Page 3 of Dirty Love

I want the darkness, I want the demands. I want him again, like I had until I pushed him away. Hard and commanding and ruthless.

And unexpectedly principled.

That part was seriously inconvenient.

The girl is still lingering next to me. I brush my fingertips over her cheek. “You want me to introduce you to someone in the band, honey?”

She blushes, then looks up at me from under the world’s longest, thickest eyelashes. “I really wanted to meet you.”

Oh, sweet pea. No you don’t. “I’m tired,” I whisper. “But I bet Frankie would love to show you around.”

She shrugs. Maybe she’s only into girls.

Too bad for her. I’m taken, and by more than one man, although only one matters.

One night, and he stole my soul.

A few months, and he took my heart, too.

I always thought I was safe from something as mundane as love, that my heart was broken beyond repair. And in the end, I wasn’t wrong. I’m as dysfunctional as they come.

And still he wants me.

“What are you thinking about?” The girl slides back into my bubble, presses against me, and now I’m starting to get annoyed.

“What’s your name?”

She gives me a little smile. “Whatever you want it to be.”

I roll my eyes. “I want it to be ‘Yes, please, introduce me to Frankie. Or Ginger.’”

“Okay, I get the hint. Can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”

I kiss her cheek. “Not at all. And another time, you’d be exactly my type.” Another time, another year.

“Ginger…maybe.”

“Good choice. She likes to party.” I link my fingers through hers and wave at my back up singer.

It isn't a rule that everyone on my tour has to be depraved, but normal folks don't stick around.

“Tell you what, honey. If you and Ginger hit it off, I’ll watch.”

—three—

Wilson

Washington, D.C.

I park in the alley behind the Tabard Inn and grab the bag of ice from the passenger seat as I do a quick check on my video feed of Tabitha. She’s back at the hotel and there’s a party in her suite, as usual.

Fuck, the ice is cold as hell. But I’m not going to get its numbing help again for a few hours, so I take a minute and pretend my knuckles don’t hurt like a motherfucker.

That third guy had a jaw of granite. Still took him down, of course.

I take them all down.

Nix. Thirty-two wins. Zero loses. A legend in the underground circuit, even though he only makes an appearance a few times a year.

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