I start ticking stuff off with my fingers. “Handcuffs, a gallon of water, some smelling salts, and aspirin.”
As much as I’d like the jerk to be in pain, he has a show tomorrow and it’s now my responsibility to make sure he performs at peak capacity. Which means no hangover headaches for him.
I’m fully prepared for Dicky to argue, but to my surprise, he agrees. “Okay. I’ll get you what you need.”
I’m expecting him to head back to the elevators, but he strolls down the hallway, stopping at a room near Phoenix’s.
“I need your handcuffs,” he demands when the door opens. “And the keys.”
I have no clue who’s on the other side—or why they have a set of handcuffs on them—but three minutes later, he’s tossing them to me before strolling along to the elevators.
“The rest will take a bit longer,” he calls out. “But I’ll leave everything outside your room.”
Of all the things I asked for, I figured the cuffs would be the hardest for him to procure, not the easiest. “Thanks.”
Jumping into action, I return to the suite. After shutting the music off, I bring my fingers to my lips, letting out a loud whistle. “Party’s over.”
As expected, there are dirty looks and protests all around.
“No, it’s not,” Phoenix slurs loudly and everyone cheers.
Goddammit.
Thinking quick, I give him a flirty smile and twirl the handcuffs around my finger. “I was kind of hoping we could have a party of our own.”
Dopey eyes widen ever so slightly before he yells. “Party’s over. Everyone out.” He glances down. “Including you two.”
Whines and objections fill the room as people stagger to the door.
“Buzzkill,” someone sneers as they pass me.
One of the blow-job twins tries to kiss Phoenix goodbye, but he turns his head. “Get out.”
“Bitch,” one of them mutters under her breath as she gets dressed.
“Guess he’s a chubby chaser,” the more offended of the two spits as she stomps toward the door.
Years ago, those insults would have gotten under my skin, but I know she’s only saying that because deep down she’s miserable and feeling rejected.
I also know it’s not true.
She’s just a bitter bitch who’s trying to pick out something she thinks I must be insecure about because I’m not a size two like she is.
Screw her. I have half a mind to mention that Phoenix has kissed me lots of times before the door closes behind her, but the asshole in question starts swaying again.
“You’re hot,” he mumbles as I grab his bicep.
When he stops tottering, I pick a pair of boxers up off the floor.
Sadly, that dick of his is still massive. Too bad the specimen is attached to a giant douchebag.
“Lift your leg,” I instruct.
“I don’t fuck without a condom,” he babbles, despite me placing clothes on him.
At least he still remembers that small precaution. Needless to say, it won’t be necessary.
“There’s one by the bed.” I tug on his arm. “Let’s go.”
“Have I fucked you before?” he questions as I haul his stupid, staggering ass to the other room. “You seem familiar.”
Not familiar enough apparently.
I push him onto the mattress. “You only half fucked me.”
With his cock. Because God knows he fully fucked me overall. Bastard.
That dopey expression is back again. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He seizes the cuffs from me. “Get on the bed.”
A laugh flies out of my mouth as I snatch them back. “I’m not the one getting restrained. You are.”
My laughter dies when I realize the only way to secure him without having him suspect something is amiss is to straddle him first.
Fuck my life. Hard.
“Oh, you’re a bad girl, huh?” he slurs as I climb on top of him and grab one of his wrists.
I lock the cuff around it. “You have no idea.”
I’m about to be his worst nightmare.
He bites his lip as I fasten the other end to the headboard. “Now we’re talking.”
“No, actually. We’re not.” I quickly climb off him. “Go to sleep, asshole.”
CHAPTER 26
PHOENIX
My head feels like Storm decided to use my brain as his new drum set.
Motherfucker.
With a groan, I roll over, attempting to shield my face from the sunlight streaming through the curtain so I can go back to sleep…only I can’t.
Because I’m handcuffed to the bed.
“What the fu—”
“Good afternoon, douchebag. Did you sleep well?”
Holy hell. That voice.
Nah. There’s no way that’s possible. I’m still fucking high.
Only, when I cock my head toward the door…I realize I’m not imagining shit.
It’s her.
At least, I think it is because she looks…different.
“Lennon?”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Aside from the voice I still hear in my dreams and those big brown eyes I could pick out of a lineup, this isn’t the same girl from Hillcrest.
Her hair is darker and longer. The shiny jet-black tresses now end at her waist.
She’s also wearing makeup. Not a lot, just enough to accentuate her eyes and those high cheekbones which are even more prominent now.
And then there’s the obvious. She’s thinner.
But not in a skeletal way. I roam my gaze over her hourglass figure, taking in every soft feminine curve.
Fucking hell.
And yet, that’s still not the biggest change.
While I never thought Lennon was ugly and her weight wasn’t a big deal to me, my attraction to her developed and grew because of who she was on the inside.
An attraction she had a hard time believing, because despite trying her best to put up a good front, deep down, her insecurities were eating her alive.
The girl standing before me doesn’t have that problem anymore.
She’s secure and confident. There’s even a tiny smirk on her lips, as if she’s thinking—eat it up, asshole, and then choke on it, because you’ll never get this again.
Don’t I know it.
I feel like the universe is seriously fucking with me because she isn’t just my type.
She’s a goddamn fantasy I wasn’t even aware I had come to life.
She crosses her arms, pushing those tits that fill my hands perfectly higher. “I prefer original creator of the song you stole, but Lennon’s fine, too.”
And there it is.
I knew she heard it. There was no way she didn’t. Not only because of her intense love of rock music, but we blew up seemingly overnight.
I waited for her to hunt me down and let me have it.
Hell, a small part of me wanted her to…if only so I could see her again.
But she never did.
“What are you doing here?”
Because Lennon Michael standing in my hotel room doesn’t make any fucking sense.
Neither does me being handcuffed to a bed. Unless…
“Did we screw?”
No. Fuck that. There’s not a drug potent enough that would make me forget having sex with her last night.