Chapter 8
EIGHT
Deke
I am not in a good mood.
This might actually be the worst mood of my life—and that is saying something considering I am rarely anything but pissed the hell off.
But I started this morning trying to let June down gently and it backfired like nothing has ever backfired before.
Now all I can think about is her naked in rumpled sheets, smiling up at another man. A new Daddy.
It’s gutting me just to imagine it. June with anyone but me.
My insides have been on fire since she suggested she’ll find someone else.
And I have no right to be this…sick to my stomach. None at all. I’m the one who decided our relationship would start and end with one night. That’s the right thing to do for June. I am doing her a favor. Setting free a beautiful young girl with her whole future ahead.
I just had no idea doing the selfless thing would be so agonizing.
On top of this nonstop churning and sense of loss inside of me, June had to go and get accosted by a crowd of overzealous fans.
I’ve never been more scared in my goddamn life as when she fell and disappeared among the throng of people.
She could have been trampled. Or gotten a head injury. My June Bug.
Jesus, I need to stop thinking of her like that.
Which is going to be hard if she’s performing with me again tonight.
Looking up at me with those beautiful green eyes on stage, like I’m her savior.
I’m craving the moment. I’m dreading the moment.
I don’t want her to leave the tour when Sandy comes back.
I also desperately need her to go home, so I can go back to being a mean, solitary drunk that nobody can reach. Things were just fine before she came.
No, they weren’t.
You haven’t been fine in a long time.
It’s never been more obvious that I’ve been dead inside, because she’s challenging the numbness I’ve become trapped inside of. She’s a light in the darkness.
A light that I cannot follow out of the cave, as much as I want to.
I’d just snuff it out. That’s what I do. I wrote albums that became the soundtracks to people’s lives. Their favorite songs. And then I began disappointing them. I released tracks that didn’t resonate. I let them down. I let everyone down. I’ll do it with June, too.
Now, I stand in the parking lot behind the hotel, watching as two tour buses pull in, eliciting cheers from the crew, because it’s a signal that we won’t have to cram ourselves onto one bus for this leg of the trip. Meaning I won’t be required to sit beside June.
Great.
Awesome.
I’ll drink myself into a stupor in peace.
That’s my plan until I catch sight of June on the other side of the lot.
She’s standing alone with headphones in her ear.
I’m itching to cross the expanse of asphalt and ask what she’s listening to, but I need to start distancing myself.
Otherwise, she’s going to end up back in my bed tonight.
With those pretty legs spread, demanding those deep, wet kisses while I fuck her silly.
God, she took my dick so incredibly well, despite her tightness and inexperience.
I can still feel that final mind-blowing wrench of her cunt and all the wetness that followed. What else do good girls do?
A series of erotic snapshots from last night causes blood to flow south to my cock, lifting the heavy length against the zipper of my jeans.
As if she senses I’ve got an erection for her, June lifts her head, giving me a fleeting but curious glance across the parking lot, then goes back to scrolling her phone.
“June sure is something, isn’t she?” says Whit to my left, whistling under his breath.
I didn’t even know he was standing there.
Wait. What the fuck did he say?
Did he just whistle?
“What do you mean ‘she sure is something’?” I drawl, carefully.
“I mean…” He gives me an anxious wince. “I’m thinking of asking her out.”
Those six words ring in my head like a death toll. “Asking out June?”
“Yeah. She’s single. I’m single. It makes sense.”
My head is going to explode right off my shoulders. “You’re thirty-four.”
“Come on. That’s not so crazy.” He’s staring at June. I want to rip off his glasses and shove them down his throat. “She’s just so damn pretty. I’m going to shoot my shot.”
“You shoot that shot, Whit, you’re going to get shot.”
He does a double take. “What? By who?”
“Me, motherfucker.”
The manager stares at me, open-mouthed. “Are you interested in her?”
“I’m interested in you leaving her alone. That’s all you need to know.”
He turns to me with his arms crossed, like he’s suddenly some kind of tough guy when in reality he builds model airplanes in his spare time. “You need to give me a better reason than that.”
“That’s Sandy’s niece, Whit.”
Yes, I heard myself. I know I’m a hypocrite.
“I asked Sandy for his permission,” Whit counters.
My heart is starting to pound ominously in my ribcage, like it might shatter the bones and jump out onto the ground. This is happening. Right now. Whit beat me to the punch and did the right thing by June. “You did what?”
“Why are you acting so shocked? She’s—”
“You’re fired.”
Whit stares at me in pure shock. Some of the crew has obviously overheard our argument and stopped their conversations to listen. “You’re firing me?”
“No, I fired you. Past tense. Better book a plane ticket.”
“This is ridiculous,” Whit sputters, looking around for help. Everyone stares at the floor, whistling. Properly afraid of me, the way Whit should have been. “Good luck finding another manager who is willing to put up with your shit!”
I’m already walking toward the bus.
I’m walking toward June.
Obviously sensing there is a drama afoot, she pops out one of her headphones, looking at me with an eyebrow piqued. “Is everything okay?”
Before I know my own mind, I’m pointing at the entrance of the bus. “Get on. Now.”
She rears back an inch. “Excuse me? You can’t talk to me like that.”
My stride doesn’t break and I keep going until I’m nearly upon June.
Until she must tilt her head back to keep eye contact with me, her lips parting on an intake of breath at whatever hell she sees in my expression.
“Daddy is telling you to get on the fucking bus.” I lick my lips while looking at her luscious little mouth. “All the way in the back. March.”
She thinks about disobeying.
Problem is, she wants to do as she’s told.
Problem is, the order makes her hot.
I can see it in the expansion of her pupils, the plumping of her lips. The deepening of the color in her cheeks. She wants to be a good girl and do what I’ve asked. Because as much as what I’m doing is wrong, June is nothing but right for me.
If only I was right for her. In a permanent way.
My balls throb as she turns and climbs the stairs into the bus, that skirt short enough to give me a glimpse of her tight, young ass cheeks. And I know damn well that me and this jealous dick are about to make everything so much worse. So be it, though.
I’m angry and horny as sin.
“It looks like you and Whit were having an argument,” she says over her shoulder.
“You could say that,” I growl, following her down the walkway to the back of the bus. This is a bigger, better one than yesterday. With small sleeping compartments in the back. One of them is even a “primary” bedroom, though it’s more like a broom closet.
There’s a door on it, though, and that’s all that matters.
That’s where I’m bringing her.
“What was the argument about?” June asks.
I grind my molars at the reminder of that smug son of a bitch telling me he’s going to shoot his shot with June. “You. It was over you. Is that what you want to hear? He wants to ask you out.”
That catches her off guard and her step falters. “Oh. Okay…so what? That made you mad?”
“No.” I propel her into the small room and kick the door shut behind me. “It made me fucking crazy.”
“That’s not my problem,” she says, rounding on me and crossing her arms.
“It’s about to be.”
She purses her lips. “I see. You’re going to take out your anger on me.”
Holy shit.
I’m on the verge of lunging for June, but those words stop me in my tracks.
She’s right; I was about to take my anger out on her delicate body.
What the fuck is wrong with me? That’s not grown man behavior.
That’s the act of an insecure punk—and that ain’t who I am.
At least, it’s not who I want to be. Especially not with this smart, insightful and talented girl.
She deserves much better. “I don’t want you going out with other men, June Bug. Tell me what to do about that.”
My honesty has caught her off guard. “I…d-don’t. I don’t go out with…”
“You don’t date?”
She hesitates, wetting her lips, before shaking her head.
“Why not?”
Suddenly, she’ll look everywhere but at me. That’s how I get my answer.
Jesus.
“Because of the torch you carry for me?” I manage.
Her lack of denial is all the confirmation I need. My jugular is aching and all I can do is thank God I didn’t throw this girl down on her hands and knees and bang her rotten, the way I planned to do when we walked into this room.
“June.”
“Yes?”
I search for the right words. The right way forward that’s worthy of her.
“I don’t know if I can be your boyfriend, baby.
” Good lord, that word sounds ridiculous coming from an old hellhound like me.
“But I don’t want to stay away from you, either.
I don’t think I can. I just want a guarantee that you won’t date anyone while I’m figuring this shit out. ”
“I won’t,” she says in this breathy, adorable voice. “I won’t, I promise.”
My relief almost takes my legs out from beneath me.
Don’t get carried away.
“I’m not making any promises.” I stab the air with my index finger. “I’m too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”
She’s smiling so wide. Hell and damnation, she is breathtaking. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am,” I bark, winded by her beauty. “And I mean, I don’t even want you talking to other men, June Bug. Don’t even look at them. Is that clear?”
The girl is all but dancing on the balls of her feet. “I have no problem with that.”