Page 10 of Fame and Obsession

Now look at me—no family, no future, and thanks to my big mouth, probably no job come tomorrow morning.

Scowling, I peel the label from Gage’s beer bottle. To say I’ve disappointed myself is an understatement. With the way I handled things tonight, it’s was obvious nothing’s changed.

It’s like my mother always said…you can’t out run your sins. Eventually, they catch up to you.

“Pheebs, let’s go home, okay? You’re brooding, and if you have any more alcohol”—Gage takes the bottle from my hand—“I’ll be holding your hair, which will seriously cock block me.”

I lean back in my chair and tilt my head. “Confident, aren’t we?”

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Bite your tongue, bitch. I’m on everyone’s ‘to-do’ list.”

“Not mine.” I grin.

“Back atcha, ice queen,” he toasts with a raise of my stolen beer.

Rolling my eyes, I swipe the bottle out of his hands. Tomorrow, I’ll have to answer for an unwritten article. Tonight, I want to forget I attempted life in this miserable cesspool.

With a hiccup and a sigh, I turn the bottle up, downing the remaining few drops. As the effects of the alcohol take hold, I close one eye and peer into the bottle as if the answers to my problems are hidden in the bottom.

Nope. Just glass.

“I need air,” I announce, pushing myself out of the chair. Emotion and vodka have me on edge. They also skew my balance, propelling me sideways into Gage’s lap.

Grasping my chin, he turns me to face him. “You clearly have me confused with someone who doesn’t give a fuck.” His grip tightens. “Letting you get violated isn’t on my to-do list.”

“Aw, my hero!” I press my nose to his and pinch his cheeks.

He swats my hand away. “Phoebe...”

“Don’t Phoebe me. I’m just getting air.”

“Then I’ll come with you.” He moves to stand, nearly dumping me off his lap.

“Damn it, Gage.” I place both hands on his shoulders. “I love you, but I’m twenty-two. This place is crawling with large bouncers whose purpose in life is to squash predators like flies.”

He sighs in defeat. “Fine, enjoy your air. If you’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’m coming to find you.” Leveling a hardened stare at me, he adds, “Watch your back—and your front.”

“Relax, bitch is packing, remember?” I blow him a kiss and pat my purse, reminding him of the stun gun that never leaves my presence.

“That’s what worries me. Bitch may be packing, but bitch can’t operate when bitch is drunk, Pheebs,” he calls out as I stumble toward the patio, half listening to his warning.

Four

Julian

A five-alarm fire rages in my head after she walks down the steps to the lower level. With one look, I can see we’d be a book of matches and a barrel of gasoline. An explosion waits with a spark already ignited with a few kisses.

If I were actually with her, we’d go up in a blaze of glory. Neither of us would survive.

But what a way to go.

“Jag, brother, coil your hose. Somebody’s gonna trip over it.”

“What?” I narrow my eyes at Zane.

“Don’t give me that. You’re sporting enough wood to shelter a third-world country,” he says, casting his eyes downward.

I tip the neck of my beer toward his crotch. “At least mine’s useful.”

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