Page 77 of A Little Broken

Son of a bitch.

22

PAXTON

Icouldn’t sleep last night. Too stubborn to jerk off and give Tate the satisfaction of wanting her, while also being too amped up after our encounter to get any actual rest. After she left, I texted Roman, asking for him to do some sleuthing and figure out where Tatum lives. He sent me her address within five minutes, offering to pick me up and take me there.

I shower slowly, letting the cold water run down my body as I search for some fucking self-control. After drying off, I dress in some workout clothes, grab a banana from the kitchen, and head outside in time to see Roman pulling into the driveway.

As I open the passenger door, Roman greets me. “Hey, man.”

“Hey.” I climb inside and shut the door behind me.

“How’d it go?” he asks.

It’s a good question. One I’ve asked myself a hundred times since the tail lights of my car shrunk in the distance as she drove it home. I thought I had the upper hand, but she proved me wrong. Fuck, did she prove me wrong. I still can’t figure it out. How she does this to me. Why she affects me. Why I can’t stop thinking about her, even when she rejects me over and over again before giving me a taste. A fucking morsel of interest. Iknow she wants me. I know she’s as curious about me as I am her. So why does she keep pushing me away?

“No answer, huh?” Roman prods.

I give him the side-eye, debating how much I should say or if it’s smarter to keep shit close to the chest. Then again, it’s not like it would hurt. Getting some advice or something. Fuck, I don’t even know what I need anymore.

“She’s a pain in the ass,” I mutter.

“A hot pain in the ass.” He whistles. “Fuck, man. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to keep my hands to myself last night?”

Jealousy sparks like a hot ember, but I ignore it, buckling my seatbelt. “Start driving,” I order.

“All right.” He lifts his hand in defense, then grips the steering wheel and turns down my driveway. “I can see why you feel like she’s worth the effort, though.”

My lips press into a thin line. “Glad one of us can.”

With a laugh, he pulls onto the main road, flipping the bird to a paparazzi parked out front as we zoom past them. “Dude, I don’t know how you put up with that shit.”

“Comes with the territory of being a rockstar,” I remind him.

He gives me an unconvinced look. “At least tell me the payout’s worth it.”

Staring out at the side mirror, I scratch my jaw as the paparazzi’s car fades behind us. Even without the rights to any of IndieCent Vows songs, I’ve made more money playing the guitar than I could’ve dreamed of making when I was living in The Drift. And yeah, there are definite drawbacks to the fame, but overall? I’m a lucky bastard, and I won’t deny it. “Yeah, man. The payout’s worth it. Although, from what I hear, you’ve figured out a way to handle the best of both worlds.”

His mouth lifts. “Guess you could say that.”

Then, he pushes the pedal to the metal, and we fly down the road toward Tatum’s.

My head swingsto the side, and I spit blood onto the mat, ignoring the ringing in my ears. After Roman dropped me off at my car, I followed him to Jagger’s for our sparring match.

Fuck, it feels good. The surge of adrenaline I’ve been craving since stepping off the stage a few months ago hits like a drug, taking the edge off the throbbing of my mouth after Jagger’s one-two jab. To be fair, it isn’t entirely my fault. Yeah, I’m a little rusty, but Jagger’s a beast. He’s fast, agile, and when he connects, he hits like a Mack truck.

“I told you to go easy on him,” Roman calls from the edge of the mat. He dragged in a few folding chairs for him and Jagger’s brothers, like watching me have my ass handed to me warranted front-row seats.

“If he wants in, he’s gotta be able to take a hit,” Jagger counters. “Just because he’s a rockstar doesn’t give him a free ride.”

Free ride, my ass. I haven’t gotten a free ride for anything in my life.

I take a swing, connecting with Jagger’s jaw, knocking him off guard, but only for a second. Lifting his arms, he protects himself from my second blow, laughing when my fist meets the back of his forearms. “Not bad, Pax.”

Chest heaving, I pause my jabs and stare at him, waiting to see if he’s still on the attack.

Slowly, he lowers his hands and cocks his head, assessing me. “How come I don’t remember you?”

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