Heat Wave: A Summer Loving Anthology Read online

  “Sure,” we all agree. “About that contract extension,” I add.

  “Consider it done,” Joey dismisses me. “Like I’d let you leave anyway.”

  Joey is an older man, somewhere between my dad and my grandfather’s age. He considers all of us as his sons, looks out for us when we need it, and kicks our asses when we deserve it. We couldn’t ask for a better employer.

  “Thanks, Joey. We really appreciate it,” Dane replies.

  “You’re up in ten,” Joey says before he walks off.

  “Well, I smoothed it over with Joey,” I announce to the guys with a smirk.

  Vague threats to remove my balls and use them as hood ornaments on cars go in one ear and out the other.

  We take the stage for an hour and play our hearts out. This is what we do best and the crowd here loves us. When the lights swing over the crowd, I’m more than pleased to see Jennifer, Vince, and Mali dancing and having a good time on the dance floor. Mali has the moves, I’ll give her that. When the backup DJ takes over, I may have to get her out on the dance floor myself.

  “So, what’d you think?” I ask Mali as I take the seat next to her when our set is over.

  “It was great,” she replies enthusiastically. “I really love your sound. You’ve created a very unique mixture of rock, pop, and soul.”

  “You have a good ear,” I compliment her. “Most people wouldn’t have picked that out.”

  “Comes with the family name, I guess.” She’s clearly sizing me up, and checking my intentions for talking to her.

  “Names have nothing to do with it. That talent is all yours,” I answer. The beginning chords of a slow song start and I feel the need to abruptly change the subject. “Would you like to dance?”

  “I’d love to,” she replies.

  As I stand, I take her hand to help her up and then lead her to the dance floor. She willingly steps into my space as she wraps her arms around my neck. My hands slide around her waist and we begin swaying to the music in tandem. The way her body fits against mine is pure heaven. I plan on getting to know Mali Greyson much better over the next few weeks.

  As the song ends, Jennifer weaves through the crowd in our direction. “Mali, Vince and I are leaving now. Are you riding back with us?”

  Jennifer’s gaze skims up to mine. Her silent warning screams at me. My reply is to simply smirk at her.

  “Yes, I am,” Mali replies. She turns to me before she walks away. “Thanks for the dance, Jagger.”

  This is already shaping up to be quite a summer.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JAGGER

  IT’S BEEN ONE WEEK and a day since I last saw Mali. I’ve tried to get Vince to give me her number a couple of times, but he claims he doesn’t have it. He also refuses to ask Jennifer for it. I can’t say I blame him, since she carries his balls in her pink purse and only lets him use them once a year.

  We’re back at Club Deviant for our regular set tonight and the place is packed to the gills. The line to get in is wrapped around the building and it’s already at maximum capacity inside. I love nights like this because everyone is here to have a good time. The adult libations are flowing and two inebriated bodies magically become synced as one when the couples reach the dance floor

  “Let’s get onstage, boys,” Tanner says as he stands.

  The guys begin checking their instruments, tuning them, and checking the sound levels. I grab the microphone and start my own round of tests.

  “Who’s ready for some sex, alcohol, and rock and roll?” I yell into the microphone.

  The crowd screams their reply of a resounding yes. Their deafening roar is enough to raise the roof. People rush toward the stage, but a line of girls somehow always makes their way to the very front. They dance provocatively, sing along with the lyrics, and slowly lick their lips when I look in their direction.

  Ah, the rough life of the lead singer.

  “We have a new lineup of songs for you tonight. Is everyone ready to get dirty?”

  The cheers and screams come from every corner of the club. I love this part of my job. Sharing my music is as close as I get to sharing my heart with anyone. It’s part of me and I freely give it away to the masses.

  “Let’s get everyone on the dance floor and have some fun. The more people to bump and grind with, the better. Right?” I laugh and the crowd screams again.

  Tanner ticks off the count with his drumsticks and both he and Wes kick in the bass line. Dane adds his lead guitar licks to the mixture and the crowd begins swaying in time with the music. I begin belting out the lyrics and visualize the scene as I sing it to pour emotion into it. I move back and forth across the stage to engage the audience and energize the room.

  Arms reach out to touch me and I slide my hand across theirs as I walk by. Some try to grab me and hold on, but I’ve learned to be quick in my movements. When I stop to sing to someone, to emphasize the words and drive them wild, I know to stand well out of reach.

  When we reach the end of our set, the dance floor is packed with hands, arms, legs, and bodies stacked from front to back. There’s barely room to move, much less walk, but no one seems to mind at all. Strangers rub against each other as they sway with their partner. There’s a new level of erotic being created in the air tonight.

  I don’t know how, but movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye. Cutting my eyes to the left, I now know what triggered it. Mali is trying to cut through the crowd, her eyes set on me. She has that same expression she had last week– the one she had when she tried to hide her desire.

  Some random guy snakes his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him. He grinds his crotch into her ass, his fingers dig into her hip to hold her, and she struggles to break free from him. Her look of desire quickly turns to panic as this guy changes the movement of his hips from a circular motion, to front to back, like he’s fucking her from behind.

  Something in my mind snaps when her pleading eyes find mine. She’s begging me, but in a different way than I’ve imagined repeatedly. She’s scared, she can’t get away from him, and although they’re fully clothed, he’s still molesting her body against her will.

  Instantly, I drop the microphone and it releases a screeching sound that makes people grab their ears in pain. When I leap off the stage, the crowd parts like the Red Sea to give me plenty of room to stalk toward my target. My expression must be near murderous because the girls gasp as I rush by them and the guys crane their necks to get a good view of the action.

  The idiot with his hands on Mali is apparently too distracted by his friends cheering him on to notice me. When he finally looks up, his bottom jaw drops open in shock and fear just before my fist connects with his ugly face. His head jerks back violently as his feet forget to work, causing him to stumble a couple of steps backward before he falls on his ass.

  A split second before he falls, I grab Mali and pull her to me so he can’t take her down with him. She wraps her arms tightly around me, her body trembles from fright, and her knees buckle underneath her.

  “I got you. Hold on to me.” I murmur against her ear, as I scoop her up in my arms and carry her off the dance floor. She wraps her arms around my neck, lays her head on my shoulder, and hides her face against my body.

  Wes and Dane are close behind me when Wes calls for club security. They saw what the guy did to Mali and relay the whole story to the head bouncer while I keep walking with Mali in my arms. The bouncers surround the guy and his friends as they all deny the accusations.

  Jennifer and Vince watch me with a mixture of amazement and horror as I approach them with Mali still cradled in my arms. They’re frozen to the spots where they stand as they try to comprehend what just happened. I’m still running on adrenalin, or I’d be overanalyzing the situation, too.

  “I’m going to put you down. You’re safe now,” I tell Mali, intentionally keeping my voice soft to avoid scaring her.

  She replies by squeezing my neck tighter. She holds on to me with
all her might. The only reason I want to put her down is because I only got to hit that fucker once before he went down. He needs his face stomped for what he did.

  But Mali won’t release me.

  MALI

  I’M HOLDING ONTO A man I met a week ago, and only spoke a few words to, like he’s the only lifeline I have in this world. It’d be different if I actually knew him, but other than a short conversation and a slow dance, I don’t know him at all. Part of me is embarrassed to be in this predicament to begin with, while the other part of me is just scared to death and wants someone to make me feel secure again.

  “Mali,” his voice soothes. “You’re okay now.”

  Reluctantly, I loosen my grip around his neck and allow him to stand me up on my shaky legs. I look up at him and give him a rueful smile. “Thank you, Jagger,” I tell him with all sincerity. “You didn’t have to punch him out, but thank you for helping me.”

  “No need to thank me for that. I have a little sister. If any man touched her like that without her permission, his body would never be found,” he says emphatically.

  I nod, understanding exactly what he means. “I’m going to the ladies’ room to clean up a bit. I’ll be right back.” I need to get away from the small group of friends crowded around me.

  Jennifer gives me her concerned mother look. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No, thanks anyway. I’m okay,” I reply and try to give her a confident smile.

  I’m shocked to find the bathroom completely empty when I enter. No women’s bathroom is ever empty, but especially not one at a club like this. They must all be waiting for Jagger, I think to myself. I rush into the stall, lock the door, and have a complete breakdown. The feeling of being helpless and violated floods me. My imagination runs away with me when I think about what could’ve happened if Jagger hadn’t stopped him.

  When I hear the door open, I hold my sniffles and sobs so no one knows I’m falling to pieces in here. The voices hesitate in the doorway as the girls drunkenly yell at someone else. They’re giggling uncontrollably when they finally enter and the sounds of them having fun help to lighten my own mood. My face is still such a mess from crying, so I decide to wait in the stall until they leave.

  “Oh my God! Did you see Jagger deck that guy?” one yells from the stall on my right.

  “Yes! How fucking hot was that?” comes the reply from the stall on my left. “Have you ever seen Jagger fight over a girl before?”

  “Hell no!” right drunk girl replies. “The only F word I’ve ever seen Jagger do for a girl is fuck her!”

  They both cackle at what they think is the funniest joke they’ve ever heard. I’ve heard better.

  “Why did he have to fight for that bitch anyway?” left drunk girl asks. “Why didn’t she just turn around and smack that guy herself?”

  “I know, right?” right drunk girl replies. “It’s not like he had her somewhere alone. He didn’t even have his hand under her clothes. What a little crybaby bitch. She needs to grow a pair so she can take care of herself and quit depending on a man to do it for her.”

  Dual flushing halts the conversation until they both stumble out of their stalls. I can still hear them talking about me over the water running in the sinks.

  “And how did a girl like that snag Jagger anyway? What’s so special about her?”

  “Maybe he secretly likes the sweet, innocent, helpless type. That’s the only difference I see in her. Every other girl I know has tried to snag that man, but they’re not little scared pussies,” she says before laughing at her own words. “I just called girls, pussies!”

  The door opens and their voices trail off into the distance and more girls come rushing in together. I open the stall door and walk to the sink before they have a chance to start a conversation about me. When I look up in the mirror, their cruel words swirl around in my mind.

  Do others really see me as a helpless victim?

  Am I so sweet and innocent that sexy, worldly men like Jagger don’t see me as dating material?

  Is that why he equated me to his sister a few minutes ago?

  Staring into my eyes in the reflection, the hard truth slaps me in the face. I don’t want to be that girl. The one who is scared to do anything that’s exciting, daring, and dangerous. The one who needs to be saved and can’t look out for herself. The one who has to settle for a man who’s willing to take care of her because she isn’t strong enough to stand on her own two feet.

  After cleaning the dried tear streaks from my face, I pinch my cheeks to bring some color back to them, put on my best face, and confidently stroll back to my group. As I approach, several faces turn toward me and I instantly see the pity and worry openly aimed at me.

  I don’t want to be the girl who is pitied.

  I want to be the girl who is envied for her strength and boldness.

  Looking from face to face, the one I want to see the most is conspicuously missing. “Where’s Jagger?” I ask Jennifer.

  “He said he wasn’t finished with that guy who put his hands on you,” she inclined her head toward the crowd. “He went back for more.”

  I jerk my head to the right and see a significant crowd has formed a circle around something. My first guess would be that Jagger is in the middle of that circle and he’s about to pummel the other guy. Normally, I’d stay as far away from a scene like this as I could get.

  But my new leaf was turned over when the words those girls said in the bathroom cut straight through me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MALI

  MARCHING OVER TO THE crowd, I elbow my way inside and step into the human ring. Two of the bouncers are holding Jagger back from the guy who touched me. His lip is busted and bleeding, his eye is swollen, and his cheek has a huge, red mark quickly forming. Jagger’s face doesn’t have a single mark on it.

  “Let me go, Jim,” Jagger growls at the bouncer.

  “No way, Jag. That’s enough, man.”

  “What’s your fucking problem?” the other guy yells at Jagger. “I was just dancing with a girl and you attacked me for no reason.”

  “Shut your fucking mouth, Chad,” Jim yelled at the douchebag guy. “You keep taunting him and I’ll accidentally lose my grip on him.”

  Chad looks worried for a second as he considers how angry Jagger still is. He turns to walk away and his eyes lock onto mine. His slow perusal of my body makes me feel cheap and dirty, but I realize that’s his intent and I refuse to allow him.

  “You want to feel this again, baby?” he derides me as he grabs his crotch.

  I’m not a victim.

  I’m not helpless.

  I return his gesture as I allow my eyes to slowly rise and fall as I take in his unremarkable features. My expression conveys my disgust with him. Out of spite, my eyes lock on his crotch and I release a laugh that both mocks and humiliates him.

  Meeting his gaze directly, I deliver my zinger. “I’ve already felt all you have to offer, baby. Believe me, I’m not impressed. You’re not man enough for me.”

  The crowd erupts in laughter and I laugh along with them. Chad’s face turns red from embarrassment and anger. He takes a step toward me and Jim instantly releases his hold on Jagger. Chad must sense it, or maybe he sees Jagger moving from the corner of his eye, because his head whips around as his feet halt.

  Chad then turns and rushes through the crowd and Jagger stops short and yells to him. “You better run, you little pussy! Show your face in here again. I dare you.”

  Jagger turns and calmly walks to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. You really didn’t have to go after him again,” I tell him.

  I actually feel bad that he’s fighting my fight when I don’t even know him. And when he only sees me as his scared little sister. I want to say I can take care of myself, but we both know that’s not true.

  “He deserved it. I wanted to give him everything he deserved,” Jagger shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

  “His f
ace looked like he definitely got that,” I chuckle.

  “You seem to be in better spirits,” Jagger smiles, and the all-male beauty of it nearly knocks me down.

  I noticed him the instant he first walked in the club last week. His confident swagger caught my eye, but everything else about him captivated my attention. It was nearly impossible to not stare at him as he talked with his band members. His thick, black hair is spiky, stands up haphazardly in every direction, and looks incredibly sexy on him.

  He’s built like a natural athlete. He’s not blown up like he’s on performance enhancing drugs, but his biceps are well defined. His shoulders are broad, and his muscle shirt hugs his chest and abs like a second skin. His jeans hang low on his hips and fit perfectly to show off his long legs and ample ass.

  I’ve thought about him every day for the past week. I’ve wondered what he does when he’s not on stage. My list of questions about him grew with each passing day. Given the chance, I’d go back in time to last weekend and tell Jennifer to leave without me. But I was too scared to chance a one-night stand a week ago. And I was too chickenshit to ask Vince or Jennifer for Jagger’s phone number.

  But tonight when he started singing, he obviously put me in a trance because my feet unconsciously carried me to the dance floor. My eyes were set solely on him and I wanted to be one of those girls that he sang to in the front row. When Chad first grabbed me, I naively didn’t think much about it. There were so many people on the dance floor, it was impossible to not touch or be touched as I wound my way through.

  I panicked when I realized what he was doing, though. The fear and uncertainty shut me down and locked me up. I’d been watching couples dirty dancing from afar, wishing I were that bold and carefree. Wishing Jagger would sweep me up and teach me how to enjoy it. But the real thing felt much different than my fantasy. Plus, it wasn’t Jagger doing it with me.

  Now he’s standing here with me after defending my honor. All I can think of is marring it by recreating the scene with him instead.