Page 33 of Dirty Like Zane
I preferred to keep thingsprofessional.
And I knew if I slept with Zane on this tour, it wasn’t staying on thetour.
It was staying withus.
Zane was never gonna let either of us forget it if I fucked my way around the globe withhim.
Andyet…
When I was pretty sure no one was looking, I turned and made my way over to his bus. I walked right past Shady without a glance in his direction. I knew he saw me, but he didn’t stop me or say athing.
Which made me wonder what Zane had told him aboutme.
The door wasunlocked.
After I got on the bus, I locked it behind me. I knew no one would open it without knocking first; even Zane’s driver wouldn’t unlock it withoutknocking.
No one was in the lounge. It was quiet in the bus, and it smelled like Zane. And like pot. One of Jesse’s acoustic guitars lay on one of the couches with a hat that belonged toSeth.
Looked like the guys had a late-night jam session after I fucked Zane’sface.
I shivered and tried not to think about that. But it did make me pause and take abreath.
Everyone was busy outside. We weren’t leaving for another hour, and some of the band wasn’t even here yet. My inner slut really couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity to sayFuck youto my inhibitions and gonuts.
I was just so afraid, though, of the consequences of that. So afraid, I almost turned around and got right off thebus.
It wasn’t just that Zane would hold it over me if wefucked.
It was that I was afraid every time I let him touch me, it would only make me want him more. It would make me want to abandon every inhibition I’d ever had withhim.
It would make me want to fall forhim.
And I could never let thathappen.
Every time I had sex with Zane, it took me weeks to get right again. To get my head right. To drag my heart out of the daydream that he and I could really betogether.
That we could be inlove.
Forever.
That it could really work betweenus.
But then something always happened to remind me why it couldn’t. Usually in the form of him getting stoned and moody and generally being an asshole. Or, you know, some other chick he was fucking showingup.
Or chicks who wanted to fuck him showing up, swarming like a tide oflocusts.
The chicks just kept showing up. He was Zane Fucking Traynor, which meant that they alwayswould.
But so did thedaydream…
I found Zane in the bedroom in back, sitting on the bed in his jeans and not one other thing. No shirt. Bare feet. Those beautiful feet of his; long, strong, graceful. He was playing with the phone in his hand, his head tipped down, blond hair in hisface.
“Hi.”
His head snapped up. Clearly, I’d startled him. “Maggie.”
I wrapped my arms around my waist. “Yeah.”
