Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
But with him, I feel safe. Especially after he opened up earlier. The Magic 8 Ball stuff has always been a bit kooky and weird, definitely something an avant-garde artist would do, but now that I know the reason behind it all, it makes sense. I feel that much closer to him now.
“Hey, sweet girl,” Laz whispers, sliding his fingers up. “Come out of your head. Come onto my hand.”
I laugh. “Make me.”
Determination creases his brow. He works me into a frenzy in seconds flat and then I’m gripping the seatbelt, the seat, my nails digging in as I come.
“Oh god!” I yell and it feels so good to let it all out, the wind in my face, the stars in my hair. “Laz, Laz…”
It takes a moment to come back down, to realize I wasn’t in fact flying through the night sky. I was just in my boyfriend’s car, being brought to an orgasm.
Laz takes his hand away with an arrogant grin, then licks his fingers. “That was just the appetizer, you know.”
“I know,” I say, my grin dazed, my heart happy. “Take me home, Laz.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MARINA
“I FEEL YOU”
“I can’t believe I’m at another one of these shows,” Naomi says, taking a tepid sip of her beer, her eyes scanning the crowd. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“You’re supporting your friend,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “No, I’m supporting your boyfriend.”
Tonight is Magic 8 Ball’s first show since they got their new keyboardist, the first show since they’ve made a new setlist and the first show I’ve seen as Lazarus Scott’s girlfriend.
It feels pretty good, actually.
Well, except for the fact that he has his fucking groupies that keep swarming him, more and more of them filling up the place the closer we get to showtime.
It’s Saturday night and we’re in a small venue/club in Anaheim. People are here to party. It’s loud, people are doing the night’s special Jell-o shots. It’s so not Naomi’s scene, nor mine, but this is what you do in a relationship. You support each other, even if you’d rather have them all to yourself back at home. And by all to myself, I mean, riding his cock like a fucking joystick. It’s been a week since we’ve become “official” and we’ve basically spent every day having copious amounts of hot, sweaty, monkey sex.
“What are you thinking about?” Naomi asks, frowning. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
I give her a smug smile but stop myself from the sex talk. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want to talk to her about it because sex is a brand new and shiny thing to me and I want to know if certain things are normal, what’s good, what’s bad, I want to tell the world just how damn good it feels. I want to run up and down Ventura with my arms open wide and yell “I’M HAVING SEX!”
But I don’t because Naomi is obviously still grappling with her divorce. Lately, Robert has been coming back and groveling and Naomi isn’t having any of it. Which is good. I’m proud of her. I know it must be hard to have to say no and stay strong and push away the person you’re still in love with.
So, I was hoping that tonight there would be some eligible bachelors who would help her take her mind off things but so far, no dice.
“What about that guy?” I ask her, pointing to a bearded fellow in the corner wearing a red shirt that says Bazinga! on it.
“Are you kidding me?” she says dryly.
I shrug and keep looking. I’m not a very good wing-woman though because the moment my eyes lock with Laz who is hanging out by the stage and talking with Frank and their keyboardist, I don’t see anyone else.
He gives me a small, knowing smile. It’s a secret smile just between us.
He looks good tonight. Real good. This is no surprise since he always looks good but I swear he might have borrowed some of my eyeliner before we left for the venue because his eyes are exceptionally squinty and brooding and dark. He’s a bona fide badass rock star, wearing his boots, tight, black jeans that accentuate the python he’s packing, and a thin, black T-shirt that fits him like a glove.
And I’m not the only one who thinks so, judging by all those damn groupies. Even now, they’re gathered around him and there’s a tall redhead that keeps trying to get his attention. And Laz, being Laz, and not being rude, is now talking to her, smiling at something she’s saying.
Jealousy is a bitch. I’ve always felt that touch of it when I saw him with his girlfriends but I was pretty good at ignoring it, plus I got used to seeing him with them day in and day out.