Page 14 of Hot Shot Rock Star
Ben turns and they have a three-beat staring contest while I try not to have a stroke, frozen, unable, or unwilling to intervene, preservation of my career warring with preservation of my love.
“No, that’s not all I have.” Ben pauses, his self-control admirably intact. “I have Jazzy. We both know she’s not unattached. Whatever the fans think is irrelevant to me.”
Kodi blows out a low whistle as we walk out the door and down the cement corridor toward the neon exit sign.
* * *
My wardrobe arrivesand it’s more like a Vegas costume. I call Hal. I’m not sure why I bother to warn him I’m not wearing his outfit, but maybe I’m in the mood to fight. Too much nervous energy running through me. Pacing around the bedroom, I punch in his number on my phone. He answers on the first ring like he’s been waiting for my reaction.
“You like the outfit?”
“Hello to you too. And no, I do not. I’m not trying to be the second coming of Lady Gaga. That’s not my style.” He laughs, clearly not understanding that I’m serious.
“It doesn’t matter. Wear it anyway. It’s—”
“I’ll wear whatIthink is sexy, Hal. And if I have as much raw sex appeal in me and my songs as you say I do, it’ll come through without all the spandex and sparkle.” I don’t wait for his reply and turn off my ringer because I know he’ll call back.
Pulling out my tight jeans with rips across the thighs, and Ben’s hockey jersey sized down to make it just tight enough to show I’m a woman, well endowed, I put them on the bed. This is what I’m wearing. My only concession to Hal’s idea of dressed is the pair of tall, black boots that came with the ridiculous getup he sent.
Ben is at his morning skate, and I have an hour until I get picked up for the show. I’m thinking of stripping down for a last-minute bath to calm me down and wash off the sweat from all my pacing. Nerves are a waste of good energy. I turn on the tap and strip down, but before I have a chance to get in the tub my phone vibrates and it’s not Hal.
It’s Majik. Fumbling with the phone, I rush to answer because random phone calls to say hello aren’t her thing. To her the phone is an invention of the devil except when used in an emergency and I hope and pray that this isn’t an emergency.
“Are you—”
“Fine. What about you?” Majik’s voice soothes me in spite of its scratchy, life-worn sound. It’s familiar, my connection to safety and comfort in a life where I had little until I met her, until she took me on as her foster kid. Taking a breath, I reset and regain my center, my audacity, because her question scares me. Because I don’t know the answer.
“I’m living the dream, aren’t I?” I don’t mean to sound ironic. She huffs out a cough.
“I’ve seen your dream life on social media. Dooley keeps me up to date on the shit. And the tabloid stuff . . .” I don’t like the way she trails off, especially because I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. I’m not going to ask and I’m going to assume it’s trash.
“Tabloid stuff? Since when—”
“What’s going on with you and Ben, Jazzy?” My heart falls to the soles of my bare feet, but I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them I focus on the clothes laid out on my bed. I need to get dressed and get on with the show, with the less-desirable side of the business, the marketing and PR. I don’t allow her question into my head, instead letting it bounce off as if she’s speaking Swahili or gibberish.
“Nothing.” I pace around the room, coming back to my clothes, smoothing down the shirt, touching Ben’s team logo. “That’s a fine excuse to call me. Since when do you care about social media? It’s all gossip, and it’s not like you to listen to gossip.”
“Call it my sixth sense telling me when there’s trouble brewing.” Fuck.
I don’t want to admit that I’m jealous, or even that Ben’s jealous, or more like annoyed as fuck with Hal for playing up the sex appeal in the media.
“You’re sixth sense has lost a couple steps. Must be your old age.” She laughs, but it’s more a pity laugh than a haha laugh because she knows me better than anyone. Except Ben. Fuck. I need that man and I hate that I do. Still. Because he doesn’t need me, not the same way. And it’s a shitty feeling. But I don’t say any of this to Majik because the last thing she needs is to worry about me. “Seriously I’m about to go on a music show to be interviewed. It’s kind of a big deal.”
“That right?”
“Sure. It’s all about the publicity. It’s all smoke and mirrors, setting up an image to sell music. Don’t pay attention.”
“I’m wondering if I should be paying attention to the shit you’re selling me—” My phone pings, telling me I have another call. It’s Hal. There’s another ping and the second call is from Ben. Shit. “Listen, gotta go. I have another call on the line.”
“Take care of yourself, girl.”
“You too.” She ends the call and I’m stuck with choosing between a call from Hal and a call from Ben, both blinking and waiting for my decision. Fuck. Don’t make a big deal. I tap on the green light for Hal. And let Ben’s call go to voicemail.
