Born Wrong (10 page)

I stand there for a minute as she wraps her arms around my waist, and I almost give in and stay. Almost, almost, fucking almost.

“I could give you the world, Dax, if you'd just let me. We could make things happen together.”

“Like making Naomi my sex slave?” I whisper bitterly, my breath fogging against the glossy paint on the door.

“Whatever you want, Dax. I would never say no to you; I love you.” I squeeze my hands into fists. I'm so disgusted by Hayden right now, I can barely breathe. My chest feels tight and my heart hurts like crazy. All I want to do right now is lay down and sleep it off.
Fuck.

“Yeah, well, I don't love you.”

And then I push back, untangle her arms from around me, and storm out the door.

I wonder if I'll regret that decision later.

“Is it true that you identify as a woman, Mr. McCann?” the interviewer asks me. She's a pretty chick with long, blonde hair and a movie star smile, but fuck. Really? Really? I turn and glance over my shoulder, catching America's forced smile. She's standing next to a table covered in finger food. When she sees me looking at her, and not at the reporter, she gets this mean look that I'd be hard pressed to describe. Just imagine what a crocodile would look like if you first crossed it with a velociraptor, and then pissed it off.

I sigh. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. My interview is going
nothing
like Turner Campbell's. Or Naomi's. Or even Hayden's. Why am I sucking so freaking much? I turn back to the woman, Pearl I think is her name. Nothing hip or cool about that. My grandmother's name, on my dad's side, is fucking Pearl. I keep reminding myself of that as I stare into her white-blue eyes and try to think up an appropriate response. Somewhere nearby, somebody's chuckling.
Fucking Turner Campbell, piece of shit eating, self-aggrandizing sack of garbage.

“If you mean, do I embrace my feminine side, sure.” The laughter intensifies, and I have to fight the urge to get up and pummel the crap out of Turner. Maybe he could kick my ass; maybe not. But he reminds me of all the boys in high school that made fun of me, teased me to within an inch of my life. I won't take that crap anymore. Not from anyone. I've tried to be civil, but I have a breaking point. I probably won't go all bat shit crazy like Ronnie McGuire, beat a guy to a pulp on the street, but you never know.

The reporter's eyebrows are raised now. I try to cut in before she can comment on that.

“All I mean is that I'm in touch with my feelings.” Her smile gets a little wider, and I can tell I am fucking this up so bad, it's nobody's business. Okay.
Breathe, Dax. Breathe. You can do this.
I imagine my dad might read this, too. He's not going to like it, not one bit. “Look lady, I have a dick and I'm quite aware of it, okay? I'm not a woman, and I'm not interested in being a woman. That doesn't mean I have to be a self-serving, penis worshipping sack of shit.” Pearl's mouth twitches, but her smile never changes. She didn't like me from the moment I walked in here. Fine. Whatever. I don't care.

“I see. So you prefer the company of men?” I raise my hands up and look over my shoulder again. America's still giving me that
look
, the dinosaur one, so I turn back to the reporter and drop my arms to my lap. My fingers curl so tight against my jeans that they burn.

“I'm. Not. Gay.” Probably the thousandth time I've fucking said that in my life. Not that I think there's anything wrong with that; I'm just sick of people trying to force some label on me because they don't get me. I play drums, I like to watch horror movies, and I have tattoos on my eyelids. That doesn't mean I want dick in my ass. I'm just this way, and I'm sick of justifying myself to everyone.

“Bisexual?” Pearl asks me. I purse my lips.

“I enjoy moving my cock inside of a woman's vagina.” Not really sure how much clearer I can get than that. Pearl enjoys this, her overly made up face twisting into an expression of pure glee. This, this is why I always beg America not to schedule interviews. These people don't give a fuck about any of us. All they want is a story, and fuck, let's be honest. I'm not all that interesting to them. I'm just the drummer of the second rate band that's along for the ride. I'm not Turner Campbell; I don't have four babies from different mothers like Ronnie. I'm not a train wreck like Hayden, a kidnap victim returned from the depths of horror. No Naomi, risen from the dead and the first and only chick to ever tame the wild beast that is Indecency's lead singer. I'm useless to them. The only way my interview will be worth anything is if she pisses me off. And I'm letting her. I instantly hate myself for it. And then I realize I'm acting exactly like the emo bitch I always get accused of being. And then I just get pissed off.

“But also inside of a man?” Pearl prods. I think she's really enjoying herself here. Nobody is that fucking stupid. I move my grip to the arms of my chair and lean forward.

“Are you dumb, Pearl? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a child?” This doesn't particularly faze her, but it does get America's attention. I can hear her heels clicking across the floor behind me. I have seconds, maybe, to save this interview. “Look, I'm not gay, okay? Please stop asking me that. Can't we talk about something else? The music maybe? That's why we're here isn't it?” Pearl doesn't look particularly interested in me anymore. She sighs and then
yawns,
glancing down at the clipboard in front of her.

“Any crushes we should know about?” she asks me, more like it's a required question and less like she actually gives a shit. Naomi's name immediately springs to mind and then dies on my lips. Yeah, that's the last thing I need. To tell the world how pathetic I am. We've all been watching Turner and Naomi's whirlwind romance. I scramble for something to say while Pearl looks on, getting more interested by the moment. She probably thinks I'm trying to comb through my hundred butt buddies. Fucking fuck. I mean, I don't really care what she thinks, but Jesus. I just want people to know me. That's it.

“Sydney Charell.” It pops right out of my mouth like it's been summoned. The words sit there in front of my face, letters swimming round and round in my blurring vision.
Aw, shit. Shit. Man. Shit.
“I … ”
Have no idea what to say.
Pearl looks confused for a moment, rustling her papers and then tossing them aside for her iPad. After a moment, understanding dawns on her face.

“So you're in love with Treyjan's sister? Interesting. That's interesting. So you might say, Trey's tragedy was your miracle?”

“Huh, what? No. No. I didn't say I was in love with her. I just … And my miracle? I'm sorry. I don't follow.”
This isn't the live interview. This isn't the live interview.
I just keep repeating that to myself. Somebody, probably Pearl, is going to write this shit up and post in on the
Rockersbloodpills.com
site. The TV interview comes later. I can't fucking wait.

“Trey getting shot was the best thing that ever happened to you. If he hadn't been shot, Sydney wouldn't have come to town. A stripper with a heart of gold waltzes into your life, takes you by the hand, and really redeems you as a man. Does that sound accurate?”

“That couldn't be further from the truth,” I start, but suddenly, there's a warm body spilling into my arms, a mouth on my mouth. My whole body goes numb, like it's in shock. When sensation starts back up in my limbs, it's with a vengeance. My skin gets tight, my cock gets hard, and my hands curl around the plump curves of a one, Miss fucking Sydney Charell. When her tongue hits mine, it's like an explosion goes off inside of me. I growl, and I
never
growl. I bite at her fucking face like an animal, eating at her sweet heat and tasting her like I've never tasted another woman before. Sydney smells like summer and wild things, like citrus and fruit groves, like the sea shimmering under the sun. I squeeze her hard, splaying my hands out against her supple flesh, pulling her as tightly against me as I can get. And Pearl? Yeah, uh, fuck Pearl.

I get that there's a world around me, spinning through the dark depths of space. I get that Naomi's probably watching me tongue a chick I just met. That Hayden's watching. Kash, Wren, Blair, America. But I can't seem to stop myself. My body just
reacts
and that's that. Sydney's lips are soft and smooth, fluttering over my angry mouth like a butterfly. For a first kiss, it's pretty bomb.

When we pull apart, we're both gasping, breathing hard. I'm physically fighting my body, begging my dick to stop throbbing and my stomach to stop aching. I get lost in her blue eyes, quivering there, my mouth shaking as I just barely brush over her skin.
Get a hold of yourself, asshole. You're not an untamed beast.
I ignore the part of me that says,
but Sydney makes me want to be one.

“I, uh, I'm Dax.” And I can't believe nobody thinks of me as a Casanova? That's so fucking shocking. I lick my lips and Sydney makes this, this
noise
in her throat that has me going crazy. “I mean, uh, thanks. Thank you.” I tear my eyes from hers and glance over her shoulder, determined
not
to feel the slick, hot skin of her bare back rubbing against my arms. Pearl is gaping at me, actually gaping. I resist the urge to flip her off. Too Turner. And I'm not Turner. I am Dax McCann, born and raised in the Midwest but never a real part of it, never a card carrying member. I am Dax McCann and I really, really want to have sex with this woman.

“I have no idea what I'm doing. Sometimes, I just do things.” Sydney shrugs, but all that does is cause her breasts to rub against my chest. I debate moving her off of me, but then, I've got a massive fucking hard-on. And while the camera behind Pearl isn't supposed to be rolling, it could be. I take a second to glance around the room and plan my exit. There are a lot of faces staring at me. Too many. Kash gives me a thumbs up, but I ignore him. Turner's head is cocked to the side like he can't even fucking believe what he's seeing. And Naomi. I can't even meet her eyes. So, I do what any logical dude would do. I grab Sydney under the legs and around the waist, lifting her up with me as I rise to my feet. I carry her low, moving across the suddenly silent room. You could hear a pin drop in here.

We only make it about as far as the back curtain, sliding into the darkness near the bathrooms with a rush of breath and a few gasps. I drop Sydney to her feet and slam her into the wall with a groan, fumbling at her dress, pressing my erection against her firm body. She's just … killer. Absolutely killer.

“I don't know you, but I want to slam you into this wall and fuck the shit out of you. Explain.”

“You've never had a quickie before?” Sydney asks, but her voice catches like maybe she's never felt a lust this strong before either. Thank God, right, because I wouldn't just be considered emo, I'd be a downright fucking loser. I can hardly remember my own name right now. Imagine if this happened on a regular basis?

“Are we going to have one now?” I ask. My dick has a mind of its own and currently, it's attempting to make a jail break. I've managed to push Sydney's skin tight dress up her thighs, leaving her hot core just a thin, silken shield away from me. I press my crotch tighter into her and try to remember to breathe. Doesn't seem all that important in the moment.

“Um, yes,” Sydney breathes against my neck, breaking my free will in half. I am now currently a slave to my dick. Great. I hope Dad reads my interview.

“Um, no. How about that? How the fuck about that?” Turner snarls, moving behind the curtain and pushing me back a step. I almost kill him. It's sort of like that. My body is full of testosterone, and my logical brain is already pissed off at him for laughing, so there's really nothing left keeping me back. Good thing Sydney steps between us.

“Turner, fuck off. This isn't really any of your business.”

“Uh, yeah, it is. Trey's my brother which makes you kind of my sister, and I'm not going to friggin' stand here and listen to my sister get banged by some douche-y little bitch that wears his hair in his face.”

“Oh, that's real rich, Turner. You do know that I strip for a living, right?”

“Yeah, but I don't have to see it.”

“You don't have to see this if you leave,” Sydney continues, folding her arms over her chest. I try not to look too closely at her ass hanging out of those sexy, little panties. There's fucking lace on the edges.
Lace.
I take another step back and turn completely around, focusing instead on the brick walls of the building and not on some girl I barely know. I'm not a prude or anything, but I just generally don't sleep around. Once in a while, the urge strikes. I mean, I'm human after all, but that doesn't mean I want a reputation that proceeds me.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”
Crap.
Naomi. I glance over my shoulder, reaching down to make sure my pants are back in order. They are, but my cock isn't. It's rock solid. Might as well be made out of diamond. Add a little water and I could cut granite.

“This angst ridden fuck is trying to show his one eyed monster to my sister.”