Chapter Two
When Remi dreamed of her, he was always lucid, aware he was living in a fantasy that could end at any moment.
Her fingertips dancing along his chest, her lips kissing his neck, her hair tickling his collarbone.
His body felt those hazy touches as visceral, real sensations, yet they were clouded by his mind if he fought too hard to memorize them.
“You know you’re the only person I’ve ever spent this much time with?” she whispered in a husky voice as the soft curves of her body pressed into him.
“Yeah?” He ran his palms over the generous curves of her hips and stomach and ass.
“Yeah. You’re special, Remi. I want you so much,” she said. “I promise to make you feel good. I’ll give you everything you want.”
He groaned as her mouth traveled down from his neck to his stomach, and farther down to his cock. It was only when Remi reached down to move her hair from her face so he could see her blood-red irises looking up at him as she sucked him off—that he realized two things.
One—he wasn’t dreaming. There was a woman sucking his dick.
Two—that woman was not his dream girl.
“Fuck,” he said, sitting up in a rush. His cock fell out of her mouth as she looked up from under the covers with furrowed brows.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
What was wrong? He had a beautiful woman in his bed trying to suck him off. What better way to wake up?
Remi looked at the clock on his dresser. His shift didn’t start for another three hours.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing. You just surprised me.”
The woman smiled and put her hand on his chest to push him down. “A good surprise, I hope,” she said, but didn’t wait for his reply as she lowered her mouth on him again.
Remi couldn’t remember her name, which honestly happened more times than he wanted to admit.
“Babe.” He put his hand on her cheek, hoping the touch would ease the sting of what he was going to say. “While I would love for this to continue, I have to get to work.”
He was probably the only person in the world to turn down a morning blowjob, but if he didn’t put a stop to this, either he was going to come while thinking about someone else or he was going to lose his erection all together because he’d be so up in his head trying desperately not to think about her.
The imaginary woman his sexed-up brain conjured.
He had a gig tonight. He really didn’t need that mind-fuck today.
The woman—Jennifer, he thought her name was—just grinned. “I’ll be quick.” She tried to reset her position, but he jumped out of bed before she could grab him again.
Remi was kind of an asshole, but he couldn’t in good conscience let this random girl he’d met at the bar last night suck him off while he pictured an imaginary someone else.
He rushed around his bedroom, trying to keep up the ruse of needing to go to work.
“Sorry, but I really do need to go. Last night was great. I’d love to see you again,” he lied and pulled on the same jeans he’d worn last night. He patted the pockets, looking for his phone.
Jennifer sat up. She was naked, and her tits were fucking huge. He’d really scored last night. It was a shame he didn’t remember most of it. Maybe he should see her again.
She narrowed her eyes. “I told you last night I’m only here one more day. Then I go back to Chicago.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I must have forgot.” Circling the room, he searched the floor for his blue work polo and found one, but it was stained and had a funky smell. He threw it back on the ground and kicked over another clothes pile to find a cleaner one.
“I hate to do this,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I’m late for work.” He sniffed a less visibly stained polo, decided it was good enough, and pulled it over his head.
Jennifer squinted her eyes at the corporate logo embroidered on his left chest, and then her gaze turned murderous. “You told me you worked in tech,” she said, getting off the bed and putting on her clothes with vigor.
He scratched the back of his neck. “Did I? Maybe you misunderstood. I do work with tech.”
Jennifer was fully clothed now, and she was livid. “You sell TVs and electronics! That is not working in tech, Remi.”
He snorted a laugh, which pissed her off more. Yeah, okay, he was a dick.
She stormed out of his bedroom.
Remi followed her down the hall and past Liam, who was eating a bowl of cereal. His eyes lit up as he watched Jennifer fly down the stairs.
“Bye. Thanks for coming!” Liam called after her.
Jennifer made a harrumphing noise and slammed the front door. Remi crept to the living room window and pulled the curtain back to watch her. She stomped down the sidewalk, her heels in one hand, phone in the other.
“Come on, mate,” Ollie said, his thick British accent curling around the words. “One girl keyed your motorcycle and now ya watch all of them like they’re gonna do it too.” He was propped up on the couch, about to take a hit from a bong.
“Well, you never know,” Remi said. “It’s not like I can afford to get the scratches buffed out.”
West came into the living room from the kitchen. “Another girl keying your motorcycle? What’d you do this time?”
Remi sighed. “I told her I work in tech.”
Liam spat out his cereal and milk. A soggy, half-chewed chunk landed on Remi’s arm.
“Dude!” Remi flicked it off.
Liam’s words were choked out from laughing so hard. “Us living in a shithole didn’t tip her off that you were lying?”
“Hey!” West said. “That’s my grandma’s house you’re talking about. Watch your mouth.”
“Sorry, Ms. Maedina,” Liam said, talking to the ceiling. “Please don’t haunt me. I’m extremely grateful to be living here rent-free. R-I-P.”
“Speaking of, I need to pay the real estate taxes this month,” West said. “It’s…” He squinted his eyes and counted on his fingers, then said an insane number.
“That’s split four ways?” Remi asked.
West nodded.
Shit. He was going to have to take a cash advance on his credit card. “I’ll get it to you next week.”
“I don’t understand why you lied about working in tech,” Liam said. “You’re in a band. That’s like an instant panty dropper.”
Remi peeked back out the window, and sighed in relief as he watched Jennifer get into a car and disappear down the block.
He shrugged off the question.
When he told people he played in a band, they always replied with annoying questions. When are you getting a record deal? When are you going to be famous? When is your band going to have more than a thousand followers on social media?
Those questions made him sick. Made him think of how he’d already ruined Tilted Haze’s chance to make it big. Made him think of how Emerson was gone.
It was easier just to lie and say he worked in tech.
Remi hiked back up the stairs and went into the bathroom. Liam followed him, still eating his cereal. “So, guess what,” he said with his mouth full.
Remi glanced at him as he started brushing his teeth.
Liam chased the last marshmallow in his bowl with his spoon. “West’s aunt said that tonight’s going to be the night for us.”
Remi leaned over the sink and spat out toothpaste foam. “Oh yeah? Did she cast a spell?”
Liam pursed his lips and flung his spoon out to point at Remi. Milk dribbled onto the floor. “You know you shouldn’t make fun of her powers. She’ll curse us or something.”
Remi rolled his eyes. “First, she would never curse us. Aunt Joanne loves West and me too much to ever do that. And second, she isn’t a witch.
It’s just a tourist gimmick. Surely, you’ve noticed there’s a witch on every street in the Quarter.
” Hell, maybe there were two witches on every street in the French Quarter.
New Orleans was crawling with people claiming to be magical.
Remi had once gone home with a girl who honestly believed she was a vampire in a past life.
He’d woken up the next morning, taken one look at his neck in the mirror, and almost had to agree with her.
Liam just shook his head, eyes serious and stern. “You’ll see tonight. It’s all happening!”
Remi waved a dismissive hand at him and kicked him out of the bathroom so he could shower before work. Part of him hoped that Liam was right. Maybe Aunt Joanne did cast a spell for them. Maybe their luck would change.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this.
It’d been five years of touring in a shitty van and barely breaking even on expenses.
The fantasy—that one day his music would resonate with people so much that his band could sell out stadiums—no longer fueled him.
Evidence of its impossibility overshadowed his hope long ago.
Tilted Haze needed someone to give them a shot, but Remi didn’t want to tell the guys what his gut told him: They’d already had their one big break—and he’d blown it for them. They weren’t going to get another one.
It didn’t matter how talented a band was. Making it in the music industry was all about getting lucky, having a magic spark.
And ever since Emerson died, Remi was pretty sure he’d lost his.
The gig that night had gone well, but the crowd at Mike’s was always good. They were Tilted Haze’s original fans. A lot of them had been there since the early days when the band was just Remi and West and a drum machine.
After a few minutes of smiling and chatting with the regulars, Remi disentangled himself from the crowd of women that swarmed the stage and crept out the back door.
A couple of the bar employees were on their cigarette breaks, and they gave him nods, which Remi returned, but he kept moving to the side of the building so he wouldn’t get pulled into conversation.
His performance buzz was waning. He either needed to find some coke or a quiet place to decompress.
Since he had to work the next day, Remi chose the responsible option.
That sense of responsibility seemed to be growing in direct proportion to his waning belief in their band ever making it.