stairs two at a time, first stopping in my room to get my phone. It’s sitting on the bedside table where I left it. I open it up and just for the hell of it and press in the numbers 9-1-1. I don’t hit the dial button, but I’m prepared to if necessary.
Leaving my room, I take a left, going in the direction I know Tarin’s room to be. If someone has broken in, it’s either a thief or a nutty fan, and that’s where they’ll be. Guest rooms are for amateurs.
I walk down the carpeted hallway quietly, my thumb hovering over the green button on my cell. The door to Tarin’s room is slightly ajar and there are muffled noises coming from inside.
My heart is beating like mad. I want to call the cops and run, but if it’s not an intruder and I call in the troops, there will be all kinds of crap press to deal with, and I don’t want that kind of attention on Tarin right now; things are going too well. All we need to do is alert the crazies that his house is easy to get into, and we’ll be up to our assholes in the need for massive security. A fence, gate, locks and alarms along with a couple of bodyguards should be enough in theory. Unfortunately, nutbags don’t need much to construe an invitation; it’s almost as if one person gets in they feel like they’re all welcome to visit.
I push open the door. It swings in slowly, just a whisper coming from the soft carpet being brushed by the wood.
There’s a tall girl in shorts, a t-shirt, and white cheer sneakers standing in front of Tarin’s dresser and one of the drawers is open.
“Posey?” I say, my eyes practically bugging out of my head.
She whips around, one of Tarin’s t-shirts in her hands as she holds it up to her chest.
She screams in surprise for a few seconds and then stops to yell at me. “What are you doing here?” She actually has the nerve to sound annoyed with me.
My heart is pounding almost painfully in my chest. This girl’s just gone from crazed
fan to criminal stalker in my mind, and I’m alone with her. Holy bad luck. “The better question is what the fuck are you doing here?” I look at my phone and press the green button. Fucking lunatic. Way to blow everything I’ve been working on. I quickly add up the cost and hassle of all the extra security we’re going to need to bring in.
“Who are you calling?” she demands to know, flinging her arms down to her sides. The t-shirt dangles near her knee. “Are you calling Tarin? Because good. I hope you are. I need to talk to him.”
“No, Posey, I’m not calling Tarin. I’m call the police.”
I’m completely unprepared for her reaction. She bum-rushes me and rams into my torso like I’m some kind of football tackle dummy. Her boney shoulder hits me full in the chest, taking me down in a big way. Tarin’s t-shirt goes up to cover my face as I’m slammed into the open door behind me. I hit it hard enough to lose my breath and fall to the floor gasping for air.
Posey's still on her feet, and her pointy shoes dig into my face and ribs as she kicks me over and over. “You bitch! You horrible ugly, sweaty bitch! You’re ruining everything! You don’t belong here! You don’t belong anywhere!”
I curl into a fetal position to protect my soft parts, still not able to catch enough of my breath to fight back. I hate that I’m so vulnerable to this bimbot’s attack, but until my lungs cooperate, I’m a sitting duck. Or a lying down one. The pain is relentless.
Posey's voice has entered a new, higher octave. “I hate you! I hate you! You’re nobody to Tarin, nobody! No one loves him like I do, do you hear me? Do you hear me?”
I’m finally able to pull the shirt off my face, and I catch a glimpse of her red-mottled face before her sneaker catches me in the chin.
I reach out and grab the closest thing I can find as bright specks of light swim before my eyes. A baby song trickles into my head … Twinkle, twinkle little star…