Page 18 of Fame and Obsession

“I hate that damn nickname.”

“Tough shit. We’re not the front guy with the flying panty torpedoes, Mick.” A slow sneer curls his lips. “We could always change it to Heath.”

“Fuck you.” I fling the small refrigerator door open and snag another beer.

“That’s what I thought.” He leans back in satisfaction. “So, what did you do to piss off Daisy Duke?”

I toss a bored look over my shoulder. “Huh?”

Snorting, he pulls his own beer from the refrigerator before slamming it shut. “Did she fatten that pretty boy lip with a right hook?” I sit in silence while he downs half of it. “Don’t play stupid with me. Your ‘I’m going to get some air’ bullshit might fool some people, but this is me, brother.”

“Man, screw this...”

He glares hard, tilting his chin at the new beer in my hand. “You’re out here at dark thirty pounding brew like it’s fucking Mardi Gras. Either you chased her out there and she shot you down, or”—he smirks, shifting a glance down to my raw knuckles—“you found her out there with another guy.”

“Piss off, asshole. We’ve done this dance already.”

Heath Vaughn’s words ring in my ears. The image of him with his hands on her ignites my rage all over again.

Throwing the first punch made me the biggest dumbass alive. Heath works in the business. He’d be well within his rights to sue my ass for assault. Helena would have a stroke.

“I guess there’s my answer.” He laughs.

“Shut up, Z.” Swallowing the last of my beer, I aim it off the deck.

“And there’s the confirmation.” He rubs his eyes again, clearly frustrated. “Why the hell are you knocking dudes around for some insignificant piece of ass?”

I chuck the bottle and it hit the railing, shattering on impact. “That’s none of your damn business.”

Zane calmly sets his beer down and grips the armrests of the chaise. “Saving you from drinking and fucking yourself six feet under makes it my business. If you fuck up, you fuck us all up. We didn’t say shit while you acted like a giant dick. You weren’t the only one who lost Lam. Step off your high and mighty white horse and remember that.”

White horse.

Her half-attempted insult flashes through my head. The combination of alcohol and raw sexual tension had her stammering through her insult.

“Well, there’s my knight in shiny, dark pants, riding up on his white horse...”

Glancing over my shoulder, I meet his icy stare. “I’d never screw over the band again.”

He pops the top on another beer. “I’m not the only one who saw you chase after that girl. Viv offered her services to me last night.”

“Dude, what the—?”

“Jag, use your brain.” He flicks my forehead with his index finger. “She thinks my dick is the service elevator to yours. Why do you care, anyway?”

“I don’t want a damn thing to do with Viv,” I assure him. “It doesn’t mean I want my best friend dipping his wick in crazy wax.”

“Dude, I may be an asshole, but I’d never put a chick before my brother. It’s not my style.”

I fight a smile as he shifts his stare toward the skyline and tilts his beer neck toward me. Nodding, I straighten my arm and touch my beer to his in a silent show of solidarity.

Zane and I have our moments, but we always have each other’s backs.

“You gonna call her or what?” he asks, a drop of beer catching on his lip ring.

“Viv?”

“Nah, brother, the girl from the bar.”

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