Chapter 8

Of course he’d go after her, the minute he knew that Marc wasn’t on the scene. Of course he’d ignore his friend’s feelings and do what the head in his pants told him to do.

Pounding my fist against the steering wheel I promise myself that when I find him, teammate or not, I’m going to kick Max Talbot’s ass. I am going to kick his ass and then I’m going to beat him black and blue.

Pressing hard on the gas, I push my car to the limits of safety, weaving in and out of traffic, cursing slow moving vehicles and tossing the finger at any car that gets in my way. Not at the drivers. I’m going to fucking fast to see faces. I have to get there before he does something that will make me kill him.

I keep thinking about how vulnerable she must be feeling and that I’ve had a hand in that and what a fucking moron I’ve been this whole fucking time. This is exactly why she went to Marc and not me. I’m always thinking about myself. I’ve been thinking about rehab and my hand and my foot. I’ve been thinking about how much I want to play; me, me fucking me. That’s exactly why she said she had to choose Marc.

It still hurts. Not all the time. I don’t think about it all the time but sometimes I do and then it hurts. It used to hurt because it felt like she had no faith in me. Now it hurts because I feel something and I don’t know what to do with those feelings. For so long I’ve denied having those feelings. To her face, yeah but mostly to Marc’s and yeah, I guess mine too.

“What were you gonna do at their wedding genious?" I shake my head at myself. I can picture it in my head, the minister asking something about anyone having any objections and me running up the aisle and spewing out all my feelings like some kind of fucking loser….

And what would Kensey do?

That’s why I haven’t said anything, why I’m still not sure I will. After all, she made it crystal fucking clear that I was never gonna be the kind of man she would consider marrying. I’m never going to be as responsible as Eric or as reliable as Marc but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. It doesn’t mean I don’t have fucking feelings!

I slam on the brakes as I’m about to rear end a stopped eighteen wheeler. My hands shake on the wheel and I’m breathing as hard as I would after a p k shift. Putting my forehead on the wheel, I take a few deep breaths.

“You can’t kill Max if you don’t get there alive,” I tell myself, shutting my eyes and banging my head a few times against the top of the steering wheel. “C’mon Gronk. Get it together.”

The blaring of a car horn behind me is a not so gentle reminder that the light’s green and the truck in front of me is already half way through the intersection. A glance at the GPS tells me that I’ve got another hour to go.

Go go gadget sports car.

“Call me in the morning when you’re ready to leave,” I yawn as Duncan hands me my key card as we walk out of the elevator on the floor of the hotel.

“Or do you want me to just come in there an’ pick you up an’ put you over me shoulder an’ carry you out like a sack of potatoes?” Duncan offers with a gleam in his eye. “Maybe you want to go an’ join wee Daze and that boy Max down the hall?”

“No, god no,” I mutter, stifling another yawn. “I think I’ve sworn off men for a while,” I add as I glance at the door numbers as we pass them. “I am glad that her room is nearer yours than mine though,” I add, “because I am done in.”

“We were planning on sleeping on your floor tonight. I don’t want to listen to Daze screaming,” Johnny T shudders and then makes a Mr. Yuck face.

“Which is worse, Daze screaming or Dunc snoring? I’m sleeping in the bath, alone.” I laugh, elbowing him in the ribs. He grabs his midsection and stumbles into the wall, like he’s been shot, sliding down the wall and groaning. I’m reaching for his arm, to pull him up when I see a shape out of the corner of my eye. I know the shape, know without having to actually see all of that shape, who it is and what it means. “Shit!” I curse quietly as Johnny follows my gaze and get very sober and very quiet before he looks up at me with an expression that clearly asks if I’m going to need backup. One shake of my head has him scrambling to his feet.

“C’mon Duncs, let’s go see if Cristina’s still down in the bar.” I hear the boys retreating down the hall, leaving me alone to deal with my own mess. I feel his eyes on me, waiting but I can’t quite make myself face him yet. I’m still frozen there as if Johnny’s still sprawled on the floor. I’m waiting too; waiting for him to say something so I’ll know why he’s here.

“Kens…we need to talk.” Nodding, I turn and walk towards the door he’s leaning against. Without looking up at him, I put the key card in the lock and watch the little led lights turn green and then I push the door open and he follows me inside.

“Daisy pleasssse,” I beg but she only rolls those clover green eyes of hers’ up at me and grins around my dick and then goes back to mercilessly teasing me with her lips, her tongue and her hands.

I watch her slide her mouth down over the length of me, slowly swirling her tongue around the width of my cock the entire way and all the while, one hand is slowly jerking the base of my dick while she gently but firmly digs the nails of her other hand into my sac. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m leaning against the wall, I’d have probably passed out a while ago. It feels like all of the blood in my body is in my cock. I can’t feel my extremities anymore and my brain switched off at least an hour ago when she slid her talented hands into my jeans while her tongue was down my throat.

Not that I’m complaining, but she’s still fully clothed. Well, she’s still in her underwear and that’s a bit frustrating. It was a long drive and if I’m going to stay the night, and at this rate I’ll have little choice, it’s going to be a long drive back and what I want most right now is to bury my dick deep inside of her.

But this is good too.

“Don’t you like this Max?” she asks as she strokes her hand slowly but firmly from the base to the tip before sliding the head of my dick back into her mouth, her gaze holding mine the entire time.

“Oh I do,” I reply through clenched teeth as she slowly slides my dick down over her tongue until she can’t take anymore. “I…I just want to do something for you,” I tell her, pressing my hands flat to the wall. I want to fist my hands in her hair and fuck her sweet mouth until I pour my seed down her throat. Or better yet, pull her mouth off of my cock, drag her to the bed, push her ankles back by her ears and fuck her senseless.

“Mmm mm,” she replies with the slightest shake of her head, her mouth full. Sliding my dick out of her mouth, she rolls her tongue around the head and then digs the tip of her tongue into the divot, making me squirm. “Later…after,” she grins up at me, turning her head to the side and running the flat of her tongue up the underside of my dick. “And then believe me,” she adds, giving my sac a firm squeeze that makes me groan out loud, “I’ll make you work.”

I open my mouth to tell her I’ll be happy to eat her out for the rest of the night if she’ll just let me fuck her, but before I can get out a single syllable, she drags her teeth down the length of my wood and the only sound I can make is something unintelligible.

The arena is empty and dark. I’m too fucking late. They’re already loading equipment into a truck. I look around for a bus, some kind of vehicle she might be in, but all I see is the boxes Daze’s drum kit is in. I know they’re hers’ because of the glow in the dark green skull and crossbones emblazoned on them. Jumping out of the car, I run up to the roadie and stop him from loading the last box into the truck, praying that if they’re already gone, they didn’t leave long ago.

“Where are they?” I ask. The guy who’s pushing the box looks back at me with wide eyes. Sometimes I forget that I’m a pretty big guy. I guess when you work with a bunch of other big guys it seems pretty normal.

“They who, man?” he asks, turning his baseball hat around backwards and trying to look nonchalant.

“These guys,” I bang on the top of the box with my fist. “The band this stuff belongs to.” I’m glad I’ve never gotten into smoking weed as I watch him look down at the box with this puzzled look on his face. He takes off his ball cap and scratches his head. His long, greasy looking hair is thinning on top. He makes a face, like he’s concentrating really hard, and then it’s like the light goes on and he brightens up, smiling, showing a row of crooked teeth.

“Oh, they’re all back at the hotel. The bus doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning.”

I want to kiss the guy but instead I just run back to my car, which is when I remember that I don’t know what hotel that I’m about to try and find.

“Uh…which hotel?” I yell back at him only to have him stop and scratch his head again, looking perplexed, like thinking is hard. Jared does that sometimes.

“The big one…a couple blocks…I think it has a blue sign.” You have to be kidding right?

“Right! I’ll find it. Thanks,” I call back. Blue sign, how hard can it be to find?

“How did you get here?” I ask, looking out the window instead of at him. I haven’t decided yet what is going to happen when I do. My hands are shaking and my heart is racing, my mouth is dry and my entire body feels like a bow that’s been strung too tight. 

“There’s a few benefits to making over three mill a year,” he replies quietly. I can tell he’s still by the door, safely across the room and I wonder if he’s keeping his distance it for me or for him. “I chartered a flight.”

“If you were a chick I’d think you were coming here to tell me you’re pregnant but since you’re not…?” I leave the question open ended. I’m afraid he’s going to tell me he’s already found someone else and half afraid that he won’t.

“I was…I was kind of hoping that you’d changed your mind,” he replies quietly and a shudder runs down my spine.

Did I want to hear that? I look over my shoulder at him, with his head down, looking at his shoes and he’s the Marc that was waiting for me on the other side of the gym that night when I came out from under the bleachers and he knew that I’d been talking to Jordan. He was wearing the same face then that he is now, waiting, certain that I was going to tell him something that he didn’t want to hear.

“I haven’t,” I begin and see him nod, like that was exactly what he was ready for me to say. “I haven’t decided what I want.” I turn to face him, leaning back against the window. The cool pane feels good against my back.

“I’ve missed you,” he says simply, finally looking up at me with those aquamarine eyes of his that have always reminded me of the colour of the water off Montego Bay. “The apartment feels empty without you there.” I don’t know how to answer that, or even if it requires an answer so I just nod. “This is when you’re supposed to say you’ve missed me too,” he prompts, looking over at me with this rueful smile.

“I have,” I admit with a shrug.

“But…?” he prompts again and again I’m forced to shrug.

“I don’t know. I haven’t figured things out yet,” I reply honestly and I can see the hurt in his eyes, even though he does his best to keep control over his expression, keep his big bad defenseman mask on.

“So…how long do you think that will take?” he asks, his voice very quiet, controlled, like he’s barely holding on. Everything in me wants to go to him, to smooth the worry lines in his forehead, the tension lines around his eyes. Instead, I lean against my hands and shrug my shoulders, again.

“I wish I could tell you,” I whisper in reply, “but I just don’t know.”

“Oh god yes, harder, oh god yessssssssssss!”

It’s like having a fucking cheering section, laugh track and a marching band all rolled into one, curvaceous, sexy red headed package. I’m half afraid my balls are gonna bust wide fucking open but it’s been two hours and she hasn’t let me finish yet. She’s riding me like she’s giving me a lap dance, her body writhing like a snake being charmed out of a basket, and I’m as mesmerized by the curve at the small of her back and the slope of her breasts as the snake is by the flute.

Every time I’m about to cum, she’ll stop and do something else, switch positions or beg me to go down on her. I’m light headed from lack of blood in my brain, but I don’t care if I stroke out now. Fuck, I’d die happy.

“Yeah, you like that ma petite?” I ask, pushing up into her and pulling her hips down at the same time.

“Oh yeah, yeah, so good,” she hums happily, biting down on her bottom lip as she throws her head back, shaking out her Pippi Longstocking locks. Sliding my hands up over the soft round globes of her breasts, I roll her nipples between my finger and thumb and she smiles and tightens her muscles around my cock. I groan and shut my eyes. My balls ache for release. “Ah Max, do you want to cum?” she asks, grinding down onto me and licking her full lips. “Do you?” All I can do is nod as she raises a single eyebrow at me and smiles. I think she wants me to beg. I’m not sure I have the energy to.

“Please ma petite fleur, it won’t be the last, I can safely promise you that.” This is good, her on top, but I still want to drive myself into her with her legs spread wide. I want to plumb the depths of her tight little twat. I don’t mind not being in control, that’s not my thing, but I’m not exactly a classic bottom either.

With a wide, wild looking grin, she arches her back and reaches for my thighs with her hands and suddenly my brain goes blank. It’s not just her taught little tummy with its shiny diamond pendant or her high, firm perky little tits pointing skyward that has my brain spitting out wingdings, it’s the way everything tightens around my dick and I go from zero to a hundred in a split second and I know I’m about to let go….

And then the door bursts open.

“Non! Non non, merde! Non!” I cry as Daisy twists to see who’s at the door and instead of being as pissed to see him as I am, she grins and does some kind of gymnastic twist and jumps off of the bed and runs into his arms.

“Which room? Which room?” I’m passed the point of even speak in whole sentences when I grab Duncan off of the bar stool he’s sitting at nursing a tall Guinness.

“Jordy, me old mate!” he grins at me like he’s happy to see it. I want to ask him if he can’t see that I’m in a fucking hurry but he’s too busy slapping my back. “It’s like old home week. Whatcha doin’ ‘ere mate?”

“Where is she?” This gets his attention but he just stares at me like what I’m saying is confusing. I’m pretty sure I’m speaking fucking English, which I know is not the fucking gibberish he yaks in but…. “Kens, where the fuck is she?” I ask, grabbing him by the lapels and shaking him.

“Alright mate, calm down. She’s upstairs but I think you should know….”

“I know, I know he’s up there with her. What room?” I plead, feeling desperate. If I’m right and she’s already been with him for hours….

“Shit mate, whatever. I think it’s two oh eight but I don’t think you wanna go up there now,” Duncan insists again but I just toss him aside and head for the nearest elevator and then decide against that and head up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

I can hear the fucking porno sounds all the way down the hall. I want to cry. I can’t think of the last time I wanted to fucking cry. I’ve finally figured out what I want and she’s in there, fucking Max. Half of me doesn’t want to see it, her in his arms, but the other half has already gone all Hulk and I don’t even look at the room numbers. I just find the room where all the noise is coming from and kick it in.

“Jorrrdeeee!”

I expected cursing and ‘close the door’ and maybe even squeals of embarrassment. I definitely expected Max to be cursing me a blue streak in French. I didn’t expect to have Daze jump, naked, into my arms. I have to catch her or have her knock us both backwards into the hall.

I had all these things that I was going to say and now I’m speechless as I stare at Max who’s lying on the bed looking decidedly and understandably pissed, covering his man bits with a pillow while I hold onto what I’m guessing was, just a moment ago, his…uh, entertainment.

“When did you get here?” Daze asks, like I haven’t just walked in on her having sex, like she’s not naked, but then that’s Daze. She’s never been worried about shit like that. If we were going skinny dipping, she was the first one in. If anyone was playing truth or dare, she was the first to pick dare. If we were playing strip poker, I’d swear she lost on purpose.

“Just now but…I thought…I thought you came to see Kens,” I tell Max and he rolls his eyes and shrugs.

“Silly Jordey,” Daze laughs as I put her down and try not to look while she skips back to the bed and wraps herself around Max who’s still staring daggers at me. Something tells me next practice I’m getting a slap shot in the nuts.

“Can you go now?” Max asks, making the universal ‘get lost’ sweeping motion with his hand.

“I’m…fuck I’m sorry man I thought…so…where is she?” I ask, turning to Daze who grins back at me without the slightest hint of self consciousness or annoyance.

“Down in the bar with Duncs?” she suggests and then, when I shake my head, she shrugs and then gets that big, mischievous grin that I know means nothing but trouble. “Wanna play Nicky Nicky nine doors?”

“Nah,” I have to smile as I back out of the room, “I’ll figure it out. I’m really…man I’m….”

“Fucking close the door behind you, merde man!” Max snaps, throwing something at me that luckily misses as I pull the door shut behind me, or as best I can. It’s kind of off now, not really sitting right on the hinges. I stand there for a minute, listening to Daze’s high pitched giggle.

Man I guess I was wrong.

Now what?

“So that’s it? I’m supposed to wait around for you to figure out…what are you trying to figure out?” Marc asks gently.

“I’m not really sure,” I reply honestly, moving over to the bed and sitting on the end of it. I pat the spot beside me. He stares at it for a second and then pushes off from where he’s been leaning on the door and walks over and sits beside me. He reaches for my hand, like always and like always I put my hand in his and watch it disappear. We sit there for a long time like that, not saying anything. It feels weird; normal, but strained at the same time. “I can’t ask you to wait,” I say quietly and he doesn’t answer. He just sits there next to me, his thigh pressed to mine, his head down. He’s looking at our hands too. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing. It feels normal but not…right.

“If I knew what I did…what I could do?” he looks up at me and it breaks my heart, the hurt and confusion in his eyes. I can’t help but reach out and touch his face, stroke his cheek.

“It’s not you it’s….” Marc laughs and shakes his head.

“I didn’t think people actually said shit like that.” We both smile and I drop my hand. It does sound so cliché but I don’t know how else to say it.

“I thought I was ready. I guess I’m not.” It’s the only thing I can say and it’s the truth. “I don’t really know what else I can tell you.”

“So you’re on this tour and…maybe when you get back…?” he doesn’t give voice to the rest of the question that hangs there, unsaid, making the air heavy and hard to breathe. Will I have it figured out by the time the tour is over, will I move back in with him.

“I don’t know,” I shrug, feeling tears well up in my eyes. “I wish I could tell you something else, especially after you came all this way.” I want to thank him for not asking me to leave the band, for not being an ass about this. “I know you’ve always thought that you came second to the band but it’s not about that.” It’s one of the few things I know for sure. Marc nods, once, a half smile on his face.

“And Jordan?” he asks and my heart stops beating.

“What about him?” I ask, turning my attention to stare at the floor. I feel like a kid that’s been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

“How much of this is about him?” he asks, and when I glance over at him, he’s staring at the floor, like he doesn’t want to see the expression on my face, like maybe he’s hoping that I’ll lie to him. Part of me wants to, after all, I don’t know what I’m even feeling when it comes to Jordan, but I’ve always been honest with Marc.

“Some,” I reply, and my chest tightens and it’s hard to breathe. Marc nods and then he gets up, even though he’s still holding onto my hand. He pulls me to my feet and then we’re walking towards the door.

“Good luck on the tour,” he says quietly, turning to me even as his other hand goes to the door. I nod, tears streaking down my face. His smile widens a little but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he reaches up to cup my cheek. He looks down at me like he’s trying to memorize my face and then he presses his lips to my forehead. “Tell Jordan I hate him,” he whispers, and then he lets go of my hand and turns to go out the door. I grab a hold of him and cling to him, fisting my hands in his windbreaker and pressing my face to the middle of his back.

“I love you Marky…I do,” I cry. I think I hear him say that he knows or something like that but he doesn’t turn around or try to come back. He just waits, patiently for me to let him go and then he opens the door and starts to walk away, only turning back when he gets to the elevator doors. He lifts a hand to wave goodbye, and part of me wants to run to him and drag him back, but I don’t. I just lift my hand too, and then I don’t wave, because Jordan’s standing at the very end of the hall, watching both of us with his hands balled into fists at his sides, looking like he’s ready to kill.