Page 14 of Sing for Me
"Not when I have you, Sticks." I press my first two fingers together. "You and I are like this. You see every bit of pain in my soul."
He rolls his eyes. "Fuck off, asshole."
"You started it."
"AndI'mthe immature one."
"You want to be successful or not?"
"What do you call this?"
Tom huffs. "A start." He runs a hand through his sandy hair. "You've got money. Good for you. Unless you're gonna spread it around, lay off the sanctimonious bullshit. Me, Pete, and Drew have to eat."
Tom hasn't wanted for anything but fame, fans, and adoration in a long, long time.
He's the one being an asshole.
Not that I expect anything else.
I shoot him my sweetest smile. "I'll play up the broken bad boy thing if you skip sex for a month."
He laughs. "You go first."
He doesn't stand a chance. He's already thinking about inviting the makeup girl over. Hard to blame him. She's hot. Red hair. Nice tits. A tight dress that shows off her cute ass.
But the way she's looking at us—Ooooh, another rock star to fill my quota. It's more bullshit.
Sudden fame is supposed to be fun.
Women throwing themselves at my feet is supposed to be fun.
But I didn't get into writing songs for more bullshit.
The hair stylist, a short brunette in an equally tight dress, waves hello. Her pink lips curl into a smile.
Her eyes fix on mine.
They pleadfuck me.
Okay. If she doesn't ask about songs, I'll fuck her.
I nod to Tom. "I'll see you later."
He nods back and goes to talk to the makeup girl.
I smile back at the hair girl.
She comes up to me and motions to the journalist. "He's a little... naive."
That's enough of an invitation. "You want to go back to your place?"
She presses her lips together. "Okay."
I slide my arm around her waist and lead her back to my motorcycle. Then she's getting on behind me and I'm already done with thinking.
***
I get back to our place in the Hollywood Hills a few hours later. Tom isn't back. No doubt he's still with the makeup girl. The man enjoys his one night stands.
