Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (2 page)

Chapter 3

April 2014

"You know, Roxy,” Tess said, wiping the bar top, “We've worked together for almost two years and I really don't know anything about you, doll.”

I shrugged. “Not much to know.”

“Whatever.” She stopped and placed her hand on her hip, flinging the towel at me. “You barely ever come out with any of us. I mean, you’re fun as hell here. What’s with all the excuses anytime I try to get you to hang out? Are you a fucking recluse or something?”

“I don’t like people.”

Tess laughed, and one of her thin eyebrows arched as she shook her head. "Well, neither do I. Looks like we chose the wrong profession, huh? Waiting on a bunch of drunk assholes. But the celebs that come in make it worth it, huh?”

She nodded, agreeing with herself before continuing. “If only I could manage to seduce one of them, have them knock me up, and pay me child support forever." She released a dreamy sigh. "That would be amazing.
Amazing
! But no such luck yet." She grabbed a rack of glasses and slung it underneath the counter.

I shook my head. "Celebrities are assholes. Why would you even want to give them the satisfaction of an orgasm?" I asked while I plugged the bottles of liquor with the silver pour spouts.

"No, ma'am. It would be the pleasure of my
own
orgasm. Screw theirs. And let's not forget the bragging rights. I would tell every-fucking-body and their mom that I'd gotten pounded by insert-name-of-famous-person-here. Hell, I'll take Zach Galifianakis."

I set the bottle of vodka down and stared at her, my lip curling up toward my nose. "Really, Tess. You're the definition of a whore!"

"What?" She shrugged and slammed another crate of glasses under the counter. "He's funny—"

"And gross..."

"
But
famous." Her red lips shaped into a grin, and she wiggled her eyebrows at me while rubbing her fingers together. "Money. It's all about the money, boo."

"Oh, my God," I groaned, jerking up the ice bucket and making my way to the back to fill it.

I never could understand the entire infatuation with celebrities. Maybe it's because I'd grown up right outside of LA, or maybe it’s because I didn't have the normal adolescence where I could daydream about winning over the guy on the cover of the teeny-bop per magazines, but I just couldn't get it. I'd met plenty of famous people at that damn club, and they were
just
people…really rich, really fake people.

Don’t get me wrong, not all of them were cocky assholes, but there were the ones who were narcissistic, whore-mongrel dipshits. They thought being famous made them entitled, which meant they shouldn't have to pay for anything, ask for anything, or treat normal people with any respect. What got me was that those arrogant fucking celebrities were the ones the girls swooned hardest over. All the other bartenders flirted and pretty much offered themselves like a sacrificial virgin to those assholes, but I had to bite my tongue every time I waited on one. I didn’t want or need them to acknowledge me. All I wanted was to put them in their place.

I lifted the lid to the ice bin and dumped the bucket inside.

"Hey!" Tess shouted. I jumped when she popped her head around the side of the bin.

"What the fuck?" I slapped my chest a few good times to try and make my heart go back into rhythm.

She giggled. "Chill out."

"Don't scare me."

"Well, don't be so on edge. Loosen the hell up or something." She crossed her arms over her chest, raising her hand to twirl a piece of brown hair around her finger. "Hey, speaking of screw-worthy hotties, aren't you going to that Pandemic Sorrow concert tomorrow?" Her smile widened. "Hmmm?"

I slammed the lid down. The force caused droplets of chilled water to fly up and spray my face. "Yeah. Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately? That thing sold out in like the first three hours! How in the hell are you not beyond stoked? Jag Steele—holy fuck!" Her jaw unhinged; I wouldn’t have been surprised if a sliver of drool trickled from her lip.

"I would die, do you hear me, die, D.I.E. if I got to touch him. Orgasm right then and right there. Take my panties off and give them to him, fuck him on the stage. Oh. My. Fucking. Hell."

I rolled my eyes and leaned against the bar. Grabbing my beer opener, I flipped it in my hands, watching the halogen lights glint from its sides. "Not surprised, since you're a whore and all."

"Seriously, Rox. He's ungodly hot. That voice. Those lips.” She grabbed her hair in her fists. “That fucking hair. Are you sure you're a woman? I mean, do you have a vagina? Because that man makes mine sing hey diddle, diddle, come fuck me with your fiddle."

I choked back a laugh just as the music came through the speakers and the floor lights dimmed. "Well. I got those stupid meet and greet VIP passes—"

"You did what?" Tess grabbed onto my arm, her nails digging into my flesh as she brought her face uncomfortably close to my own. "You are going to
meet
him? And Stone, and Rush, and the drummer, what's his name—Max, wait, no Pax—you are going to be face to fucking face with them?"

"Yeah." I jerked my arm loose and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. "But. I don't care for them. I got them for my sister for her birthday present. If you ask me they think pretty fucking highly of themselves. It was an extra two hundred dollars per ticket to meet them."

Tess cocked her head to the side, a soft smirk creeping across her face. "And so why then, hater of all men that are hot and undeniably fuckable, did you get the passes?"

"Because it's Layla's dream to meet them—"

Tess cut me off and shoved a finger in my face. "Then one meet and greet would have done, correct? Or do you have a va-ja-ja after all my dear?"

Swatting her finger out of my face, I shook my head and pushed off the bar. "My sister would go to jail for sexual assault if I let her go by herself. Either that, or she'll pass the fuck out. I have to go to make sure she doesn't go to jail or die. Plus it's her twenty-first birthday and I know she won't stay sober enough to drive."

"Oh, pulling the protective older sister shit." She paused. "Wait.” Tess blinked a few times then narrowed her eyes in confusion. “I didn't even know you had a fucking sister. Really?"

"Yep. I’ve got a sister." I flipped the backlights on, illuminating the liquor bottles, and shrugged at her.

Since Sean had died, I didn't let people in. I didn't need to. I didn't need anyone. I cut just about everybody out of my life over time. I hadn’t even gone on a date in over a year. If I didn't fill my life with people, I couldn't get hurt. And I'd had enough of that over my short life to avoid relationships of any kind like a fucking plague. Adapt or die. I’d learned to make it. I had to be hard. And loving…caring, well, that makes you soft.

Grief affects everyone differently, and the way I handled it was to make sure it never happened again.

Chapter 4

It was ninety degrees. I hated hot weather, and the air coming in through the cracked windows did nothing to cool me off.

I banged my fist over the dashboard until the AC cut on. The air blowing from it may not have really been air conditioned, but it was at least five degrees cooler than the breeze from outside.

I rolled up my window and slammed my head against the headrest. “For fuck’s sake. Why is it so hot out there? What did people do before air conditioning?”

I thought about how gross it must have been to live in a world without climate control, then realized I’d most likely sweated half of my makeup off. I took a quick glance in the rearview mirror and caught Layla rubbing the hair of the troll doll glued to my dashboard.

Sean had given that to me, and Layla knew I didn’t like anyone to mess with it.

I smacked her hand away. “Don’t fucking touch that!” I scolded. “You know I don’t like anyone touching that.”

She sat back in the seat and tugged at her seatbelt. “You know, he was my brother too, Roxy. I loved him. I miss him just like you do. You forget I was part of that family too.”

“I know, Layla. But. Just don’t touch it. Okay? It’s just—”

“I know, Rox. He said everyone else out there was a troll. And we had to battle them. That we couldn’t be like them if we battled them. I remember the stories he told us to try to give us an escape. I may have only been five or six, but I remember how he would scream out the stories about trolls and the heroic Slade Siblings to try to drown out the yelling, the gunshots, all the…” she swallowed. “All the shit we went through.”

I nodded and turned down the street to park the car. “He put that there when I’d had a bad day, to remind me we can be better than what we’d come from. That we were better than…” I felt my face crumple as I continued, “What he gave into.”

I drew in a breath, refusing to let my emotions take over. “Just fucking—just don’t touch it.” I glared at her, the hurt from losing him bottling up inside me.

“Don’t fucking touch it!” I screamed and stopped myself to bury my face in my hands.

I focused on the song playing on the radio, singing the lyrics out loud. I needed a distraction to blot out the pain, to smother the flicker of reality I’d allowed to slap me in the face. It was easier when I pretended his death was just some movie I’d watched, that maybe that was a story I’d read in some book.

I glanced up at Layla. “Sorry. Sorry. Look. We’re here.” I pointed out to the music hall. “You’re an hour away from being face-to-face with that fuck-face you adore.”

She grinned and bit down on her bottom lip, then grabbed her stomach. “Holy shit. What am I gonna say to him? Oh, shit. How does this sound? ‘I’m a huge fan. I tried to come to one of your shows a few years back. I actually had a backstage pass then and I got mono. I cried for weeks because my life had been ruined. I love you. And I want to make babies with you.’”

Her hazel eyes pulsed open and she panted. It looked like she’d just been handed a sack full of thousand dollar bills. “That sounded good, right? Not too desperate, but like I’d be willing to screw him, right?” She ran her hands over her thighs, I’m guessing to wipe the sweat off. “I mean, if he doesn’t want it. Stone’s my next choice, then Rush. Wait, maybe Rush should be next. That way I still have a shot with Jag later.” Her eyes darted up at me. “Or do you think they share, even though they’re brothers?”

That little display of desperation to touch fame disgusted me. I could feel a snarl creep over my face. This was insane.

I shook my head, my eyes fluttering at how ridiculous she sounded. “Seriously, Layla? Seriously? What the hell
is it
about him?”

She shrugged. “Really? Have you seen the guy? He’s a sex god. If sex could morph into the shape of a man, it would most definitely be as Jag Steele. I mean, he’s the most famous rock star there is. He’s rich, he’s sexy, and he’s famous. He’s like the pinnacle of…. I mean, if you got him, that would be like winning a Noble Peace Prize for your snatch. You would be legit.”

I grabbed the door handle and stared at her. “You sound like a whore.”

There was no way that night wouldn’t turn into a disaster. Layla was so obsessed with this band, she would do anything to feel like she had a piece of their fame. I’d come for the sheer fact that someone had to control her, she knew no bounds, and, if she had her way, she would be naked by the time she got in front of him.

“Roxy,” she said, looking over at me, her eyes wide. “It’s Jag Steele. Come on, tell me you wouldn’t get with him if you could?”

I knew the guy’s looks were ungodly. He had huge brown eyes, usually rimmed with thick, sexpot eyeliner. His hair was luscious, dark, and wavy. He had amazing tattoos. And his lips were fucking enticing. When they first blew up, I had a slight thing for him, but when he fell into all the drugs I lost it. Then the fact that he had tried to pretend to be clean, attempted to act like he was a mentor when it was obvious he was no better than he was before he’d overdosed—top that off with what a complete dick he sounded like in interviews, and the fact that he was constantly getting in fights with paparazzi, oh, and that he’d dipped his dick in half of the civilized world—I had zero respect for him.

“There is no way in hell I would ever hook up with a guy like Jag Steele, Layla. He’s everything I despise,” I sneered.

Guys like him were a joke. Jag Steele was one of the trolls. I refused to idolize someone that went against everything I’d tried to not become—mainly an addict.

Layla huffed, her lip snarling as she let what I’d just said sink in. “You’re insane.”

“Okay, Layla. Just don’t embarrass yourself. And please, don’t suck his dick in front of everyone, okay? Just keep some freaking dignity.” I opened the door and motioned for her to get out.

She grabbed onto my arm as we approached the entrance to the venue. “Did you get the tickets?”

“Yes.”

“The VIP passes?”

“They give those to us once we sign the waivers.”

“Oh, God. Okay. Okay.” She stalled and bent over to huff out a few painful sounding breaths. She groaned and then raised back up and reclaimed my arm. “Holy shit,” she whimpered and stopped again. “I can’t do this. Yes, I can. I’m going to do it. If I fling myself on him and plant one on him, you think I’d go to jail? Maybe dry hump his leg just a little to know what it feels like to have him up against me.”

“Layla!” I narrowed my gaze on her, slightly shocked at her complete lack of control. I had expected her to be excited, nervous, maybe even dry heave, but she had lost it. “Do you need to go in the restroom and masturbate before meeting him or something? Please don’t rape the guy. I spent all my money on these stupid tickets, which means there would be no bail money.”

Layla whacked me on the shoulder. “No. I’ll be fine. I’m fine. Completely fine. Just—maybe I should take some Xanax?”

“What the hell? Layla? Pills? Really? I thought you’d stopped that?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just keep some in case I get nervous. I’ve got a script for them. Chill out.” She gasped, and her nails buried themselves in my tender flesh. “Oh, shit. Look at that line!”

I glanced down the line of near naked girls, all foaming at the mouth as they peered through the tinted glass windows trying to see the band.

“It’s fine,” I assured her. “You’ll get to meet him. I swear. No matter if you’re last in line.”

Sometimes you know when a moment in your life is going to change everything. Like the moment you shoplift, the moment you decide to get in the car with a drunk, the second you decide to give into that guy you know you have no business with—you know those are all potential disasters that could ruin your life. But sometimes you have no idea what moments will tear into you, completely fuck with you, and ultimately determine your fate.

Fate…that’s a real force, and one that you can’t fight, no matter how much you think you can. Fate always, always gets its way. It’s one relentless bitch, that’s for sure.