Page 80 of Whirlwind

Jude hadn’t been stopping by either. He was busy these days, seeing a new girl, a painter he met an art gallery party. He wanted to set me up with her best friend.

No thanks. No women. No way. Nope.

“You fucking asshole!” A voice I knew, a loud booming voice, drilled into me like a jackhammer. My heat shot up. Myles. “I cannot believe you did this!”

“Myles, what are you talking about? What’s going on?”

“Are you kidding me?” He shoved his phone in my face. A photo on Instagram of his girlfriend Lisa, naked in bed except for the sheet she held around her chest and between her legs.

“What the hell is this?”

“Seriously? Look at the left of the pic. Recognize anything? Read the fucking post.”

My grip on his phone tightened. “Those are my boots. The boots that went missing our last night in Denver.” In Lisa’s photo, my missing brown leather boots were on the floor next to the bed, one standing, the other kicked over.

That bedroom— it was the bedroom in the loft I’d rented in Nashville, the bed I’d shared with Violet. But now it was Lisa in the bed, looking freshly fucked, her short black hair a mess, lips parted, the curve of her ample breasts visible on the side by the sheet she held against her obviously naked body.

“She’s got my boots! How the hell—”

“That’s all you have to fucking say?”

“Dude, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what, Lanier? Screw my girlfriend? Can’t even say it can you? Can’t admit it!”

“I’ve never touched her, Myles. Ever.”

“How do you explain this then?”

“I don’t know, I can’t.”

“How do you not know? Those are your fucking boots! You waited ’til after the tour and you—”

“She’s fucking nuts!”

He grabbed me, hoisting me in the air. My legs hit the hard table, and the table boomed to the floor, glass crashed, dishes broke, the smells of soy sauce and ginger filling the air. Gasps, shouts. Myles, eyes wild, nostrils flaring, spewed curses and threats. His hands fisted in my shirt, fabric ripping as he shook me.

“You felt sorry for yourself and you went for it!”

“No. No, Myles! I didn’t! I was with someone else that weekend!”

“Bullshit. That’s not what Lisa says.”

My breath choked in my throat, my lungs constricted. “Stop!”

He let go of me and the floor rose up and smashed into my side. My body skidded on the wet floor, a puddle of sake by my face. “You deserve each other, you piece of shit!”

I didn’t know what I fucking deserved anymore. Which end was up, which was down, left, right. My aching body sagged against the cold hard tile. My eyes shuttered.

32

@JustJenna

More juicy twistsfor beleaguered guitarist Beck Lanier of top rock band, Freefall.

Speculation has risen that Beck was holed up in a loft in Nashville this past week with a new woman—none other than Lisa Vanders, up and coming model, and—OH NO—girlfriend of his own bandmate, Freefall’s lead singer, Myles Creighton!

The news exploded earlier today when Vanders posted this insanely hot pic of herself on her Instagram leaving nothing to the imagination, bare legs tucked underneath her, her hair a happy mess, perched on the edge of a very messy bed like she’d just woken up.

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