Page 29 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

Almost as if he can tell the impact he’s having, his lip curves cruelly before he turns his attention to the woman beneath him.

Kodiak engulfs my hand with his and draws me away. “My room is this way.”

11

Kelsey

He leads me into another hotel room that looks the same as Bronx’s. Only the bed is made and the TV is on. And there are no clothes on the floor. Or empty glasses on the nightstand.

He shuts the door.

“Do you need something to sleep in? A T-shirt? Or a flannel?” He takes one of each from a pile of folded laundry in the wardrobe and holds them out to me. His gaze roves my body with an appreciation that makes me flush. “Unless you’d rather sleep nude. I don’t mind.”

I heat from the inside out. Ignoring my wayward pussy, I reach for the flannel. “I’m going to change in your bathroom. Actually, do you mind if I have a shower?”

Last night I’d been too exhausted to shower. Then I’d slipped out of the suite this morning more worried about the boys waking up than the state I was in. But that was before Riot poured his beer over me, leaving me sticky and smelling like bitter bread.

“Sure. I’m going to get some bedtime snacks. What do you like? We probably have it.”

“Whatever you bring will be fine.” I take the flannel into the bathroom. A few seconds later the bedroom door closes again.

Months of touring—of being trapped in confined spaces with Riot—listening to him write and perform songs about how much he hates me and not being able to retaliate...

Throw in the reminders that he fucked around on me. Chose the rockstar lifestyle over me. Destroyed my life, my heart, and my soul for it...

Revenge would be nice. Even if it isn’t a full-blown, destroy him situation. But I can’t do that because it would hurt Bronx and Golden too. And Kodiak.

The best I can do is show Riot I’ve moved on. That he doesn’t get to me with his stupid exhibitionism. That he doesn’t have an effect on me anymore. Other than making me want to kick him in the balls.

I toe off Golden’s shoes and turn on the water. Stripping out of Bronx’s sweats and T-shirt, I fold my outfit ready for tomorrow. I’m going to need to pick up more clothes. I can’t live in the same pair of borrowed sweats and underwear that’s both uncomfortable, and past due for a wash, for too long.

Underwear in hand, I turn on the shower and once the water is just right, I step inside. I clean my panties under the hot water, wring the water out of them, and hang them over the railing. I look around and see the complimentary soaps the hotel provides. Squeezing shampoo into my hand, I massage it into my scalp and rinse it out before conditioning the strands.

I pour some bodywash on my hand and begin cleaning my body. My fingers prune and my muscles unwind from the pressure.

My mind flits to what I witnessed in that bedroom. Dark, sultry images of Riot fucking that woman. His gaze boring into mine, he fucked her like he was trying to punish me. Like he wanted me to feel every savage thrust.

The problem is I know exactly what it feels like. And it’s been way too long since I’ve experienced the pleasure of being thoroughly punished in the bedroom. I haven’t been with anyone since Riot. Aside from letting Bronx go down on me last night. And the ache between my legs is reminding me of just that. It grows more insistent. I would kill for my vibrator.

But masturbating to the images in my head would make my body a dirty, rotten, betrayer. The last thing I am ever going to do is let him affect me. It’s too much like letting him win. Imagining the blonde is Sonatina Savant shuts down my libido fast. That bitch stole my wardrobe, my boyfriend, and my life. I turn the water cold to make doubly sure my pussy gets the message.

Yelp when it pours down over me.

Shutting it off, I snatch a fluffy towel and dry off before shrugging into Kodiak’s flannel. It’s black, white, and gray and I can’t help but rub the collar against my cheek because it’s just that soft. I start at the top and clasp the buttons all the way down. It hangs to mid-thigh. Enough to be modest. Or it will be once my panties are dry enough to wear.

I spend a while using the blow dryer to dry the thin lace and then finger comb the snags from my hair under the heat from the dryer.

Kodiak is lying on the bed when I enter. He’s kicked off his boots and changed into silk boxers and a clean T-shirt. His hands are folded under his head, and he’s watching an infomercial for Japanese knives that can apparently cut through anything.

Spread out in the middle of the bed is a genuine picnic of midnight snacks.

Kodiak glances at me, jaw dropping at where the hem of his flannel skims my thighs. “Well, I’ll be... Scary Girl, you look like you were meant to wear my clothes.”

“Save your flirting for girls who will appreciate it.” I move around the bed to sit on the opposite side. Not that I don’t appreciate the way the hot-as-sin bassist can’t stop looking at me. It’s a lot less slimy than the way men ogled me at the Scarlet. “You got Twizzlers?”

Shifting his head to point at the hidden package of red licorice next to the Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, he catches my gaze. “Bronx said the cherry ones are your favorite.”

So Drummer Boy’s trying to get in my good books after his faux pas. But I haven’t touched a Twizzler since I walked away from L.A. Riot. “Used to be.”