Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Fuck, I wanted her. She had no idea how much or of the affect she had on me.
If God were truly merciful, he’d let me keep Emmy.
As much as it pained me, I knew that wasn’t an option.
Chapter Seventeen
Killer Queen.
Emmy
We were in Portland, two and a half months into Left Turn’s three-month tour. Connor was in my room and this time, I felt completely at ease with his presence. I liked and appreciated what Connor was offering. This thing of ours, this association, held no rules and no pressure. We only fooled around when we both felt like it and there was no disappointment if one person wasn’t up for it.
Tonight, we were talking about tour life.
Connor lay alongside me, on his side, using his arm for a pillow. “They all want or need something.”
“Who? The fans or the groupies?” It had to be the latter and I thought about that. “I don’t think they need you but they certainly want you.”
“No.” He clicked his tongue. “They need us. For social media. For another thousand followers. For fifteen minutes of fame.” He was frustrated tonight. “Do you know what we call ‘em?”
I shook my head gently.
“Jane Does,” he disclosed. At my perplexed expression, he explained, “Same body. Same attitude. Same blown up lips. Half a brain. Interchangeable faces.” He enunciated each word with a tap on top of the covers. “Jane. Does.” Connor looked over at me. “All the same.”
His mood was palpable and I didn’t want to risk upsetting him, so I said nothing, just listened, because sometimes people just needed someone to lend an ear to their incessant rambling. Somehow, it made things better.
Connor reached out for me, his fingertips playing at my wrist. “But you don’t need me, do you?”
That, I could answer. “I don’t think so.”
“No.” He clasped my wrist gently. “You don’t.” He tugged on my hand and uttered, “Wanna play a game?”
And my stomach clenched in anticipation. “What game?”
“It’s called—” His grin was playful. “—let’s fuck.”
My lips pursed in thought. “That’s not very original.”
With a heavy sigh, he released my fingers, threw himself back on the bed and muttered, “Everyone’s a critic.” When he checked his watch, he shot up. “Shit. I gotta go.”
My brow knitted. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. “Where are you going?”
“Got an appointment.” He shrugged into his hoodie. “I’m gettin’ a tat.”
Oh, wow. I immediately sat up and my brows rose. “Can I come?”
Connor looked down at me before scratching at his chin. “I don’t know.”
“Why not?” I was suddenly very sad.
“Well,” he stated matter-of-factly, “you can only come if you get a tattoo.” He ended on a smirk.
“You’re blackmailing me?” I couldn’t believe him.
“Yep.” He popped the p, and I wanted to pop him in the mouth. “So, what’s the verdict? You in or out, baby? Tick tock.”
A tattoo, huh? I suppose I could get something small, tucked away somewhere private. Sure. Why not?
“In,” I told him, standing to get my coat.
Connor grinned. “You never cease to amaze me, teeny thing.” He smacked my ass. “Let’s go.”
The beautiful, tattooed woman stood when Connor and I stepped into her store. She immediately went over to him and hugged him hard. “God. You get hotter every time I see you, Clash.”
He bit the tip of his tongue and kissed her cheek. “And your tits seem to get bigger every time I see you.”
She pushed them up and grinned wide. “I know. Pablo sure likes ‘em.”
Connor pulled back, reached out and gripped my hand, pulling me forward. “Blaire, this is Emmy. Emmy, this is Blaire.”
“Hi.” She smiled kindly.
“Hello.” I took her outstretched hand and shook it. She was gorgeous.
Why did that bother me?
“Okay,” she said with a light clap. “Let me lock up and we’ll get this show on the road.” She twisted the latch on the front door then closed the curtains before switching off the front house lights. As Blaire walked past Connor, she slapped his butt. “Shirt off. I need to shave you.”
Connor slipped off his tee and sat on the black chair, waiting for Blaire to get herself ready. I reached for her portfolio and started to flick through it.
Damn. She was good at her job. From portraits to cartoon grim reapers, her work was solid. No wonder Connor had come to her.
Blaire returned then gently started to shave a small area of Connor’s chest hair away. She peered at me. “Like what you see?”
“Yeah.” I looked down at the open folder. “I can’t believe some of these are tattoos. They look like printed photos. You’re amazing.”
Blaire beamed. “Thanks, babe. I take pride in my work.”
Connor then announced, “Emmy wants a tattoo.” When Blaire’s bows rose, he added a sly, “She’s a virgin.”
Connor!
My heart stopped.
But Blaire’s thick red lips broke out into a smile. “Virgin skin! Yes. I love it. What are you after?”