Haze (40 page)

Jesse frequently sent texts to remind me that he missed having me around. I felt guiltier every time I received one, but even when I did stop home to grab something, it never matched his schedule. At the rate I was going, it just wasn't going to work.

So anyway, this weekend was going to be big.
Lexy was having her nearly sold-out CD release party at a twenty-one hundred capacity concert theatre, a gigantic show for any beginning artist. She had been blowing up ever since my first date with Jack, her single approaching the top of the charts. College radio had stretched her influence even further—and Jack couldn't have been any happier about the situation.

It was obvious that he was happy for
her
, happy that she was going to survive in a vicious industry that normally took advantage of people like her. I mean, I was crunching his numbers and yeah, he was making a lot too. But his cut was a lot smaller than hers, and I had nothing but respect for his generosity.

Today, Friday, was the release party. And then tomorrow, I was going to move in with Jack for good. Jesse had taken the news very well, because Laura had actually been thinking very seriously about moving in with him but didn't want to inconvenience me by asking. His room was a little too small for them both to have an office area, so if I left, she could use the space. Well,
they
could use the space. Plus, my room was still zero cost for another month and a half and I would pass the savings along to them.

I actually told my mom and dad about Jack, and while they seemed happy, they didn't know the whole story. They were excited that I had switched jobs, and for the sake of simplicity, I hadn't informed them that I was very specifically dating my boss. I had no idea how they would have responded to such juicy information. One way or another, I knew I was going to go much further with Jack at my side than I would have on my own.

That knowledge made everything feel better.

It wasn't that I doubted my own abilities—it's just that Jack was already famous and almost inhumanly talented. I had spent some time with him in the studio and marveled at his ability to compose melodies, lyrics, and vocal parts on the spot. He would spit something out in a second, and then
Lexy would sing it and bring us both to our knees.

Fuck, and watching him work only made him that much hotter. Seeing him with a guitar made me weak in the knees. Hearing him on a grand piano made me want to weep. It was as if I had my own personal Elvis and it was the fifties. And none of his hip shaking was ever censored at all...

"Christ, you always look so fucking hot."

We were at his place for lunch, enjoying Greek salads he prepared from scratch. Jack had actually
been teaching me to cook, not because I wanted to fall into that
role
but because I was interested in getting better. I tried now and then, but usually he remained in charge of the kitchen.

Every day, he'd shout such filthy compliments at me, compliments that made me feel dirty and animalistic. I had never been so sexual in my life, and I was loving every minute of it. It was so salacious, so raw, so sensual.

I had finished my salad and was washing the plates in the sink. As usual, Jack was staring at me hungrily—even though we'd just finished eating.

"Thanks for being so classy, Jack. How old are you again?"

"Almost thirty-one," he said proudly.

"Oh, so you're not actually fifteen?"

He started laughing. "C'mon over here. Please?"

I left the partially scrubbed plates in the rack and approached him. He scooted his chair out from the table and turned to face me. I climbed onto his lap and he wrapped his arms around my waist to stabilize me. His aftershave wafted into my nostrils, the menthol blending with his musk. I stared down into his beautiful eyes, feeling the hardness against my inner thigh.

"You know I love you, right?" He kissed my neck gently.

"I hadn't forgotten just yet." I met his lips with a kiss, our tongues swimming in those wet, warm spaces. He kept the kiss rolling, my body giving into his. His hands started hiking up my skirt, pulling down my panties. I knew where this was going, and nothing in my body ever wanted to resist him.

"Jack," I said, withdrawing my tongue from his mouth, "isn't that guy coming to the office?"

"You're
coming
first."

He pulled down his pants, and a few seconds later, he was inside of me and I was losing my mind. And as always, I came. Hard.

***

After straightening out our clothes and cleaning up, we went back to the office. Jack met the guy on time—he was right; I did come first—and they headed out to briefly deal with something venue-related while I wrapped up my responsibilities for the week.

I did my usual advertising on Facebook, posting bulletins on Lexy's and the label's pages. I was handling some of the social media stuff on top of the accounting while they prepared for the show. Sometimes I even reposted the shows on my own account, even though I didn't have really any friends in NYC. If it had the potential to help Lexy, I did it. By this point, she had become a close friend.

What impressed me the most was how ready she was for this. She wasn't cocky or anything else, just confident that she had put in the work and would now reap the rewards. There was going to be a tour soon, a month-long journey across the United States in decent sized venues and luxury hotels courtesy of Mr. Manager, Jack Teller. A huge band had given her an opening slot, but Jack wouldn't tell me who it was just yet.

He was sure it was the last tour she'd be an opener for. After this, she'd be a headliner, no doubt. And from what I'd heard, he was absolutely right.

Before he even finished telling me about the tour, he had already informed me that I was coming along and that it would be a blast. Yeah, I was starting to get used to this whole rock 'n' roll thing, acclimating to his excessively creative world that had a place even for little old me. Jack was going to do this tour, and although he would forever remain
Lexy's producer, he wasn't sure if he wanted to keep doing
that
.

We'll see how you like life on the road,
he had said. It sounded like a challenge worth accepting.

There was one restriction, however: Jack forbade me from coming to the rehearsals. I had never seen him truly perform, so I would just have to wait until the gig. He gave me a front row seat in exchange for my patience; I accepted the offer.

I had met most of the band members around the label, and they were all a lot of fun, affable personalities handpicked by Jack. They were all guys—I told Jack he was a sexist after I found out their gender—and all around Jack's age, people he had known over the years.

One way or another, I was excited for this big night, excited for
Lexy, excited for
us
. This weekend we'd basically seal the deal, taking yet another step toward forward in our relationship. I liked it. Things were coming together in my life and I loved the progress, loved how it felt.

It was as if I had spent years trying to buy shoes, and I'd finally found the pair that felt good both in the store
and
in actual use. How many times have you bought shoes only to have them chew up the flesh on your ankles the first time you do any serious walking in them?

Yeah, Jack was the
perfect
pair of shoes for me.

***

My diurnal duties completed, I chilled out in the office, just relaxing and reading a book until Jack got back. I had started reading again, something Jack had encouraged, insisting that he owed much of his creativity to the books he consumed. I had also started writing as well, something that would obviously be enhanced by my reading.

I used to love reading, but I had stopped once I got into college, replacing my word diet with textbooks instead of fiction. It was fun to escape into another world temporarily, even though I had started to like this one so much.

Not ten minutes after I became idle, Jack showed up with two huge chicken parmesan subs from this local deli that he liked so much.

"God, you're trying to make me explode," I whined. "Those are huge."

"If you don't eat the whole thing, you don't explode." He winked at me and quickly swept his eyes across the room. "After we finish these, we're heading home to get dressed and leaving immediately after. There's a backstage area where you can have some drinks."

"Do you have tickets for my seat?" I asked innocently.

"I was actually kidding about that. You can watch from side if you want. Most VIP guests watch from really close or really far away. Can't get closer than the stage."

"What if I want to sit in front? I
wanna be a real audience member. Isn't that why you denied me access to the rehearsals?"

He cocked one eyebrow and smiled. "Touché. Sit there if you please. But the free drinks are backstage. You'll have a wristband to pass security, no matter where you're sitting."

"God, I'm gonna be like a real groupie," I said proudly. "My life's dream, finally fulfilled tonight when I sleep with a rock star."

"Right," Jack said huskily. He leaned forward and kissed my neck, slowly crawling down my flesh until his tongue was in the swell of my cleavage. "You always taste so sweet."

"I bathe in sugar," I said wryly.

"That's
so
stupid," he said, giggling even though he acted as if he didn't want to.

"I don't want to hear about it. Those subs smell so good and it's clouding my judgment."

"Understandable," he said, sitting down and sliding the pile of napkins near us.

We ate quietly together, the rest of the label employees gone for the day. It happened this way most days, Jack and I being the last people here and having to close up shop. He seemed to enjoy maintaining the space. It was nice—certainly much better than the typical indie label—but a lot smaller than MCI, obviously.

It was so cute watching Jack sweep the floors and straighten things out on his desk prior to leaving every night. He took such pride in the label, the only business in the world that was truly his, free from any outside intrusion or input.

Tonight, however, he skipped the chores so we could keep our schedule.

The limo was already outside waiting for us, and the trip back to his place was short.

Jack requested that I wear the ruby red chiffon swing dress I had purchased the previous week, so I obliged. As soon I walked out clad in the dress, his eyes crawled up and down me in the sleaziest fashion possible.

"What the fuck, Jack?" I complained, my words as hollow as could be. I actually loved when he looked at me like that.

"I think we should just skip the concert and I'll fuck you in every room of the house. On every piece of furniture too."

I shook my head. "You always talk like that, and then after the second or third time, you're tired out. What about
my needs
?" I couldn't stop grinning, my sarcasm like a storm.

"I get it," he said. "How many times do I have to make you come before you're happy?"

"I'm an eight to ten kind of girl." I gave him a firm wink.

"I guess I really need to practice, huh?"

I walked toward him and wrapped my arms around his waist. "You're
so terrible
, Jack." I kissed his cheek and squeezed his butt playfully. He returned the favor, and was hard seconds after I pressed against him. We both wanted it bad, but we just didn't have the time.

Jack pulled away abruptly, as if he had realized he'd be totally stuck to me if he didn't act soon. "I've got to get dressed."

A few minutes later, he emerged from his room wearing a tight black t-shirt and a pair of very tight, low-slung jeans. "Is this okay?" he said.

My jaw dropped. He looked like a fucking movie star, like the hottest man who had ever walked the earth. The simplicity of the outfit lent itself to him incredibly well. I instantly imagined a guitar stretched across his body, the women in the audience screaming, begging for a scrap of his attention as he strummed and howled into a microphone. Jack was a paragon of talent and beauty.

I almost passed out.

"You've never looked better." I took a deep breath and retained my composure.

"Hey," he said, "why are you blushing?"

My cheeks had become hot and red, the reason why not entirely clear to me. Maybe it was that I was finally witnessing this other part of his personality, as if I was meeting
this Jack
for the very first time. As usual, I was smitten nearly to death.

"I don't really know. Are you, uh, n-nervous?" I asked, attempting to change the subject away from my own weakness.

"Never. I used to get nervous, but then I realized my goals don't get accomplished if I don't go on stage. I actually do make mistakes sometimes—and I hide them well." He smiled as he toyed with his hair in the hall mirror. "But this might be my last tour, anyhow. Gotta give it my best."

The thought made me feel melancholy for some reason. I hadn't even seen him perform, and here he was, talking about retirement. It wasn't up to me, though. It never was, and it probably never would be. "You will." I said it ostensibly, but despite my lack of experience and understanding of what he really did, I knew it would turn out to be true.