10. Mav
TEN
MAV
The powdered white lines are crisp. Tempting.
“Come on, mate,” a guy I vaguely remember but can’t place says, passing me a rolled-up hundred-pound note.
I pause, swaying slightly on my feet. That last round of shots pushed me over the line I swore I wouldn’t cross tonight.
“You’re here!” Flip tosses an arm around my neck, squeezing too damn tight.
Too fucking late; I crossed it.
“I’m here,” I agree, holding out an arm.
“Have some fucking fun,” Flip encourages, lifting his chin to the waiting drugs.
I glance around the party. It’s a sick place, a penthouse in Back Bay that offers a beautiful view of the Charles River. It’s the type of place I dreamed of as a kid. Never thought I’d fucking party in a place like this.
Hell, never thought I’d be worth enough to own a place like this.
The thought makes me laugh, and I move toward the cocaine, bending down and snorting two lines. I sniff, brushing my thumb across the tip of my nose. My eyes water, and I blink quick.
Damn. I grin. “That’s good shit.”
“Pure as fuck,” the British dude agrees.
I nod, pulling my phone out of my back pocket as it buzzes.
Jameson: Yo, you good?
Jameson: Where you at?
Jameson: Derek said he hasn’t been able to get a hold of you either…
I roll my eyes. I hate when my brother acts like my fucking dad. Well, he’s a hell of a lot better than Big Jim but whatever. Before I slip my phone back into my pocket, another message comes through.
Mckenna: I’m sorry.
I pause, tilting my head as if it will help me better understand her message.
She’s sorry for?—
“Mav!” a guy I don’t know calls out.
I lift a hand in greeting, and shake my head to clear my thoughts.
I’m not thinking about my family tonight.
Or Mckenna. Mckenna and her bony shoulders, sad eyes, and secret job.
Nope. Not going there.
Tonight, I’m having fun. I’m doing me. I’m…
“Hey,” I announce to a group of women walking toward me. The effects of the coke are hitting, elevating everything around me. My shitty mood from earlier is gone, and in its place, excitement hums. Fucking euphoria.
“There he is!” Flip points at me.
My smile widens, and I hold my arms out for two of the beautiful women. “Ready to have some fun?”
One of them palms my chest, hooking her fingers around the open collar and tugging lightly. “Been ready, baby.”
I chuckle as the music pulses around us, a lively beat I move in tune with.
Light reflects and scatters as I twirl one of the women, a sexy brunette, around. She’s laughing, her teeth perfectly white, her eyes mysteriously dark.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I whisper in her ear.
She giggles and nips at my chin, eliciting a groan from me.
My hands palm her waist, gripping her tightly as I bring my mouth to hers. I kiss her hard, my hand twisting the ends of her hair as I back us into a corner.
She pulls back, her eyes wide, her chest panting. “But you’re, you’re Maverick Tate.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “And soon, you can say you fucked him, huh?” I taunt, wanting her to know that she’s also getting something out of this exchange. “I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll see fucking stars,” I promise, knowing I’m good for it.
If there’s one thing, besides drumming, I excel at, it’s sex. Maybe that’s why my brother is flipping me so much shit? Jameson’s been pussy-whipped forever. On some level, he must yearn for the carefree, no-strings hookups I revel in.
For a moment, two years ago, I thought he had a shot. He and Amelia were on a break, and he started dating the smart, thoughtful, not to mention gorgeous, model, Marisa Mella. But that crashed and burned and when it did…Amelia re-entered the chat.
Not thinking about that tonight, either.
“Will you make my husband jealous?” she purrs, her nails scraping down my left pec.
I peer at her, trying to sharpen my gaze on her features. She also looks vaguely familiar but…fuck, doesn’t everyone? At some point, faces and features blend together, and I feel like I’ve done this dance, watched this show, and met these people too many times.
The fact that she’s married should be a complication, but as I look around the room again, I don’t see a jealous husband headed our way.
“Is your husband here?” I ask, wanting to be sure.
She shakes her head, biting her bottom lip. “Not tonight.”
“Then he’s a fucking idiot,” I tell her.
She smiles as though I’ve validated her.
Not wanting to talk about her lame marriage anymore, I drop my mouth to hers again, kissing and groping her until Flip passes by.
“Get a fucking room,” he hollers, hitting me on the back.
Shit, he’s right. The last thing I need is pictures of me leaking that I hooked up with some dude’s wife. Stepping back from her, I take her hand and tug her toward the elevators.
“Where are we going?” she giggles.
“Someplace no one will look for us,” I murmur, stepping inside the elevator.
I tap out a message on my phone, relieved when Drew messages back. When we leave the building through the back entrance, the black Escalade I ride around in is parked, the back door already open.
Knowing Drew and Alfred will keep an eye out, I pull the woman—what the hell is her name?—into the back seat and close the door behind us.
As I paw at her dress, working the straps down her thin arms, she grasps my chin and angles my face toward hers. “I’m Angela.”
“Good for you,” I murmur.
I don’t give a shit what her name is. I don’t care about this woman at all. I just want to get inside her and lose myself, quiet my fucking head, and feel something good.
“Give me your mouth and spread your legs,” I demand, roughly shoving her dress up around her hips.
She does what I ask, and I kiss her hard, sucking her bottom lip between my teeth as I yank down my pants and roll on a condom.
She draws in a sharp breath, her eyes widening. “Shit, Mav. You’re huge.”
I smirk, dragging my cock through her slick folds. “Stars, Angela,” I remind her before plunging inside.
She cries out, arching her back, and I suck one of her pert nipples into my mouth. I give her half a second to adjust to my size before I pound into her. My eyes drop closed, and my mind quiets.
Right now, it’s just the sound of our breathing and the feel of her heat gripping me, bringing me closer to the release I crave.
“Oh, fuck, yeah. Mav,” she cries out, dragging one heel up to the back of the driver’s seat and letting me in deeper.
I groan, fisting her hair as I thrust into her.
The angle is awkward. My bare ass is blinding anyone who walks past the windshield. The rocking of the SUV isn’t hiding jack shit. And I don’t fucking care.
Because right now, I’m not confused or twisted up over my reluctant roommate. I’m not wondering about band dynamics and the found family that’s outgrowing me more each year. I’m not troubled about the music, sorting out recording dates, or shaking off the constant, stagnant silence that kills me on a cellular level.
“I’m gonna come, Mav,” Angela announces.
I nod, waiting for her to come down from her orgasm before I move faster, harder, chasing my release.
“Fuck.” I collapse against Angela.
I’m just about to pull out and thank her for the decent lay when a flash goes off.
“What’s going on?” Angela sounds panicked.
I snort, glancing over my shoulder.
Sure enough, my black SUV is surrounded by a handful of paparazzi, their cameras poised, flash bulbs flickering.
“Fuck,” I mutter again, shaking my head when I spot Drew trying to hold off the paps.
Alfred is racing for the front seat.
“You gotta go,” I tell Angela.
“What?” she shrieks, lifting her hand to block out the flashes of light. “You can’t just toss me out there.” She points to the mayhem occurring outside the tinted window.
“Look, I’m sure it’s?—”
“You don’t know who my husband is, do you?” she asks, cutting me off.
I look down at her, about to tell her he can’t be a bigger deal than me, but I pause at the expression on her face.
“Who is he?”