Page 117 of Between Never and Forever
I want to tell her to come back here to my house, but I don’t. Instead, I jerk out a nod and watch her as she watches me. She scans my face.
“I have to go to L.A. tomorrow.” I raise a brow in question, and she huffs out a small laugh. “There’s an awards show. The band’s nominated, and we’re playing.”
I fold my arms across my chest.
“L.A. with Torren King?” I try to keep my voice neutral, but I fail. I can’t say his name without every syllable dripping with disgust. Savannah rolls her eyes.
“Yes, Levi, with Torren. Torren is in my band so he will also be there.”
I stare at her, and she stares back, her brows slanted harshly over the challenge in her eyes. Torren King. Her bassist, her ex-lover, her supposed fiancé. He’s been with her every day for the last eight years. He might know her better than I ever did now.
That thought, more than any of the others, makes me murderous.
I drop my gaze down her body, taking in every inch of exposed skin in the dim, dark night. The rain still pounds around us, and I can feel her security guard’s presence looming off to the side, but I don’t take my attention off Savannah as I close the distance between us once more.
I lock my eyes with hers, gripping her chin between my thumb and forefinger and tipping her face up to meet mine. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bat me away. Her nostrils flare on an inhale, but her eyes stay on mine.
Slowly, with my other hand, I cup her pussy. I raise a brow in question, and she tilts her pelvis toward me in invitation. I slip my fingers into the side of her bottoms and swipe them through her pussy, coating my fingers in the cum that I coaxed from her moments earlier. Then, I bring them up and smear her arousal over her lips, pushing into her mouth and making her suck for good measure. I bend down and press my lips to the shell of her ear.
“When you’re with him, remember how hard I made you come tonight. If he dares to try and kiss you, remember that this taste was my doing.”
I drop my hands from her, take a step back, then leave her panting and speechless under my deck.
28
I’m mauledby paparazzi the moment I exit the airport.
What should take ten seconds to walk from the automatic doors to my waiting car takes almost two minutes because Red and two more security guys have to pull me through the unruly swarm of camera wielding leeches.
Apparently, they’ve been starved for me this last month. Sav Loveless’s return to L.A. is big news, especially since I was photographed in North Carolina last week out in public without my emerald. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was flipping off the lone reporter who asked me why I wasn’t wearing said emerald and suggested I was cheating on my “fiancé” with Paul Northwood. Mistake number three was ignoring Ham’s calls so I couldn’t properly ream his ass when he decided to schedule a surprise show to kick off the Music Choice Awards this weekend.
You’re messing with the label’s narrative, Savannah,he’d said, scolding me like I was a child.To make up for it, you need to make an appearance with the band. If you don’t, your replacement will. And wear the fucking ring.
Once Red shoves me in the car and shuts the door, I roll my window down and flip everyone off with my left hand.
“Can’t you just behave?” Red asks from the front seat, and I shrug, rolling the window back up and throwing myself against the soft seat cushion. I hear the click of the child window lock and snort.Too late, old man.
“Ham said make sure they see the ring. I just gave them a great photo op.”
“They stalk you because of all those photo ops you so freely give them.”
I meet his eyes in the rearview and smile sweetly. “You mean it’s not my pretty face?”
He’s unamused, and he stresses that when he turns on a country music station and cranks it. Asshole. I’m definitely body checking him at the next opportunity.
The drive to my house also takes longer than usual. Or maybe it just feels like it because I’ve been conditioned to small town North Carolina and its lack of traffic. Hammond tried to demand that I go straight to the studio and meet with him, but I told him hell no and then hung up on him. No way I’m meeting with anyone until I’ve showered the plane off me. I need a hot shower, a fresh change of clothes, and a fifteen-minute nap in my own bed before I can be expected to be even halfway civil with Hammond right now.
I’m so keyed up. So nervous and anxious and fucking pissed at always being told what to do. What I want is a drink. Or something stronger. Thank god I had Red hire someone to sweep my house for drugs and booze before we got here. Part of me doesn’t trust myself not to take something if it were right in front of me.
But then wouldn’t that just be letting them dictate my life for me? Wouldn’t that still be letting others decide my fate? The label would probably love if I started using again. I’m more pliable that way. Who cares if my insides are rotting so long as they get their last two tours and albums.
Fuck.
If I’m going to succeed with this sobriety thing, it will be because I’m stubborn more than anything else. Do I want to be healthy? Yes. Do I want to live? Yes. Do I want to avoid becoming a member of the 27 Club? Yes.
But do I want to say fuck you to my label more? Hell yes.
What does that say about me?
