“Denial,” I said. “Geezus, haven’t you ever been in rehab?”
“No.” He stared at me with disapproval. Clearly, he thought that Kane, Holmes and me with our rock star ways weren’t good enough for Jacine.
But Holmes pressed on. “We all get what we want, and Jacine isn’t left home alone as prey for whoever else would make moves on her.”
“I doubt,” said Marshall, “that Jacine thinks of herself as prey.”
“You forget something,” I said. “There is a good reason Jacine doesn’t allow us to see each other. We don’t get along well. How could we share a woman?”
“Didn’t we work that out in the jail?”
“Yeah, before I realized that Kane wanted to make moves on my woman.”
“Well, if you have that attitude," said Rory, "then we’ll never get anywhere, except the next jail when one of us takes a shot at the other.”
“Holmes has a point,” said Marshall. “You’ll end up killing each other if you try to compete for her. And I tell you, she won’t like it one bit.”
“What makes you the expert?” I said.
“I watched her grow up. She’s always been independent. No one will pin her down. Plus, she saw enough shit when her parents broke up it soured her ideas on marriage.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m talking out of school here. If she wants to share that with you, she will. All I’m saying is, she’ll shut us all out if we push her too hard.”
“Like she did the past couple of weeks,” said Kane thoughtfully.
“Yes, exactly,” said Marshall. He settled his glass down with a clink on the glass table by his chair and stood. “But really, Holmes. I don’t see how this idea of yours will work. I don’t intend to share Jacine with anyone. Like I said, I’m always in town.”
With that,Tobias Marshall sauntered out toward the driveway as if he held all the cards.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jacine
“Dad,” I said as I strolled out of my room. He sat on the sofa reading a book. His knee jiggled not from nervousness but inactivity. My father did not like his enforced recoveryafter surgery. The past two weeks have challenged him and me because he tested his limits and my patience every day.
“Are you going to be okay?”
He tossed the book aside and sighed, but then glanced at me and smiled.
“Don’t you look beautiful.”
Tonight, finally, my torture will be over because the big concert happened in just a few hours. And with the help of my stylist, I pulled off a look that was LA casual appropriate for a rock concert. She found these incredible black satin skinny jeans in a vintage shop and added ebony thigh-high, spike-heeled boots, and a black leather biker’s jacket. Under the leather, I sported a “Work Release” promo tee with which she took liberties. She ripped out the collar and cut a line straight down that resulted in the flaps forming a “v” that parted and strategically displayed the top of my black lace bra.
And thus armored, I was ready to face Cole Kane, Jersey Dys, and Rory Holmes.
The butterflies in my stomach betrayed my nervous anticipation. Despite all hopes to the contrary, my desire for each of the men had not waned during our forced separation. A running film show of illicit encounters with each of them visited my dreams each night like Marley’s fucking ghost with sexual intent. I woke each time sweating and panting. Often I had to finish the subject of my nightly visions on my own, but that’s always a B-list response to what should be an A-list party.
So if my outfit this night was a teensy bit suggestive, it had nothing on wickedly inappropriate commentary on the sex appeal of each rocker running through my brain right now. I picked up my father’s unfinished whiskey and soda and bolted it down in the quest to wet my suddenly dry throat.
“What?” he protested, “that’s mine.”
“With your medications, you aren’t supposed to drink.”
“You are not my mother.”
“No,” I said. I leaned over the couch to give him a peck on the cheek. “Just an overly concerned daughter who doesn’t want to see her father croak by not following the doctor’s orders.”
