Page 36 of Enticing the Enforcer
She holds up the phone again, and there’s a grainy image of me and Jefferson on the dance floor. If only they knew what he was saying to me. “The media thinks it’s a big deal.”
“Me, dancing with a guy at a party, is a big deal? What? Can I not be seen with any men and it just be a casual thing?” I snap back, though the edge in my voice comes more from exhaustion than actual anger. After Jefferson gave me the most epic orgasm of my life, we went back into the victory party like nothing had happened, celebrated for a few more hours, and then went our separate ways.
I haven’t heard from him, which is fine. Normal, right?
Please. I have no idea what ‘normal’ looks like.
“It’s not that you can’t,” Madison says gently. “But you’ve cultivated a specific persona. When you’re seen with a man, the fans and the media speculate. You know they’re invested in your love life.”
Invested.These people have no clue what’s going on in my life. Most of them would be ecstatic for me to get back with Jake. That’s because they have no idea how awful he was to me. Buthave I told anyone? No. I keep my mouth shut and let my music do the talking.
“Fine. Then let’s put out a statement, tell everyone he’s a friend of a friend. Appease the fans. Done.”
“And what is really going on? You’ll start seeing him on the sly? Sneaking around again?” That question hits like a punch and she knows it. She shakes her head, patient but firm. “This guy isn’t from your world. He doesn’t get your life and what you go through.“
“And you think the guys I’ve dated before–the musicians, the trust fund babies, the artists–got me?” My laugh is sharp, bitter. God, my dating history is littered with the worst, most entitled, immature men. “Jake didn’t get me. He destroyed me. And we both know it.”
Madison’s face softens. “I’m just saying, focus on your work. If this thing is meant to be, it’ll happen. But your schedule is insane right now. Don’t let some hot guy with muscles distract you.”
I hesitate, then smile despite myself. “He is hot, right?” I can’t help it–the memory of his big hands feels branded across my skin.
“Super hot,” Madison admits.
“Blazing,” Steven chimes in. No surprise. He has a thing for blonds.
“Look, Ing,” Madison says, “I get the attraction. Just, please, don’t let another guy pull you away from your goals.”
The thing about break-ups, particularly the one with Jake, is that it lit a fire under me creatively. I wrote two dozen songs, put out the best-selling album of my life, and this tour has been one sold-out night after the other. Breakups are good for me, financially. Falling in love? Well, that's less of a positive track record.
Whatever statement Madison and the PR team cobble together doesn’t matter. By the time we roll into the next concert, the fans have already woven little pieces of Jefferson into their costumes and signs. The number 23 surrounded by Flock Wings has been painted onto posters. Gold and black badger mascots wave from the pit. And the wild part? They don’t seem angry. They seem… happy for me.
The vibration in the arena is higher than ever, or maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s the texts I exchanged with Jefferson right before walking out on stage.
Jparks23:Figure it out yet?
I’d smiled so big that Roxy, my makeup artist, had to touch up my lipstick. I don’t care, the game is back on.
IngFlock:What about “Mellow”?
Jparks23:Good one, but nope. You’re bad at this game. You should quit.
IngFlock:Never. I’ll crack the code.
Jparks23:Good luck tonight.
IngFlock:What are you doing tonight?
Jparks23:Playing video games, eating some of Nadia’s Kolaches, and replaying how sexy your face looked last night when you fell apart on my fingers.
The words still hum through me as I step under the stage lights, the crowd’s roar crashing over me like a wave. Jefferson has a dirty mouth. He’s bold and not afraid to say what he’s thinking.
It’s different, and for a woman who cycles through the same days and nights, the same heartache and pain, it’s enticing, enthralling. It should have just been a one-off, but sitting here texting with him? I think I may want more.
“What the hell was that?”I barely hear Madison as she accosts me the second I’m off stage. The fans are losing it in the arena, their screams and shouts bouncing off the rafters. Me? I’m not finished yet. This is the part of the show no one sees. I’m immediately surrounded by people. Costumers, makeup, hair, and physical therapists. I’m sweaty, vocally spent, and about to crash. I’m handed a smoothie filled with enough calories, vitamins, and electrolytes to keep me from passing out after a three-hour-long workout.
Glancing over at my friend, I know that Madison’s question isn’t an admonishment. No way. I know what happened on that stage. It may have been the best show of my life.
“That was epic. Fucking incredible.”
