Dirty Like Us Read online

  “Then go,” I said.

  “Zane! What the fuck! Who the fuck is she?” Nat stood there in her panties, totally fucking indignant, looking at Maggie like she’d just stepped in shit.

  Which really cranked up my stone cold.

  “Get your skank ass outta here, Nat.”

  Natalie’s mouth fell open. It was a good mouth to have around if you wanted your cock sucked, but other than that, she could keep it shut as far as I was concerned. She was the only one of them I’d met before half an hour ago, and that wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for the rest.

  “You’re a real asshole,” she snapped, yanking on her skirt.

  “So they keep telling me.”

  Nat huffed, grabbed the rest of her clothes and stalked out with her coked-up friend. The other blond yanked a top over her fake tits, kissed me on the cheek, gave Maggie a catty once-over and left.

  “Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out!” Maggie called after her, then grumbled, “Wouldn’t wanna give it chlamydia.”

  I stared at Maggie and she gave me a fake-ass smile right back.

  So fucking interesting.

  Six years I’d known her, and I’d never seen her in this particular mood. Normally she kept her shit under wraps. Cool, controlled Maggie; it wasn’t easy, even for me, to faze the woman. But right now, she was definitely pissed the fuck off, and frustrated.

  Sexually frustrated?

  If I didn’t know better, I might’ve even said she was jealous.

  Whatever it was, it was giving me a raging hard-on.

  She made an irritated noise in her throat and I followed her gaze; the other two chicks were still at it on the couch, but now they were horizontal and kinda scissoring.

  “Good night, Zane.”

  Maggie tried to shut the door, but I stopped it with my foot.

  “Aren’t we in a mood.”

  “Hey.” Some shirtless dickwit appeared behind Maggie, running a hand through his scraggly hair, and a flash of kill-crazy jealousy went off like a firecracker in my gut. “Everything okay?” He met my eyes and flicked his chin at me in greeting.

  Fucking Coop.

  I blinked, ’cause I couldn’t quite believe it.

  Maggie was fucking Coop?

  Shit, no.

  I was all for fucking, in general. Was even pretty sure on a rare occasion or two some fuckwad had probably slipped under my nose and snaked his way up Maggie’s skirt. I was no idiot. Chick as hot as Maggie had gotten cock somewhere, at some point in history, even if she was too fucking discreet, not to mention uptight, to ever let on about it.

  But this? Not happening.

  So fucking not happening.

  “Give us a minute,” she said to him sweetly, like really fucking sweetly, in a tone I’d sure as fuck never heard her use on me. “You know, band business.”

  “Oh. Sure.” Coop disappeared, reluctantly. No shit. I’d get impatient too if Maggie was talking to some asshole at the door instead of riding my dick.

  “You’re not fucking Coop,” I said, low enough he wouldn’t hear it, leaning in to make sure she did, my face tipped down to hers.

  She didn’t back down. She just glowered at me, her eyes narrowing and her sweet mouth puckering, all pissed off and petite.

  Which was why I loved fighting with Maggie. She was so fucking hot when she was mad. Hot, and cute as all fuck. Adorable. Like a feral kitten.

  Also, if I really hit the sweet spot and she lost her temper, made it a lot harder for her to ignore me like she usually tried to do when I jabbed her buttons.

  “Are you fucking Coop?” I pressed.

  “News flash, Zane,” she bit out. “You’re not the only one who might want to do it in this stupid-fancy hotel suite, okay?”

  “Jesus, though. Coop?”

  She glared up at me, a storm brewing in her gray eyes. Then she growled. She actually growled, low in her throat, and I swear to Christ I almost came in my pants. “What the hell is wrong with Coop?”

  “Where do you want me to start? For one, he’s not me.”

  “Nuh-uh,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Not doing this. Not getting into this with you.”

  “Let’s get into it,” I said, pushing another inch into the room, my pulse beating in my dick, spurring me on.

  “Nope.” She put her hand in the middle of my chest, holding me off. “It’s been a really bad night, I have not been laid since Christmas, and you are not going to ruin this for me.”

  Then she shut the door in my face.

  Christmas?

  Christmas was four months ago.

  As I stood there, my back to the bedroom door, I racked my fucking brain to figure out who the hell Maggie’d fucked at Christmas.

  Coop?

  Some other fuckwit?

  As far as I knew she wasn’t seeing anyone regular. Maggie’d never had a boyfriend in the years I’d known her. I’d seen Coop checking her out. I’d seen him flirt with her, but big fucking deal. Who didn’t flirt with Maggie? Half the crew was hard up for her, but the girl was so fucking proper and all-business she hardly seemed to notice. She so rarely partied with anyone, I’d gotten pretty comfortable telling myself if she wasn’t sucking my cock, at least she wasn’t sucking anyone else’s.

  Now I had a visual. Sweet Maggie, down on her knees sucking off Andy Cooper—fuuuck. The murderous surge of testosterone and adrenalin made my dick so hard it felt like it might split in half.

  Shit.

  Maybe I was a fucking idiot.

  Two hot chicks, horny and willing, were going at it right in front of me, and my head was in the next room.

  But no fucking wonder. I’d been hot for Maggie, one of a very few woman I’d ever spent more than an hour with who wouldn’t spread her legs for me, for years. Years. And now she was giving it up to Coop?

  Fuck. That.

  Who the hell did he think he was?

  Asshole had pretty much fucked his band’s sweet ride on Dirty’s coattails the second he breathed on Maggie. I said the word, the Pushers were off the next tour, and that gave me a grim fucking sense of satisfaction.

  Would I actually do it? Maybe.

  Depending how things went down tonight.

  I grabbed the remote to lower the volume on the music. Too bad. It was Wolfmother’s “Woman,” a decent song to fuck to.

  I liked sex the way I liked my music: loud and hard.

  No idea how Marvin Gaye got in the mix. Probably my wise-ass drummer, fucking with me.

  I listened, but I couldn’t hear shit from next door. What kind of awkwardly quiet, polite sex were those two planning on having? What were they doing in there, right now?

  And how long was I gonna let this slide?

  According to my phone, three fucking minutes had passed since Maggie shut the door. Felt like a goddamn hour.

  But the longer I let this go, the worse it would be for Coop when I kicked his ass out. Yeah, so I was a sadistic prick. Didn’t bother me in the slightest that I was about to cockblock a brother.

  Not when he was in there right now with Maggie, getting ready to stick his dick in her.

  Right. That was about far enough.

  I hammered my fist on the bedroom door. Hard.

  Half a minute later, Coop opened it.

  “Maggie!” I thundered over him. “Get your ass out here.”

  “Don’t let him in!” Maggie called from inside. “He’s like a goddamn vampire. You invite him in, you give him power.”

  Coop’s eyes narrowed a little as he looked me over and every muscle in my body coiled tight. Pretty sure he could smell the lust and aggravation rolling off me, but he just shrugged. “Sorry, man.”

  He started to close the door but I stopped it with my hand.

  “Coming in to talk to Maggie,” I said evenly. “You can step aside or I can take this shit right through you.”

  He sized me up again and I flexed my other hand at my side, a couple of knuckles crack
ing as I made a fist. Adrenalin surged through me. Never woulda thought Coop had it in him, but shit. Was he actually considering fighting me for Maggie?

  I’d spent years as a kid getting the shit kicked outta me by dudes way tougher and way meaner than Coop, and you got a clue, you lose enough fights, eventually you learn how to win. Which meant Coop took me on, he was so gonna lose this fight.

  He knew it, too.

  “Whatever,” he muttered and opened the door.

  “For fuck’s sake, Zane!” Maggie scrambled off the bed, yanking her shirt down to cover herself. She was still wearing Coop’s T-shirt. “What do you want?”

  “Want?” I met her in the middle of the room and once I was in her face, I leveled her with a hard, simmering eye-fuck, seeing as that was the only way I ever got to fuck her. “You really want an answer to that, babe?”

  “You two got some shit to sort out?” Coop asked, standing off to the side, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

  “Yup,” I said, in the exact same breath that she said, “No.”

  We stood there a foot apart, me eye-fucking her and vibrating with adrenalin, my dick standing at attention, her glaring up at me with her chest heaving and not blinking.

  “Yeah, I’m just gonna go.”

  “Cool,” I said, as Coop headed for the door. “Coupla girls in the other room. They’re yours if you want. Just take ’em with you when you go.”

  “Alright, brother.”

  Maggie’s jaw dropped.

  “Andy.” She looked from me to him as he paused in the doorway. Then she walked over to him. “I have your shirt,” she said, clearly unable to process what the fuck was going on.

  “Keep it,” he said. Then he gave her a chaste little kiss on the forehead and left, shutting the door behind himself.

  Maggie drew a deep, ragged breath, then let it out between her clenched teeth. Her shoulders dropped as she turned to me.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  I shrugged. “He scares easy, Maggs. And he was pretty quick to replace you. Better you find that out now.”

  She stood there raging, kinda like a baby bull about to charge. Then she took a few slow, measured breaths. She walked over and stood in front of me. Her gray eyes met mine, so fucking stunning against her honey-toned skin.

  “I hope that amused you. Because it really fucking sucked for me.”

  “Maggie—”

  “Don’t. Coop’s a nice guy, and you just treated him like—”

  “Coop’s a fucking pussy,” I ground out. “He just walked out on you. While you’re wearing his shirt. And why don’t you take that shit off? Take a shower while you’re at it, ’cause you stink like smarmy bass player.”

  Yup.

  Shit disturber.

  But some things just needed to be said.

  Maggie stared at me and an ugly, loaded, fucking terrible silence landed in the wake of my words. Her lips parted… then she shut her mouth. Her jaw spasmed, her eyelashes trembled, and for a horrible minute I thought she might cry.

  Then she scowled instead and something raw flashed in her eyes, between hurt and rage.

  “Yeah?” She whipped the shirt off over her head and flung it across the room. “Well, the shirt’s not the only thing he touched.” She stood there in her tiny, neon-green panties and nothing else, and my jaw went slack.

  I had no words.

  No. Fucking. Words.

  I’d never seen so much of Maggie before. Couldn’t believe how much better the flesh was than my imagination, and I’d spent a helluva lot of time imagining her.

  I drank in her petite curves, the soft swell of her breasts, her hard nipples a dark, dusky pink as her chest rose and fell with the force of her uneven breaths.

  Then I swallowed, hard, and ground my teeth. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans.

  Had to, or I was gonna grab her, slam her down on the bed and devour every inch of that gorgeous smooth skin.

  “Guess I should take this off too.” She plucked at the see-through lace of her panties and my dick achieved a new level of hard, kinda like reinforced steel. Then her finger touched my chin, guiding my eyes up. “Go fuck yourself, Zane.”

  “Okay,” I said. “If you’re into that, I can show you a few things.”

  She made a little choked noise, shaking her head in disbelief. Her eyes never left mine and it was still there, the raw and the rage, her jaw hardening like she was fighting the urge to literally bite my head off.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed. “Is that all you ever want? Seriously. What. The. Fuck.”

  Then she launched herself at me.

  Maggie was a small woman, but it took me so off-guard, it brought me to my knees as she smashed her mouth to mine. I caught her in my arms, just barely, and her legs went around my hips as she kissed me with a fucking vengeance, all angry lips and teeth, her hands clawing at my neck, her fingernails digging in.

  Holy mother of fuck.

  Maggie was kissing me.

  I gripped her tight and kissed her back like my life, my very next breath, depended on it, my heart slamming a fucking dent in the wall of my chest as my brain completely spun out.

  All I could think was, if I fucked her right here on the floor, would she hate me for it?

  Because my gut was telling me to put her down… to let her go, to back the fuck off… that this wasn’t right, that Maggie wasn’t gonna be happy about this even if she started it… but my dick just wanted to make her scream and figure the rest out later, and my dick was a bull-headed prick.

  I caught my teeth on her bottom lip and when she gave up a ragged gasp, my tongue plunged into her like a heat-seeking missile. I tasted her like I’d wanted to do for fucking years, desperate to have her, any way I could get her, angry, clawing at me, I didn’t care.

  Then it hit me, and I almost gagged.

  The taste of liquor. Pungent and sour… revolting… and totally fucking intoxicating.

  And I dove right into it.

  I screwed my tongue into her mouth like I was tongue-fucking the neck of a bottle, sucking hard, the bliss of that taste and a brutal crush of memories smashing me in the back of the skull.

  Then I caught myself. I almost gagged, again.

  I ripped myself away with such force I shoved her off.

  I spit out that bittersweet taste on the carpet and mashed the back of my hand to my mouth.

  Yeah… not the best thing to do after kissing a woman. Kinda ranked right up there with laughing at her and throwing up.

  I saw it in her gray eyes… the exact moment she started hating me. Or at least, hating me more than she already did.

  Her face shut down and she wrapped her arms around her chest as she sat there on the floor staring up at me, next-to-naked in her lace panties, looking small and so fucking vulnerable it gutted me.

  “You’re so full of shit,” she whispered.

  “Maggie—”

  “Get out.”

  And for once, there was no arguing the point. I was the world’s biggest asshole, and now she had proof.

  I got the fuck out.

  Chapter Three

  Maggie

  There were fuck ups, and then there were Fuck Ups.

  And I had just Fucked Up.

  Despite how I might look, given that I was on the petite side and my tastes ran to pretty makeup, manicures and four-inch-heels—in which I was still petite—I was a tough chick. Had to be, given the life I lived and the job I had to do. Which meant that Fucking Up the way I just did hurt in a way I didn’t often feel hurt, because my night had already gone bad, I’d already been hurt bad, and now I’d taken that hurt from bad to worse.

  And now I, Maggie Omura, the tough girl, the “on it” girl, the organized-as-fuck girl, the girl always armed with a plan, was at a loss for what to do about it.

  For once, I had no plan.

  I didn’t even have the first clue.

  Freshly showered and wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, I
leaned against the low wall of the giant rooftop patio, gazing out over the shimmering lights of the Strip below, as if they might have answers. I had my sunglasses on, dimming the night around me, because my eyes felt suspiciously tingly and no one was gonna see my cry.

  Not that anyone was around.

  I’d already checked to make sure Coop and the groupies were gone; the main room of the suite was empty, the music turned off, and Zane was nowhere to be seen. The only thing out of place was a random lacy stocking, which I’d deposited in the trash before heading outside for some air.

  The patio ran the full length of the penthouse, but I stuck to my own end. The last thing I needed was to wander past the glass doors that opened onto the master bedroom and glimpse Zane in there naked and doing God-knew-what.

  I’d had enough of that man and his dick for one night.

  You’re just mad because he shoved you away before you got to the really good part.

  Jesus, but you can be a perv, Mom.

  God, why’d she have to butt into this? Not as if she’d never made any questionable decisions when it came to a charming, slutty rock star.

  Guess this particular strain of masochism ran in the family.

  I tore the foil from the top of the champagne bottle and untwisted the wire that secured the cork. To hell with my dad and his stupid free shit with all the strings attached. I was gonna drink his champagne, because fuck him.

  And fuck Zane, too. Whatever his problem was, it was so not my problem. I just needed to remember that.

  “Managing” the members of this band only went so fucking far.

  I popped the cork and sucked off the gush of bubbly that erupted, hoping maybe I could lose the last hour-and-a-half of my life to champagne-induced bliss… because I couldn’t even wrap my head around it.

  I kissed Zane.

  And he shoved me away.

  Oh, and then there was that really fun part where he spat on the carpet.

  Thank God for that, because it was just the punch in the face I needed. A reminder that throwing myself at Zane Traynor was a complete and utter Fuck Up.

  I’d let him get under my skin, when I’d made it a policy, long ago, never to let that man anywhere near my skin. And now I was gonna pay for it in crazy.