Page 32 of Jagger

I was a mess.

And this time it was far worse than my break-up with Calla. Only Vida and I hadn’t actually called it quits if you really think about it. All she’d said was she needed space, the time-frame undeterminable and non-negotiable.

The outcome didn’t seem promising, though, if you asked me.

She wasn’t responding to my texts.

Continuously screened my calls.

Wouldn’t return my voicemails.

I didn’t know what to do and, honestly, I didn’t know how much more I could take. It’d been almost a month and I was on the verge of turning to old habits again—namely, alcohol.

I know, I know, bad decision, but the drink helped numb young Jag when he needed it, and I really fucking needed it now.

Was it so awful that I just wanted to forget?

Erasing her from my memories was infinitely better than tormenting myself with that why’s and the what if’s.

Don’t worry, the boys didn’t let me anywhere near the bar during my shifts, and Betty snuck me no more than two shots, so it wasn’t exactly the easiest coping method to grab a hold of anyway. Plus, allowing myself to reach that point would only prove I’d hit rock bottom, and I didn’t exactly think picking myself up from that downward spiral would be as easy as it was last time.

Even if Vida had never really been mine, this shit hurt a hell of a lot more than watching the mother of my child walk away.

Why?

Because what I felt for her was more real and magnetic than anything I’d ever felt before. To me, she was mine. When I held her, when I kissed her, touched her, fucked her…she was mine.

Obviously, I was wrong.

That’s why losing Vida hasn’t just fucked me up mentally. I’ve been struggling at work, too, unable to reconnect with the panty-melting stripper the ladies expect to see when they scramble to their seats before a show. My routines are half-assed, VIP is even worse. Betty has also threatened to fire me on one occasion.

But that hasn’t kicked my ass into gear either.

I’m just not feeling it and I couldn’t help but wonder if SIX is next to go down the drain too. It’s taken everything else from me, so why not, right?

After another robotic routine I barely remember, the boys and I congregate in the dressing room before dispersing as usual. They’re all hyped, laughing and fucking around with not a care in the world. Meanwhile, I’m hanging off to the side, sipping my Red Bull in a daze. They’ve grown so accustomed to my new reserved self, none of them bother asking what’s up my ass anymore since I never share.

So when they start out the door to head back into the main room without waiting to see if I’m tagging along, I’m surprised to see Sinclair close the door behind them and drop down on the couch beside me.

Sighing, he leans onto his knees and claps his hands together. “Alright, man—give it up already. What's wrong You've been stomping around here like a ginormous fucking asshole for the last month. I haven’t pressed because I know what it’s like not wanting to share, but if you don’t get it together soon, Betty’s literally going to throw you out on the street.”

"It's Vida,” I all but blurt, pinching the bridge of my nose at how fucking desperate I sound.

“I figured as much, but what happened?”

“A disaster I shoulda seen coming when I opened my big ass mouth.”

He motions for me to continue, so I scrub a hand down my face and take a deep breath.

“The short version? Her ex showed up unannounced after we had dinner, she didn’t seem too pleased to find him standing on the other side of the door, and when it became apparent he had no intention of leaving, I couldn’t stop myself from letting him know she wasn’t alone. I basically pissed all over her in the process and she didn’t quite care for it.”

Sin sucks in a heap of air between his teeth and shakes his head. “I don’t even need to hear the rest. Bad call on your part, that’s for sure, especially when she was just your weekend piece. I’d understand if it were Ca—”

“Vida isn't just a weekend piece,” I growl defensively.

An amused grin spreads across his face as he holds his hands up in surrender. “My bad, man, my bad. Do tell though.”

“There's nothing to tell—she’s just different.”

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