Chapter 12
Jett
Okay, that really bruised my shin, fuck! “Princess Morningstar, let down your hair!” I call, breathless and aching from climbing over the wrought iron gate, running through the bushes away from the cameras like a half drunk, stumbling ninja, and literally shimmying up a drain pipe up two floors.
I tap on the window and look in just in time to see her stumble, disoriented, from her bed.
The tiny pink tank and shorts she wears are so obviously hiding nothing under them and I just want to suck those perfect tits into my mouth and rail her on that royal, pink monstrosity she sleeps on.
Shut the fuck up, pervert brain, you’re doing a romantic gesture!
Her face looks positively panicked as she runs towards me with her hands waving and her sleepy voice barely croaking through the glass, “Stop! Jett, no!”
But I can’t help it, she looks so fucking delicious with those bouncing breasts and cheeks with that streaked mascara, from crying over me, ME!
Those are my streaks of victory after eight long years of pining, and I am done waiting!
I stick the wee pry bar I have tucked in my sleeve between the window and the sill and shove hard right before Baby reaches me.
Fuckin’ sirens blare! “Warning, intruder detected!” Comes an ear-piercing, disembodied voice. Jesus! Since when do a family of rock royalty go to bed and set the alarm before 2 a.m.?
“Oh my God, Jett, why did you-I was right here!” she yells over the alarm, covering only one ear with her hand because the other can’t help but reach out for me. Her fingers hook around the collar of my Zeppelin T-shirt and pull.
“I’m sorry, I-not being able to have you isn’t an option for me anymore, Mads! This,” I gesture to the general chaos around me, “was driving me mad! I had to come kiss you goodnight, at least.”
“Well, you did shimmy up a drainpipe for me, it’s the least I can do.” She smirks, staring at my lips like they’re literal candy.
I lean halfway through the window, sliding my fingers through her hair up to the root, where I pull her closer to me and tease my lips against hers, biting her lower lip before kissing them apart.
Her lips are the ones that are syrupy sweet like candy, and the taste of her sends my thoughts racing.
The fact that something is finally happening between us is mental; my brain can’t wrap around it.
So I wrap my tongue around hers instead, scratching her scalp and making her moan into my mouth.
Not even the blaring alarm can distract me from how she tastes, how her little moan reverberates through my bones, mending every broken part of me.
“Warning! Intruder! The police have been called!” the security system threatens like a little bitch.
I place a few soft kisses on her lips before pulling away from her, which makes me wanna fling myself off a roof, so I do.
I jump down to the first-floor ridge and blow her a kiss.
She shakes her head at me like I’m deranged, which I am, and I shimmy down the drainpipe right as the alarm stops.
Lola runs out of the house with a bloody taser.
“Jett! Why the fuck did you do that?!” Lo shouts, only half-heartedly pointing the contraption at me.
“Your fault, actually! See you tomorrow, sister dearest.”
* * *
Today is the first official phase one of getting the Morningstars to approve of Mads and I being together.
I say that and not date, go out, whatever, because now I’ve had a taste of her and it isn’t even close to enough.
After so long, I don’t know if any amount of time with her, a night, a week, a month, ten dates, twenty, a year or a decade, would ever be enough.
Usually, I’m bored with someone after a few hours, and yeah, that makes me a dick, but they …
they’re not her. Max and Jewels, Lola and Jude, they’ve had no idea that I’ve even wanted Baby, let alone know how long I’ve wanted her for.
This isn’t an accident. I thought keeping my feelings for her a secret was the right thing to do, but deep down, I’ve known no one has ever had this enduring pull, this hold on me, and if it hasn’t gone away by now, it’s never going to!
I need to admit the truth to them because it’s clearly eaten me up inside.
She deserves to know, and so do they. I’m not sure how they’ll react because, shit, they reacted a hell of a lot worse than I thought when Mads brought up dating me. And I want a lot more than a few dates.
I’m pissed that they reacted the way they did, honestly.
Yeah, everyone sees me as a giant slut, I get it, but the Morningstars should understand me better than that, if anyone could.
Most don’t really know what they know. That this sex and booze thing is literally my alternative health plan, and a much healthier path than the one I was on, actually.
As a child, I was targeted for being different.
Too loud. Too soft. Too much. The longer I wore that target, the worse I got.
Angrier, sicker, fuckin' toxic. Specialists started throwing terms at me like PTSD and ADHD, and my parents could never understand me before all the labels, let alone after.
So, they gave me pills, one after another.
The kind that made me feel like a melting, flesh-rotting zombie, but on the inside instead of the outside.
When I finally got off of them at sixteen, I had to find other ways to medicate myself, and vowed never to touch a pill again.
I created the perfect combination of writing songs, a tattoo gun buzzin’, drinking, and fucking to replace the meds, and I’ve been that way ever since.
That doesn’t mean I need sex with a different person every night, it’s just ended up that way!
But I need it, just the same. Sex, I mean.
Twice a day, minimally, preferably three.
It regulates me in a way that only white pills could before.
I’ve tried committing to several people, I really have!
But I’m always left as the one who’s painted as the crazy person.
The damn Morningstars, I love them but …
can’t they open their eyes and see, maybe I just need the right person to commit to?
That if I had Baby in my bed, I’d never need anyone else in there with me? I could god damn pinky promise!
Frustrated and annoyed as all hell, I shove the doctor’s printout into the tiny lyric notepad I take with me everywhere.
It goes into the back pocket of my black jeans, and then I continue my routine of slicking back my hair, rubbing my tattoos with shea butter, and applying my eyeliner a lot better than I did when I met Miss Matilda.
I throw on a Misfits muscle tank because I will get to see that little princess today, even if it’s just for a kiss.
Yeah, it’s her favorite band, but it also shows off my arms in case, ya know, she likes those.