Page 32 of Dirty Like Zane
What the hell was Idoing?
now
I just kept staring at his text. Those three tiny, demandingletters.
You’re thinking aboutit.
You’re really thinking aboutit.
And that was my mom’s voice in my head, popping in to call me onit.
She’d been doing that more and more lately. I hated to admit she’d gone kinda silent on me last year. People told me that would happen. That as time went on, I’d eventually stop having conversations with her and even forget the sound of hervoice.
But when things really fell to shit between me and Zane, she still spokeup.
And I spokeback.
Yes. Yes, I am thinking aboutit.
Of course I’m thinking aboutit.
This did not make me crazy, having imaginary conversations with my deceased mom in my head. However, thinking about fucking Zane right now probablydid.
I knew the man was a hazard to my mentalhealth.
And I knew I was flirting with fire even thinking about him in any nonprofessional way. But the ship had left the port on that about eight years ago, when we’d first met, and never cameback.
I knew I’d only made things worse for myself every time I’d touched myself while imagining it was him. And when I’d told myselfNo Screwing The Talent, then went ahead and broke my number oneRule.
Repeatedly.
And yet, somehow, here I was—actually considering taking the massive risk of having sex with Zane while we were on the roadtogether.
Alotofsex.
I’d spent the wee hours this morning awake in bed, thinking it over in vivid detail. Thinking about how I just might be able to do it—and get away withit.
Because sex wasrampanton tour,right?
Everyone wasfucking.
It was always thisway.
Too many people in close quarters working long hours together, partying together. People who were married or in relationships back home suddenly found themselves crossing lines, cheating, breaking up with longtime partners. Others brought their spouses with them or flew them out to meet up as often as possible, so they could keep the fire burning at home. And those who were single? All bets wereoff.
There were hookups in hotels, in bars, on the tour buses, backstage. If you could find a place to slam a couple of bodies together, sex was on themenu.
Everyone.
Everywhere.
Was.Fucking.
It was like a rule on the road or something. Sex was just part of the deal.What happens on tour… stays ontour.
For the mostpart.
Except that I’d never been the sort of girl to go full-slut on tour, screwing my way from city tocity.
