Seductive Chaos (Bad Rep #3) (10 page)

Then I started to wonder what he wanted. It was like when a husband buys his wife flowers out of the blue. The first thought the woman has is, “What did he do wrong?” Or “What is he up to, the bastard?”

And if it involved handcuffs and dressing like a nun again so I could smack him with a ruler for a being a “naughty boy” I’d tell him where to shove it.

Several months ago I had spent four hours, in a nun habit, handcuffed to a hotel bed because Cole couldn’t remember where he had left the keys. In the end he had to call a locksmith to pick the lock.

Imagine my total mortification when a complete stranger took in my odd get up, bound to a bed. And Cole hadn’t even bothered to put away the obscenely large, neon blue vibrator that sat proudly on the bedside table, announcing to the world that we liked it kinky.

The locksmith didn’t say anything, thank god, but I think he was enjoying himself a little too much as he took an inordinately long time to free me.

After Cole had paid him, he thought we could launch back into his quirky sex game. I had let him know, in no uncertain terms, that the only sex game he would be indulging in would involve his hand and his balls.

He had tried to butter me up with his patented version of sweet-talking. Though being told my tits made him want to bust a load in his pants didn’t make my heart skip a beat.

This was definitely different.
He
was different. This strange, tender man who called me every night and spoke about things other than his band or wanting me to rub his
Long Dong Silver
was disconcerting.

Something was changing between Cole and me and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I wasn’t sure I was ready to accept a side of him that wasn’t cocky and arrogant. I could admit that throughout the duration of our less than conventional acquaintance, I got off on the crazy, insanity inducing tirades he incited as much as he did. There was something predictably unpredictable about wanting to rip his pit hair out and making him eat it. Even though I hated with a fiery passion finding him with other women, it’s what I expected from him.

It made it easier to
not
dream of more with him. Cole wasn’t boyfriend material. I couldn’t be delusional about that if he was screwing around the second I wasn’t in sight. My heart couldn’t engage and in turn be broken into a million tiny pieces.

But perhaps I
was
deluded. Because whether I wanted to or not, I did care about him. My stomach flipped and turned over when I saw him. I was at times reduced to a squealy teenage girl around her crush.

Because when the asshole touched me, my entire body ignited. For the last two years, Cole had been slowly ruining me for any guy that would ever come after him.

Poor, pitiful Lambert learned that lesson the hard way.

And now Cole was playing Mr. I’m-So-Sensitive-Don’t-You-Want-To-Hug-Me. The man I had always been able to count on for delicious, sometimes boundary pushing, toe-curling sex, was appealing to my emotional side.

Damn him!

So, no I wasn’t jumping at the chance to see him. He was terrifying me. He was making me question everything about the way things between us operated.

He was making keeping my distance increasingly difficult. And I was more than a little worried that once I saw him I’d launch myself at him and confess my undying love.

And that was a humiliation I was
not
signing up for, thank you very much.

“Well, I’m going. It’s Mitch’s birthday that weekend and I’d like to see him.” I raised my eyebrows at my friend. Gracie stared blandly back, not giving me anything.

I almost snorted. It was on the tip of my tongue to start singing “Mitch and Gracie sittin’ in a tree.” But given my friend’s carefully neutral expression, I figured that taunting her about her tip toeing the line between friends and fucking his brains out relationship with Mitch Delany would not be greeted with laughter.

I wanted to smack Gracie. I thought she was being deliberately obtuse and more than a little cruel when it came to the Rejects’ bassist. He was a nice guy. Probably one of the straight up sweetest people I had ever met.

He adored Gracie. He worshipped at the altar of her awesomeness. He’d give her a kidney if she needed one.

And she was keeping him securely in the friend zone. Even though she tossed him just enough line to make him either hopeful for an actual relationship or to strangle himself with.

I honestly didn’t understand what Gracie was thinking. Personally I suspected that there were more than friendly feelings beneath her staunch denial. I knew they had never hooked up. No kissing. No questionable touching. But I knew she thought about it. I saw the green eyed monster rearing its nasty head when girls flirted with him.

Mitch, like Cole, was no saint. He slept around like any self-respecting up and coming rock star. He sampled his way through the tang buffet.

And it pissed Gracie off, though she would never say so.

She only had herself to blame though. So it was hard to feel sorry for her when her face took on the green pallor of imminent upchuck as she watched girls slip Mitch their telephone numbers.

Then Gracie would go and screw the first guy she came in contact with.

Their pattern was about as destructive as my own.

But Mitch would still be there to call her every day. He’d send her packages from the road full of thoughtful presents just to let her know he was thinking about her.

She was always the girl at the front of his mind.

But I worried that the day would come when Mitch would no longer be content to play the part of Gracie’s pet. He wouldn’t coast along forever in the ambiguous state of limbo they existed in. One day one of those random girls would catch his eye and his heart and he would move on.

And I knew, whether Gracie could admit it to herself, she would be devastated.

“Isn’t that sweet? It’s almost like you
love
him or something.” I couldn’t help it. My maturity level was questionable at the best of times.

Gracie’s eyes narrowed and I smirked.

“I’m not even dignifying that with a response,” she sniffed.

“But you just did,” I pointed out, giggling.

“So are you going to come with me or not? Isn’t it time for your drama fix? Aren’t you in withdrawal from not having a reason to throw something?” Gracie asked, grinning.

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Touché, bitch,” I conceded.

“We’ll see. I’m pretty slammed with this gala I’m planning. I’m not sure I can afford to go gallivanting off to North Carolina for the weekend. I’m pretending to be a productive member of society, darn it.”

Gracie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You live for gallivanting. And I think your emerging alter ego can take a rest for two days. I’ve been getting the feeling that Maysie could use our company. I get the impression that things are getting tense on the road,” she said, surprising me.

“Really? What has she said?” I asked. Cole hadn’t mentioned anything about tension or problems on the tour. But maybe that explained his sudden clingy need to call every day.

Gracie shrugged. “She hasn’t said much, just that the guys have been at each others’ throats a bit more than normal. Apparently the radio interview didn’t go that well.”

That shocked me. I had gotten the impression from Cole that it had been really good. Their airplay and visibility was rising considerable.

“Really?”

Gracie nodded. “Yeah, this DJ chick only wanted to ask Cole questions. She pretty much ignored the rest of the guys. And you know that went down like a lead balloon with Jordan particularly. They had a huge fight and Maysie thought security at the radio station was going to call the cops.”

I was in total recoil. Not that some DJ lady wanted to focus on Cole but the fact that Maysie was picking up on so much bad blood. I knew Cole and Jordan had a contentious relationship. You couldn’t necessarily call them “friends” but they got on well enough when it came to their music. And both of them put their feelings aside for their music. This was not good at all.

“Maysie said this is becoming more and more of the norm. Their publicity photo shoot ended up being a Cole Brandt wank fest. They took some shots of the band but I guess the record label had asked for a bunch of pictures with just Cole. Seems they’re pushing him as the face of the band. This time it wasn’t just Jordan that had the problem. Apparently Mitch wasn’t too happy with it either. I asked him about it but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Maysie says that it’s causing a huge division in the group. Jose, their manager keeps suggesting that they beef up Cole’s vocals; he wants Jordan to cut his drum solos. They’ve even changed the sets and have cut all the songs where anyone else sings. And Cole doesn’t see what the big deal is. Maysie is spending all of her time trying to convince Jordan not to quit.”

I wasn’t entirely surprised that the label would want to push Cole forward for increasing publicity. He was hot. He was sexy. He made girls drop their panties in less time it took for him to get their names.

He was a hell of singer. He was talented. He was a bad boy. He was the entire freaking package.

And those very things are what made me want to simultaneously kiss him senseless and bash his brains in.

Cole’s ego, when unchecked, was a dangerous thing. I had seen it firsthand. I was often on the receiving end of his insensitivity. But I never thought he’d allow anything to mess up his band.

Cole clearly needed a hard smack in the face.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll go. I’ll make sure things are square at work. Figure out the hotel details and I’ll give you the money,” I said, knowing my earlier excuses had been feeble at best.

Of course I’d go.

Cutest doormat in Bakersville, remember?

“Okay, I’ll let you know.” Gracie looked at her watch. “Shouldn’t Miss-Productive-Member-Of-Society be getting to work?” she asked.

I checked the time on my cell phone and almost freaked. I had ten minutes to get to work.

“Crap, crap, crap!” I jumped to my feet and grabbed my purse, barely saying goodbye as I ran out the door.

Why is it when you’re running late, that it is the perfect time for everything to go spectacularly and splendidly wrong?

M
y car wouldn’t start.

I sat in the driver’s seat, turning the key, hoping the clicking noise was only in my imagination and that my engine would magically turn over.

Nope. It was dead as a doornail.

I got out of my car and screamed at the top of my lungs. A woman getting into her perfectly working car gave me a strange look and I gave her the middle finger. Bitch with her shiny Acura that started so damn easily. I bet she was on time for work.

I pulled out my phone and called a cab. They said they’d be there in ten minutes.

It took them fifteen.

I gave the driver my best stink eye as I climbed into the back.

Then we hit roadwork then there was an accident on the highway.

By the time I got to work, I was forty-five minutes late and in a really bad mood.

I ran to the entrance of The Claremont Center just as the heavy wooden door swung open and hit me right in the face.

My purse flew into the air, my cellphone fell to the ground, smashing into a thousand pieces while my nose started hemorrhaging blood all over my adorable pink sweater.

“Fucking hell!” I screeched, covering my nose as blood dripped through my fingers.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” a voice said, shoving tissues into my hand. I didn’t look up as I snatched the tissues and pressed them to my bloody nose.

“What sort of moron swings open a door like that? It’s not that heavy! Are you stupid as well as an asshole?” I seethed. My nose was throbbing. I gingerly touched it, hoping it wasn’t broken.

“You should get that looked at.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I hissed, finally looking up into the face of my one and only client.

Theo Anderson.

Because of course he would be the moron to smash me with a door.

Theo’s gorgeous face was contrite and concerned and I vainly started to freak out about what I must look like. I looked down at my blood-splattered sweater and would have cringed if only it didn’t hurt so badly.

“Uh, sorry about the verbal assault. You’re not a moron,” I apologized.

“I deserved it. It’s fine,” Theo smiled, his pretty eyes crinkling at the edges. He really was nice to look at. I would have enjoyed it more if I weren’t in total agony.

Busted nose aside, I really wish I could dig myself a hole and climb into it.

“I’ll go get Marion. You should come in and sit down. Pinch the bridge of your nose and lean forward. We need to get you to the hospital. It may be broken.” Theo in all of his hot efficiency went to locate my boss and also found ice in the employee break room. He brought both Marion and an ice pack back in less than three minutes.

Marion agreed with Theo in that I should go and have my nose checked out. She offered to drive me but Theo was insistent he take me.

“It’s my fault after all,” he said and I nodded because hell yeah it was his fault.

While Theo grabbed his coat and briefcase, I pulled my compact out of my purse and tried to straighten my hair.