Always later. “I think I’ll call a cab and go home.” The music comes first, everything comes first. But me? I’ve never been first for anyone.
“No. I’ll text my driver, and he’ll come get you.” He pulls out his phone, runs his thumbs over it, and slides it back into place. “Meet him out front in ten, okay?”
I take another look at June, but she’s staring at the drummer, who’s waiting right outside the door. He grabs her butt and shoves his tongue down her throat.
“Move it, Morgan,” she shouts, pushing the drummer away.
“Bossy thing, aren’t you?” he asks, and my heart sinks into the floor. It might be an act, but they’re not on stage, and I’m pretty sure June doesn’t believe in boundaries or rules.
Her hand slips into his back pocket and he grabs her wrists, removing it, but for me, it’s too late. There’s no way for me to know if he moved her hand because he knew I was standing there, or if he really didn’t want her touching him.
“Bye, Jackson,” I say, staring at his retreating form.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jackson
I’ve never felt so damn conflicted in my life. How in the hell did I just have the hottest sex ever against the wall of a random dressing room, and the only thing I can think about is what Bliss said when she came in my arms and my response.
I love you. I love you. I love you. They’re in my head, playing on repeat. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Fans of Downward Spiral rush the stage again, and adrenaline rushes through me and all conflicting thoughts fade away. I play their cover of Behind these Blue Eyes, achieving my own music high in minutes. We don’t stop playing for what seems like hours, just like in the studio.
This is what I’m meant to do, not play country. I want gritty, dark bars and long nights. A kickass lead singer and a beast on the drums. Freedom is in my grasp.
Nothing but magic is happening right now.
June places one foot on the speaker in front of her, bending at the waist and holding out her hand to the audience.
Suddenly, I come down from my musical high.
Though I know Bliss has gone home, I look for her, for her sweet smile and sexy body. Cameron is still in the bar, watching me and nursing his ego.
I flip him off, and he gives it to me right back. In a couple of days, we’ll be completely fine, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ve messed up with Bliss again. How damn hard would it have been to say I love you?
Because I do love her and she deserves to hear it. My fingers hit the wrong chord, and June looks at me, eyes narrowing.
Dancing over to me, she leans up and bites my ear so hard that I wince. “Last song and then it’s play time.” She snaps her teeth at me.
I force a smile and wonder if my tetanus shots are up to date. My initial assessment of her was completely wrong; June isn’t anything like Violet, or even Callie. She’s not nice, and she’s not a bitch.
She’s just her, singing her heart out and clawing her way to the top like any other musician. I can admire that. Really, I can.
Her hands slides around my hip and grab my ass. I take a step back, forcing her hand away.
But I can’t admire that. She knows I’m with Bliss. Hell, catching us in the dressing room, right after I’d taken Bliss against the wall, was more than enough to prove where my interest lies.
June stalks me, like a cat, and grabs my junk, squeezing.
“Cut it out,” I growl.
She does it again, twisting a little, and my eyes water. I hit her hand with the guitar. June makes a face, like I’ve just hit her sweet spot. Grabbing the waistband of my jeans, she shoves her hand down them.
“That’s it.” Immediately, I stop playing, grab her wrist, and take off the guitar. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
Drummer boy keeps beating on the drums and the bassist is keeping time, so at first no one notices.
“Don’t be a pussy,” she says, meowing at the crowd.
“Personal space, June.” Somehow, I manage to get her hand out of my pants before she can twist my balls off. “Stop getting in it.”
She rolls her eyes and lowers her voice, saying, “No such thing, Jackson Morgan.”
“You’re one crazy chick, you know that?”
She hangs out her tongue, like Miley did at the VMAs, and wiggles it at me. “Go home, country boy.” Then she starts doing some kind of do-si-do, while singing my biggest hit, Break it Down for Me, Country Girl.
“If you don’t stop singing, you’re going to start owing me royalties.”
“Music should be freeee!” She twirls around. “Capitalism is for pigs.”
The crowd goes wild, making oinking sounds.