7. Jonah
7
JONAH
No one person should be this loud in the morning.
Claire’s alarm sounded at five thirty.
Five fucking thirty.
Then, it was followed up with noise . So much noise. Doors slamming. Suitcases banging. Terrible music at max volume. She’s got to be doing it on purpose.
I groan and bury my face in my pillow, but I swear her music gets louder. Jesus Christ, I can’t deal with this for the whole tour. I’ll murder her.
“Can you please shut up? Some of us need to sleep off the jet lag.”
“Oh, good. You’re awake.”
I turn my head toward the voice and find her standing next to my bed in a pair of bike shorts and a sports bra. The sports bra perks me up, but then she pulls the pillow out from under my head and tosses it on the floor. Fuck her great tits. She’s annoying as hell.
“Get up. We’ve got work to do.”
“Go. Away. Aren’t you tired?”
“Jet lag is a state of mind.” Her voice grows distant as she walks away. “And anyway, shouldn’t you be used to it by now? You’re always jetting about the globe.”
I pull the duvet over my head and try to ignore her, but she returns with the scent of coffee accompanying her. I hear her set the coffee mug on the counter, and it softens my mood a little. She brought me coffee. That’s kind.
Then she tugs the duvet off my head, and I hate her again.
“You’re annoying. Leave me alone.”
“And you’re acting like a surly, immature teenager.” She huffs out a laugh. “I’ve got plenty of experience with boys like you. You have no idea how annoying I can get.”
I lift my head and peek one eye open. “You have a kid?”
She rolls her pretty blue eyes. “I have an older brother, but my mother worked, and my father was a piece of shit, so my brother was my responsibility.” She smirks. “Now get up before I dump ice water on your head.”
I arch a brow. “You wouldn’t.”
“I’ve already got a pitcher ready.” Her smirk transforms into an impish grin. “Don’t underestimate me.”
I met her less than forty-eight hours ago, and already I know not to underestimate her. I don’t doubt she’d dump ice water on me, and she’d probably get a lot of joy out of doing it. I sigh and sit up.
“Are you going to give me this much trouble the whole tour?”
Claire shrugs. “Maybe. Depends on how you behave.”
“Fine.”
I throw off the duvet and stand, revealing my naked body to her. She doesn’t even try to peek. Her eyes stay on my face, and she arches an unimpressed brow. Honestly, it’s a hit to my ego.
“Drink your coffee. Get dressed. We have an appointment at the fitness center in thirty.”
She turns swiftly and disappears behind the glass wall. I take a drink from my mug and watch her silhouette as she moves around on her side of the room. She’s got a nice figure. Smaller than I usually go for, but her tits are a good handful, and she has this slender neck that I could easily wrap my hand around.
When my dick starts to harden, I break my stare and walk to my suitcase. No way she’d let me choke her, and I don’t fuck people I have to see every day. I made that mistake once. I won’t make it again.
“We getting a couple’s massage?” I ask as I pull on a pair of jeans.
“You’re meeting with a trainer.”
I freeze. “Excuse me? ”
“A trainer. You’re meeting with one.” She walks back around the partition and glances at my jeans. “Might want to wear something less restricting. Jeans aren’t good for working out.”
“Why the fuck am I meeting with a trainer, Davis?”
“You need a rage outlet that isn’t smashing cars into fences or shattering stained-glass windows.” She props her hand on her hip and grins again. This one is taunting. She’s definitely getting joy out of irritating me. “And working out releases endorphins. You need more of those too.”
I unbutton my jeans and shove them down my thighs, once again baring myself to her. Once again, she’s completely uninterested.
“You don’t know what I need.”
She laughs and walks away. “I think I might know better than you do. Hurry. I don’t want to be late.”
I steal glances at Claire as we walk to the fitness center. Her face is glued to her phone, so I take advantage. She’s got a head full of curls pulled back in a ponytail, but when I met her in my hotel room, her hair was stick straight. My attention zeroes in on the little curls at the nape of her slender neck. I bet they’re soft. I bet they’d tickle my fingers if my hand was wrapped?—
“Stop staring at me. You’re being a creep.”
“Your hair is curly.”
“Observant when you’re sober, huh?”
“It was straight in New York.”
She sighs and looks up from her phone. “I’d straightened it. I’ll straighten it again after my workout.”
“Why?”
“Because I like it better straight.”
I nod, but I don’t say anything else. I also don’t stop staring at her. I can be annoying, too, and I smirk when I see goosebumps appear on her neck. She goes back to her phone and continues to ignore me until we’re walking into the fitness center.
Claire introduces me to my trainer. His name is Thor, and it fits him perfectly. I’m tall, and he still towers over me. He could probably bench me. He reminds me of Red, Sav’s security guard.
As Thor takes me through the gym, I keep one eye on Claire. She’s on a treadmill, and she’s not jogging. She’s sprinting. Sweat is dripping down her body. The exposed skin on her chest and stomach is glistening with it. When I get a mental image of licking it off her, I have to look away.
Fuck, I need to get laid.
I’m sure the last thing Thor wants is me sporting a hard dick during my training session. I try to think of things less sexy than a sweaty Claire Davis with tiny curls at the nape of her neck, but after ten minutes, it doesn’t matter anymore.
Because Thor tries to kill me.
Squats. Bench press. Burpees.
Fuck burpees, man. That shit is the worst. Every one of my appendages feels like jelly. The exhaustion permeates all my muscles, and after a while, I can’t even focus on my rage because I’m too busy reminding myself to breathe.
“How much longer?” Panting, I drop to the floor after my last burpee. “I’m fucking dying.”
Thor chuckles. “Almost finished. Just stretching left.”
His accent is thick, but I’m pretty sure I hear a hint of mocking in his tone. Probably. Hell, I’d mock me.
“How’s he doing?” The toes of Claire’s pink and white tennis shoes step in my line of sight, and I turn my head to look up at her. She’s mocking me, too. “Damn, Hendrix. You look wrecked.”
“Thor tried to kill me.”
She shakes her head and nudges my body with the toe of her shoe. “Suck it up. We’ve got a full day before you have to be at the stadium.”
I groan and sit up, dropping my head between my knees. She’s a sadist.
Awesome .
“Here’s what I’ve got planned for Sweden. We’ll go over Lisbon when we get there.”
Claire drops a tablet on the couch beside me. I collapsed here the moment we walked into the room, and she’s wasting no time.
“Look it over while I shower.”
When she disappears into the bathroom, I shove the tablet away from me. It falls onto the ground, and I make no move to pick it up. The shower kicks on a minute later, and I close my eyes. The sound is soothing, and the image of her naked under the water...
Fuck .
I reach down and squeeze my dick through my shorts. I feel like I’ve been half hard since yesterday. That, paired with the ass-kicking Thor gave me, is making my head ache.
I need a joint or a drink. I need something harder. I need to get laid.
I clamp my eyes shut against the craving and tighten my fingers around my dick. Then I stroke. The shower is still on, so I shove my hand into my shorts.
Images of Claire in the shower, soaped up and washing herself, flash through my head. I imagine myself in there with her. I’ve got her pinned to the wall, both of us panting and surrounded by steam. I squeeze my dick and pretend it’s her neck. I imagine her moaning, mouth open and pupils wide. It’s so real, I can almost hear it. I can almost feel the vibrations from her throat on my palm. I stroke myself faster. Imagine sliding between her wet thighs. Pushing the head of my cock through?—
“What the actual fuck are you doing?”
My body tenses in surprise, my muscles already aching from Thor’s torture workout, and then I relax. I turn my head toward Claire. She’s shocked and staring at my crotch. Now I’m mad I hadn’t taken my dick out of my shorts. I arch a brow.
“It’s not obvious? I’m trying to jerk off.”
I start to stroke myself again, running my eyes over her. Her hair is in a towel, and she’s clothed in another pencil skirt and button-down blouse ensemble. I never thought business attire would do it for me, but surprisingly, it does.
“Actually, Davis, stay right there...”
Her brows slant, and she glowers. “I’ll be ready in fifteen. I’m sure it won’t take that long to fuck your hand.” She smiles. “Carry on.”
When she closes the bathroom door, my erection starts to disappear, and I sigh. I’m not horny anymore. Being dismissed with my hard dick in my fist apparently fucks with my confidence.
Pissed, I take my hand out of my shorts and wait, watching the clock like a good boy. I sit idly on the couch until the blow-dryer cuts off exactly fifteen minutes later. Then I head into the bedroom to grab some clothes. I have every intention of kicking Claire out of the bathroom so I can shower, but when I approach the door, I find it cracked, and her whispered voice is filtering through the opening.
I can only make out a few words, but her tone is sweet. Sweeter than she’s used with me. It’s not how you’d speak with a family member or friend. It’s how you’d speak to a lover. When she says I miss you , I frown. Then she giggles, and the surge of jealousy I feel surprises me. The giggle is melodic, tinkling like little bells, and I want to punch the person who drew it out of her.
Instead of knocking, I shove the door open and lean on the frame. She jumps, whipping her head in my direction with a scowl.
“I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll call you soon.”
She’s talking into the phone, but she’s glaring at me. Her lover says something, a deep hum coming from the other end of the phone, and she smiles as she says goodbye. A cute smile. An attractive smile. Not at all like the snarky smiles she’s been giving me.
She puts the phone on the counter and attacks.
“Ever heard of knocking?” She crosses her arms over her chest and narrows her eyes. “You don’t just barge into the bathroom on someone.”
“Sorry,” I say flatly. I’m not sorry. “Boyfriend?”
“None of your business.”
I drop my attention to her left hand. “No wedding band. No engagement ring. The voice sounded pretty deep, so I’m guessing male.” I look back at her face. “You don’t giggle like that for a grandfather or a sibling.”
Her eyes flare, some flash of concern or worry, but then she schools her expression. Nothing but irritation once more.
“It was a private conversation,” she clips, shutting down further questioning, then she changes the subject. “I assume you want to shower?”
I don’t answer right away. Her continued dismissals piss me off.
I stare at her, absorbing every detail. She’s got a full face of makeup on now. The kind women do when they want to look like they’re not wearing any makeup at all. It makes her cheekbones look sharper, her lips plumper, and her eyes bluer. And her hair is straight again, the little curls at the nape of her neck hidden from view. I don’t like that I can’t see those curls.
I bring my eyes back to hers and try to read her. I attempt to gather any sort of intel I can use, but just like in my hotel room, she gives nothing away. It’s annoying, just like her.
I decide to give up for now. She’ll let her guard down eventually.
I open my mouth to tell her that I do want to shower, but there’s a knock on the door of the suite. I turn without saying another word to Claire and head to the door. When I open it, I find Sav waiting in the hallway.
“Hey. Can I come in?”
I stand aside and sweep my arm into the suite. She’d have come in, anyway. The fact that she asked for permission at all has my nerves sparking.
“What’s up?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest as she takes a seat on the couch.
Instead of answering me, she turns toward the bathroom where Claire is watching from the doorway. Sav waves and gives her a smile.
“Hey, Claire. Is it cool if I talk to Jo alone for a bit?”
“Of course. I need to speak with Mr. Hammond anyway.”
“Thanks,” Sav says, and then we both wait in silence while Claire slips on some heels and leaves the suite.
Once she’s gone and the door is shut, I face Sav.
“What do you want?” My defenses are up, and I’m prepping for a fight. The last time Sav asked to speak to me alone was when she’d staged the intervention that got my ass sent to rehab. “Spit it out so I can refuse.”
Her brow furrows with concern. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Her tone is much softer than I’m used to. It’s the opposite of the anger I got from her in New York. I cock my head slightly, assessing her, and she laughs.
“It’s not a trick, Jo. I’m sorry for how I spoke to you in New York. I was tired and worried, and when you seemed apathetic, I got pissed. I’m sorry.”
I narrow my eyes. This is suspicious. “Sav, you’d just bailed me out of jail. I’d committed a felony. Anger is a reasonable reaction.”
She shrugs. “Your mom just died, Jo. You didn’t need anger. You needed support and empathy, and instead, I was a bitch.”
I arch a brow. “When aren’t you a bitch?”
Sav huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I’m here to say I’m sorry. And...I’m here to say that if you don’t want Claire here, we can send her packing.”
I almost jump at the opportunity to get rid of the new ever-present thorn in my side, but I bite my tongue. This would be too easy, and it wouldn’t take care of the other problems.
The label. My father. My felony .
“What’s the catch?” I ask slowly, and Sav shrugs.
“No catch. What’s the point of going along with it if it’s just a smoke and mirrors act? It’s a waste of time if it’s not actually going to help. If you think rehab?—”
“Rehab?” I bark out a humorless laugh. “Rehab will put us in violation of the morality clause, Savannah.”
She shrugs again. “We all agree that?—”
“I don’t care what you and everyone else have agreed. I don’t agree.”
I drag my hands through my hair and start to pace, fury thrumming through my veins. Building in my head until the pressure aches. This isn’t fucking happening.
“That’s real great that you, Torren, and Mabel have discussed this without me,” I spit sarcastically. “Awesome that being dropped from the label and unable to make music together for five fucking years is something you can live with, but I can’t.” I stop pacing and loom over her, glaring into her gray eyes as she watches me cautiously. “I can’t live with that outcome, Savannah. I won’t.”
Her brows slant, and she takes a deep, steady breath before speaking. Her voice, calm as ever, grates on my nerves. “You’re saying you want to keep Claire Davis, then?”
I close my eyes and grit my teeth.
“No. I don’t want to keep her, but like you said, she’s the best option we’ve got right now.”
Sav’s quiet for a long time. All I can hear are her even, measured breaths. She’s silent for so long that, without realizing it, my inhales and exhales start to mimic hers. When my body has relaxed a bit, she speaks again.
“Do you really think it will help, Jonah? We just want you to be okay. Are you going to be okay?”
Suddenly, I’m grateful for the pause she enforced. I’m not stupid. I know it was an intentional tactic to calm me down. She probably thought it would make the conversation more productive. Make me see reason.
She was wrong.
All it did was put me back in control. It made it easier for me to mislead, and just like I’ve been doing for years, I lie to her.
“My mom’s death tripped me up, but I’m okay, Sav. I’m okay. Promise.”
She nods once and forces a smile. “Okay.”
She doesn’t believe me, not quite, but she wants to. Sav wants to see the best in everyone. She thinks that since she clawed her way back from rock bottom, I’m capable of it, too.
That’s her weakness, and I’m a master at exploiting it.
Smoke and mirrors is what Sav called this arrangement with my new babysitter. An act of deception. If I can keep the upper hand over Claire Davis, I can ride this out. I can play this game. As long as I can control little Ms. Trouble, it will all be fine.