Chapter Five #2
They had such a passionate relationship. Mentos and Coke was how Cujo once described it, but it was so much more than that. Was it wrong that in spite of everything that had happened to her, she wanted to experience a piece of that soul-consuming love for herself?
“Because I don’t know what you want from me.” It was the truth. And not knowing was driving her crazy. “I’m not good with relationships. Casual sex doesn’t really work for me.” “Disastrous” might be a better word.
Perhaps the fact he was so far away would give them a chance to get to know each other better at a much slower pace.
“You’re a snowflake,” said Dred.
“A what?”
Dred laughed a little. “A snowflake. I don’t know what you and I have, Pix.
I can’t even figure it out myself, but as I sat down to call you, I watched these snowflakes come in through the window.
And they were so white and so fucking pure, the idea of touching one of them and making it melt was perfect, and yet the idea of spoiling it forever was not. ”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Pixie whispered.
“I want to make you melt for me so bad it hurts,” Dred said gruffly. “But I want to leave you as perfect as you are. I can’t help but think I’ll be bad for you, Pix.”
His words were heartfelt, and she knew it was up to her to decide to take the next step. “I pick melting,” she said quietly, even though the unspoken meaning scared her witless.
“Then come to me,” he soothed. “I need to see you. And while I really want to feel your skin against mine, if you need time for that, I can deal.”
The idea of Dred naked caused a fire to burn through her, setting her ablaze. “I’m scheduled to close on Saturday, but I can be on the first flight Sunday morning.”
“I’ll book you a ticket when I get off the phone.”
“No,” she replied. “I don’t need you to buy it for me.”
“I know you don’t, but I want to. Think of it as the rock star equivalent of chocolates.”
“Fine, but so you know, this isn’t how it’s always going to go.” There was no need to spend his money on her when she had funds of her own.
“I hear you, Snowflake. See you Sunday.”
Snowflake. She liked it. “Good-bye, Dred.”
Pixie disconnected and smiled. The tightening in her stomach was a mix of excitement and nerves. Understandable in the circumstances.
Her goofy smile in place, she turned to go back into the shop when a motion caught the corner of her eye.
She stopped and watched as a man shifted on the other side of the street.
Head down, he turned and walked toward the corner, his back to her.
For one second her heart stopped, plummeted, before beating faster.
What if it was Arnie? Pixie shook her head.
He had a few pounds on Arnie, and less hair.
And while the clothes were the same, the slight limp wasn’t.
It had been years since she’d seen him outside of her dreams. The man turned to face her just as a delivery truck hurtled down the street, blocking her view.
Yet once the van had passed and the road empty again, the man was no longer there.
* * *
“So I have no choice?” Dred looked out over Runyan Canyon.
The L.A. house had all the warmth and personality of a subway station.
But the view and the trails that weaved their way around it were something else.
Those small pockets of beauty in L.A. were hard to come by, and were usually surrounded on all sides by bloated commercialism and people with overinflated egos.
“We now have a legal request to surrender for a paternity test. If you respond now, the mother has agreed she won’t make it public.” Sam sat on the white leather sofa wearing a burgundy suit. He swirled the solitary ice cube in his single malt like an extra from Mad Men.
“Let me think about it,” Dred said, stepping away from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“You can think all you want, Dred, but she has photographs of that night. Compromising ones. Not sex-tape stuff, but clearly the two of you getting it on.”
“Fuck.” Dred pressed his forehead to the glass.
This was so not what he needed right now.
He couldn’t possibly be a father. Safety was his number-one priority as far as sex was concerned.
With the kind of childhood he’d had, he was starting to think that procreating was not for him.
In all good consciousness, he couldn’t bring a child into the world and saddle them with the kind of father he’d be.
Keeping his anger in check was a daily thing, and a child would only exacerbate his lack of control.
Playing Daddy Day Care would certainly mess up his plan of focusing the shit out of his career.
Seven more years of writing, performing, investing, and saving.
There’d be no slowing down until he was certain he’d never want for anything the rest of his life.
Memories from his past spurred him on to his goals.
Like walking to school in deep winter snow wearing sneakers because his mom never had the money for boots.
“Look, I’m sorry, Dred. But if you lead the kind of lives you guys do, then these things—”
“Shut up, Sam.” He didn’t need to hear a moral lecture. “I’m going to shower and get ready for tonight’s pantomime.”
He headed for his room, and entered the en-suite bathroom. The shower had a million and one settings, but he always used the exact same one. Hot. As hot as his skin could stand.
Once undressed, he stood under the steaming spray. Why the hell were they even going to a pop awards show anyway? Another messed-up publicity stunt by Sam to keep them current? Because, yeah, showing up at these events would find them a new audience. Not.
He washed his hair. It’s not like they were nominated for anything, so why give up a day and a half of recording time to spend one night and fly out again?
Seemed like they were being booked for a whole bunch of shit that had nothing to do with them or their music.
He needed to talk to the guys. Perhaps Sam was the issue, not the record label.
Shouldn’t it be his job to shut this kind of thing down?
In many ways, he was an incredible manager, and had kick-started their careers, but in others . . . well.
Rinsing his hair, he thought about the people he’d met at the record label.
What happened to simply expecting a band to show up and make great fucking music?
Now it was all social media this, and publicity event that.
These fluff events killed him. He’d bet good money on being seated next to some pop princess with an album to promote, and that by tomorrow they’d be press fodder as the next big yet strange couple. It happened every time.
Normally all this shit was a minor inconvenience.
And face it, half of the pop-princess stories were true for one night.
They were all too happy to jump into bed with a tattooed rocker to dirty up their polished images, and he was always willing to tarnish a couple of tiaras.
But more photos in the tabloids tomorrow would upset Pixie.
The paparazzi had impeccable timing, and could turn the most innocent greeting into a sordid affair.
For Pixie’s sake, he didn’t want that. His skin had thickened over the years.
Ellen said he was developing the hide of a rhino.
Pixie’s was still tender, pale, and tattooed with swirls of flowers.
His cock stirred at the thought of how soft that skin felt under his callused fingertips.
Enjoying the sensation, he allowed his mind to wander to thoughts of their kiss, and the way her ass felt as he squeezed it.
Firm and round despite her petite frame.
He felt compelled to keep it monogamous between them until they’d figured out what was going on.
For a guy with his appetites, it was way too fucking long.
He grabbed his cock and squeezed, running his palm up and down as he recalled more images of the time they’d spent together.
The way her breasts had bounced around under her vest, the soft sigh she often gave when he kissed her, how he’d been able to see the smallest hint of her black panties when she’d sat next to him on the balcony at the hotel.
Yeah, who the fuck needed porn when he had those mental snapshots of Pixie?
His imagination took over, and suddenly she was lying naked on her front, that pert ass in the air and the curve of her back so fucking hot.
Cupping his balls with his other hand, he stroked faster, let out a huff of air as the tingling down his spine increased. Yeah, like that.
He imagined spreading her legs, running his hands up the back of her thighs, and sliding into her.
Christ, she’d be so wet for him, and, given his size, he’d physically cover her.
The reel played in his mind. Pixie turned toward him, her face spectacular in the throes of orgasm.
He pumped faster, imagining taking her harder, until he came.
Head spinning, Dred took a moment to catch his breath. It had been a long time since jerking off had felt that good. If only Pixie was there in the flesh. He wanted to talk to her, find out if she was feeling the same frustration.
Dred made plans to call her as soon as he got out of the shower. Hopefully the studio was closed because he wanted her alone for what he wanted to say.
And he wasn’t going to make it easy on her.
* * *
“I’ll finish up. You guys need to go.” Pixie shoved Trent and Harper out the rear door. Thanks to some strategic thinking, Trent had decided to start closing the shop earlier Monday through Wednesday, but stay open longer on the weekend.
“I don’t want to leave you here, Pix. Let me just—”
She cut Trent off. “Nope. No. Nada. I am fed up of you two looking at each other all sexy-eyed. We’re done. It’ll take me ten minutes to get everything finished. Please, go.”
Harper hugged her. “Thanks, Pix.”
Pixie laughed as Trent rolled his eyes at her. She shooed him away.