Page 17 of Crimson Desires

I sighed. I wasn’t going to get through to her today. One breakfast couldn’t fix everything. Even if that breakfast had the best bagels in New York.

“Okay. I understand,” I relented.

“And we’re not friends, either. I still don’t like you. Just so we’re clear.”

I couldn’t help it. I wanted to be patient, but frustration forced the words out. “Do you take pride in being a bitch?”

Aster clenched her jaw. She glared at me defiantly. “Yes. I do.”

After I paid Sue for the meal, Aster and I headed back out to the car. The walk to Dave’s Civic was no more than two yards. Yet, somehow, we still managed to get harassed on the way there.

“Hey! It’s Jack-off Maverick!” A few yards down the sidewalk, a balding guy jeered at us. He pulled out his phone and began recording. “Glad to see your balls dropped, buddy!”

I grumbled obscenities under my breath. I kept my head down.

As a teen pop sensation with a fanbase of mostly tween girls, I did not have a reputation for being especially masculine. In fact, I’d probably been called gay more times than any actual homosexual man.

Wicked Crimson had changed that a little—but public perception could be ridiculously stubborn. And to some people, I would always be Jack-off Maverick.

“Hey, come on, Jack-off! Look at me!” the heckler taunted. “I heard you’re playing a show tonight! What are you going to sing?”

Unsatisfied with my lack of reaction, the heckler began to mockingly belt out one of my old pop hits. Except he replaced the lyrics to be offensively homophobic. I reached for the car door. Aster stopped me from getting in.

She was bristling. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“It’s not worth it. I need to be on my best behavior during this tour,” I said.

Aster scoffed. “Well, I don’t.” She turned to the heckler. “Hey, asshole! How about you do everyone a favor and shut your fucking mouth?”

“Who the fuck are you, his mom?” the heckler asked. “I’ll do what I want. Everyone knows that Jack-off Maverick is a talentless soy-boy who gets other people to write his songs for him anyways.”

A sharp, humorless laugh left Aster. “Wow, you are so funny. Anyways, I see what’s happening here. Your masculinity is being threatened by the fact that Jack, as a teenager, was pulling more women than you will in your entire pathetic life. It’s really sad how you think insulting him does anything. At the end of the day, he’s still rich and you’re still a sad little bully. And by the way, that comb-over makes you look like a serial killer. Do us all a favor and just shave your head.”

The heckler was stunned into silence. He tried to stutter out a comeback, but Aster and I had already gotten into the car.

“What an ass,” Aster huffed.

“So much for not liking me, huh?” I said. A smile teased my lips.

I’d never been defended like that by a woman before. And seeing Aster go off on that guy was honestly one of the hottest things I’d ever witnessed.

“I don’t like you,” Aster reaffirmed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let people treat you like shit. Sorry if I was out of line or whatever. I just... I can’t let myself stand by when people are being assholes.”

“Either way, that was badass. Seriously. Thank you,” I said.

A blush crossed Aster’s face—so faint, I almost missed it. She turned away toward the window and pretended to cough into her elbow.

“Sure, Jack. Anytime.”

***

Standing in the wings of the Madison Square Garden stage, I took a deep breath.

Our opener, a small-time rock band, was finishing their final song. Which meant that in less than ten minutes, we’d be replacing them on the stage.

Usually, performing didn’t scare me. Ever since I’d been born, I’d loved being in the spotlight. I was a natural entertainer—which was one of the reasons that my father had pushed so hard to make my pop career a success.

Before I’d hit adulthood, I’d sung to sold-out stadiums in countries all around the world. I’d performed in every prestigious venue in North America—from Red Rocks to the Hollywood Bowl.

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