Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114223 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Oh, piss off. You’ve been acting like a miserable cunt since the second you left rehab. If your mission in life is to make everyone hate you, you’re excelling big time, Winslow.”
Alex immediately swung his arm back, preparing to pummel his fist into Lucas’ face, but luckily, Blake appeared down the hall, sprinting toward us.
“Oi! You two, stay away from each other,” he yelled, waving his fisted cell phone in warning. Words couldn’t express how awkward I felt standing there like an idiot and watching the exchange wordlessly. There were many things I wanted to do, including but not limited to screaming at Alex that I wasn’t his possession, then telling Lucas to stop acting like an insecure five-year-old who wanted to get a rise from the hotheaded boy down the street. However, I decided to lecture them both separately when they’d cooled down for better impact.
Blake shoved his body between them and stretched his arms, forcing each guy to a different wall.
“Second time in twenty-four hours. What the hell is happening?” he demanded.
“Same thing that happened yesterday. Waitrose is hitting on my babysitter.” Alex huffed a piece of hair from his sweaty forehead, and damn, he was still shirtless, and I was still trying hard not to ovulate as a result.
Lucas sneered. “Let’s try again, muppet. Officer Cokehead won’t allow Indie to breathe without him around. Apparently, we’re no longer allowed to hang out because of his small dick syndrome.”
“Small dick!” Alex exclaimed, as if Lucas just told him the earth was flat. “My cock already made more money than you this year and will soon need a full staff to manage his career. Don’t you fucking disrespect him.”
Was I really standing there listening to three grown-up British men discussing Alex’s penis?
“Okay, okay, okay.” Blake pushed both of them harder toward the opposite walls as they tried getting in each other’s faces again.
I’d never seen Lucas anything less than calm and poised, and Alex’s feathers had never been this ruffled before, either.
“Listen to me carefully, you two—Alex, Lucas is allowed to hang out with your babysitter, who is not, in fact, in your possession just because she works for you. Lucas, you can try to chase Indie’s tail—no offense, Indie, but that’s quite what he’s doing—without doing it so blatantly in Alex’s face. Am I understood?”
Alex stared at Blake like he didn’t understand nor agree to anything that had left his mouth. His pupils spat fire and his mouth was pursed into a thin line. After a few seconds of silence, he shook his arm out of Blake’s grasp, his eyes never leaving his manager’s. “We’ll discuss this in the suite. I’m going for a drive. Indie. You’re leaving with me.”
“Am not,” I corrected, on the verge of strangling him while simultaneously screaming. “I’m leaving in our SUV with the rest of the guys.”
“Well, then,” he said, smiling, “I guess I’ll have to get going. Scoring coke in a foreign city is always a hassle.”
I was about to stomp in his direction when Blake stopped me, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll deal with this,” he said.
A dressing room door opened down the hallway and Alfie appeared, pink-cheeked. There was a gorgeous brunette in a red minidress next to him, and they held hands. I didn’t fail to notice that her scarlet lipstick was smeared all over both their faces.
“Can you shut your gobs for one bloody minute? Kinda busy spreading the love here.”
“The love or the STDs?” Alex muttered, lighting a cigarette, his go-fuck-yourself expression on full display.
Lucas folded his arms, yawning. “Sorry, mate, you’ll have to take a rain check. Your boss is threatening to relapse because he can’t take seeing his drummer and babysitter hanging out.”
“Hanging out, huh?” Alfie chuckled.
Stay strong. Don’t hit anyone. You don’t need the criminal record.
“You guys are all idiots,” I concluded, storming down the hallway toward the back door where the SUV was waiting for us. “All of you. No exceptions. Big-ass babies with fat wallets and too much time.” I turned around and stomped away, throwing two middle fingers in the air for emphasis. “I’m going to sit in the SUV and try not to choke from anger. Hope by the time you guys get there, you grow up a little.”
“All grown here.” Alfie grabbed his crotch, and this time it was Lucas who slapped the back of his head.
“See you at midnight, Stardust!” Alex yelled to my retreating back.
The brunette squeaked, “Ohmigosh! Alex Winslow! Can I have an autograph?”
I picked up the pace and recited the mantra I’d told myself earlier—that it was just about the money. Temporary and completely meaningless.
But the truth was, Alex wanted into my pants.
Lucas wanted into my life.
And I wanted to get out of this tour alive and whole.
Heart, body, and soul.
George Carlin once said, “What does cocaine make you feel like? It makes you feel like doing more cocaine.” George Carlin, ladies and gents, was, in fact, right. With cocaine, I felt more alert, less anxious, and a lot more confident. Coke made me all wired-up and worthy of my ridiculous net worth. Coke also made me more sufferable—I’d been less of a dick because I wasn’t so worried my shit was shite all the time—and more insufferable—because it made me think I was The Shit.