Fill Me by Michelle Hazen (books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📕
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- Author: Michelle Hazen
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“We better not,” the hot one says. “Maybe we’ll see you the next time you play here, hmm?”
The guy herds them off before I can answer.
I frown. “Well, shit.” I glance down at Jera. “Okay, activate your Secret Girl Decoder ring and tell me where I messed that up? They were super into me a minute ago.”
Jera laughs, and when I scowl, she laughs even harder so that my arm slips off her shoulders. I cross both arms over my chest, a flush rising up my neck. At least I’ve got her laughing again, though I wouldn’t have minded if it wasn’t at my expense.
“She thought I was your girlfriend.” Jera grins. “Come on, you still had your arm around me and you asked them both over. They probably think you’re recruiting for some kind of orgy.”
I perk up a little at that, shrugging super-casual like. “Rock stars do that. Guess I can’t blame ‘em for drawing conclusions.”
Jera rolls her eyes, her smile wobbling.
“Screw ‘em,” I say, doing my best to sound like I don’t care that I just traded in two hot girls for the bandmates I spend pretty much every Saturday night with anyway. “Let’s pack up our stuff and Danny can meet us at my house.”
Jera shakes her head. “You might as well go after those girls, see if you can get another chance. I should probably get home to Granna, and who knows when Danny’s going to get done with whatever favor he’s doing.”
I glance away, pretending to size up our equipment still waiting on stage. She doesn’t know about his membership at the BDSM club, and I’m bound under strict Man Code not to tell her. Danny wouldn’t blink if his own mother caught him on stage with his fingers in one girl and his dick in another, but for some reason he cares like crazy that Jera doesn’t find out. “Can’t you just call her and make sure she took her pills? You already divide them up in boxes for her, right?”
“By morning, afternoon and evening dose,” Jera says, already checking her phone. “But she’s been having more trouble getting changed for bed lately.”
“I’ll start packing up and you call. If we need to, we can swing by there so you can get her in her nightie or whatever, then it’s back to being young and irresponsible.” I wink, and head for the stage.
When Jera was packing to move across town to the dorms for college, her grandma’s health took a nosedive and Jera moved in there instead, just to keep an eye on her. Her Granna’s a riot, all snappy jokes you’d never expect out of a lady in a pearl-buttoned cardigan, but I feel bad sometimes that Jera never gets to cut loose the way I did when I was getting my associate’s degree.
I grin at a brunette who wiggles her fingers at me, and hop up on the stage to start breaking down Jera’s drum kit. I keep close to the edge in case the brunette is feeling chatty.
The dorms kicked ass the first year in college, and the second was even better, when I moved to a one bedroom a block off-campus. It was the first time I’d been able to just live without knowing my every move would reflect on my family, and that every screw up would make its way back to my mother. Manhattan is big in some ways, but it’s a damn small island in others, and everybody knew the Sterlings.
Metal scrapes as I snap one of the stands flat and set it next to me, sneaking a glance out to the crowd. Everybody’s ignoring me now, dancing or talking to their friends like I’m the hired help instead of the guy that owned all their eyes an hour ago.
Out west, I’m not Jackson Sterling, heir to an empire I’m not quite worthy of. Out here, I’m invisible. Sometimes I love that. And sometimes I hate it.
* * *
“DUDE, GRANNA’S ALREADY in bed, and she said she was fine.” I flick on the turn signal and merge into the next lane, tossing a glance at Jera that’s just long enough to ascertain that her teeth haven’t stopped worrying at her bottom lip since she got in the car.
“I know.”
“So why are you waiting for her to call?”
“I’m not.” She flips her phone face-down in her lap.
The light’s red, so I look over at my bandmate. Yeah, she’s all bent up about that guy again. Maybe the dipshit didn’t text her, after doing the bare minimum of a cameo at her show and then keeping her in the parking lot for half an hour. He probably talked her into giving him a blowjob for good behavior.
Thinking about that makes me twitchy, and I shift in my seat, leaning my bouncing wrist over the steering wheel. “By the way, while you were gone, I had to punch two guys for talking dirty about our sexy drummer.”
Jera crosses her arms and looks out the window, trying to hide her smile. “Guys are animals. Girl in skirt, good. Girl in skirt hitting things with sticks, grunt grunt even better.” The light turns green. “Hey, do you mind making a stop for beer?” Jera asks, like we don’t do this every time a show closes, because she and Danny aren’t old enough to stay at the clubs and party with me.
“Yeah, sure.” I make the turn into the parking lot of a convenience store. I shut off the truck and pull the door handle at the same time, but then I catch Jera checking her phone again. The dome light goes back off as I close the door without getting out, leaving my bandmate’s face drawn in stark lines of shadow and fluorescent glow from the gas station’s signs. “Is something up with you and Andy?”
She tucks the phone away between her leg and the door. “Nothing. It was cool that he stopped by tonight, don’t you think?”
“Uh, I guess.” My eyebrow twitches dubiously. “So, anything you want to talk about?”
She ducks her head, her hair curtaining her face. “Nah, I’m cool. Maybe get a wheat beer this time, will you? I’m sick of IPAs.”
“Right.” I pop open the door, leaving her the keys so she can listen to music while I’m gone, because that’s what I always do. I’m sort of the band chauffeur, because Jera’s VW bug is too small to hold her kit, and Danny’s POS almost never runs. I pat my pocket, to check for my wallet and the all-important ID. Usually, Danny and Jera stay in the car together when I do beer runs, talking about stuff that cuts off abruptly when I come back.
I still party with a lot of my old college friends, shoot hoops with some of the guys from work, go dancing on the weekend with girls I meet at the bars we play, but my band are my best friends. The ones who know I keep my spatula in the cabinet for efficiency, instead of losing it in an overcrowded drawer. But I don’t know what they’re always talking about when I’m out of the room, or why Danny sleeps at Granna’s house almost as often as Jera does, even though I’m ninety percent sure they’re not banging.
Then again, they never invite me to stay over there.
I stop in front of the door to the gas station, my jaw clenching. Why would they? When they want to party, they have my apartment to do it at. Maybe they stay at Granna’s when they want to hang out without me. I glance back at the truck, but Jera’s not looking after where I went. She’s already on her phone again, maybe inviting over more people because I’m not enough entertainment to even keep her off Facebook for five minutes.
I spin around, striding back to my truck and pulling open the door. “You know what? This is bullshit. I’m sick of being a truck to haul your gear, an ID to buy your beer, a voice behind the microphone to sell the songs you write.”
Jera looks up from her phone, her lips parting slightly with shock. “What? Is this about buying beer? Because you don’t have to, we can just get some Mountain Dew or whatever.”
Heat claws up my throat. She’s so oblivious, she didn’t even bother to listen to a word I said. “I’m fucking through with being your back up friend, and the runner up goddamn band member, even though I’m the lead singer.”
“Who ever said that?”
“You did, tonight, when you reminded everyone that you and Danny started the band. And don’t bother denying it, because we both know if he were here right now, you’d be spilling your guts to him, rushing the words to get them all out before I came back out of the store.” I grind my teeth together, wishing I wouldn’t have said the last part. It’s so true it sounds pitiful for both of us, hanging out there in the open air.
The car parked next to us starts up, but I make no move to get my open door out of their way. Jera looks down at her lap.
“Shit,” she whispers, her voice quavering just a little bit before she bites her lip. I clench my jaw. I’m right, or she’d be laughing in my face right now. I’m not going to be swayed by her damn girl tears. She swallows. “I’m so sorry, Jax. I had no idea we made you feel like that. I—” She reaches across the seat, not looking at me as she tugs my sleeve. “Get in, would you?”
I do it, slamming the door behind me and staring at the convenience store. “But it’s still true, isn’t it?” And why wouldn’t it be? I’ve always been almost good enough. Good enough for my mom to brag to her friends about me—as long as she twists the truth a little to make it look better. Good enough to get gigs at clubs, but not good enough to headline even the local venues. Good enough to make acquaintances everywhere I go, but not friends.
“No, not at all,” Jera says, squeezing my arm now that I’m closer. “It’s just...easier to talk to Danny about some things. That’s just me being a chicken, not anything to do with you.”
I turn my head to stare at her. “A chicken?” I scoff. “Why would you be afraid to tell me what you guys talk about when I’m not around?”
Jera has the kind of natural confidence that only ever visits me on stage. Her hair is always a beautiful tumble of highlights she didn’t need dye for, her music a glorious wash of notes she didn’t have to train for, didn’t even really have to practice. She just knows. How to sing, how to write. How to play anything from the accordion to the grand piano, while I pour everything I have into the common guitar, the instrument every stoner at a party can pull out to impress the ladies. When I met her, she was seventeen, and you could tell she was already exactly who she was meant to be: quirky, quick to laugh or skip or dance, and the sound of God himself on a stage.
“Because you’re...” She blushes.
I pause, my head drawing back a fraction. I know that
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