Ozzy

WE PULL UP to the deserted airstrip in New Jersey. No planes are lit up except for Platinum’s, which is waiting for us at the end of the tarmac. My high is waning, but it really helped me get through the wedding. And sex with the spunky brunette sitting next to me will see me through to Vegas.

Damn but Cole looked happier than I’ve ever seen him. Maybe Rose won’t do him dirty. Though that’s what I thought about Teresa, too.

Diverting my thoughts, I look at my travel companion. Even though she changed out of her orange dress, she’s totally hot. Well, not in the stick-thin model way, but in the let-me-grab-your-hips-and-rock-your-world way. My cock rises to the occasion. Yeah, this is going to be a much more enjoyable flight home than it was coming out here.

I get out of the SUV and pick up her luggage. Hefting the oversized bag out of the back, I get it to the pavement and pull up the handle. “Geez. How long have you been out here?”

“Got in yesterday.”

This is what she packed for two nights? Holy shit. “Were you thinking of moving in?”

“Nope. Just need options.” She laughs and my balls tighten at the melodious sound. Something unlocks inside my blackened heart, which I promptly quash. No. I need to get her alone pronto, so I head for the plane.

From somewhere behind me, I hear her call out, “Don’t you have any luggage?”

“The crew brought it with them to the hotel, so it’s already on the plane now.” Condoms. I only have one on me, but I put more in my duffel bag. Signing the divorce papers—turning over all my money—Cole’s wedding. I need to bury myself inside her and forget the hell of the past twenty-four hours.

At the foot of the stairs, the crew takes her luggage from me, and I ask for my duffel. “Go on ahead of me, I’ll meet you up there in a minute.” I watch as she climbs the staircase, admiring the way her round ass sways as she ascends. Yup. She’ll definitely help me forget.

Grabbing a handful of condoms from my duffel bag, I wink at the flight attendant and bound up the stairs. Inside, McKenna runs her hand over the light beige leather seats, but I go straight to the sofa. Throwing myself down on it, thighs splayed wide, I pat the cushion next to me.

McKenna crosses her arms over her tits and stares at me from across the plane. Damn. What I want to do to her body. And I know, from experience, she’s a total wildcat in bed, always up to try anything. “Take your seat and strap in.” Smirking at my not-so-subtle inuendo, I pat the sofa again.

She shakes her head and sits in a chair across the way.

I poke my tongue against my cheek. “Why are you playing so hard to get? You know you’re going to love it, babes. You always have.”

Her lips thin. “I only needed a ride, Ozzy. I’m not going to sleep with you. Think you can handle doing someone a favor without expecting anything in return?”

“Who said anything about sleeping?”

“I’m serious.” She crosses her legs. Only now do I realize she swapped her sexy-ass heels for flats, too. Oh well, they’ll be off soon enough.

The flight attendant who saw me grab the condoms walks into the cabin with a tray, offering us champagne with a smirk. I stand and take two glasses. Handing McKenna a glass, I sit down on the chair next to hers and lean in. “We’ll see. We have five hours to kill.”

She opens her mouth and yawns.

“Good try. You told me you flew out yesterday, so you’re still on Vegas time. It’s only seven o’clock according to your body clock.”

“Ozzy, you don’t know anything about what my body needs right now.” She turns her head away to watch the safety demo. I’m sure she pulled a face. What’s with her? Concern floods my brain as the remnants of my buzz dissipate. Her body language screams she’s upset. No, more like anxious. Is she afraid of flying?

We’re soon airborne and the pilot says we can unbuckle our seat belts since he doesn’t expect any turbulence. Undoing hers first, I get out of mine and swivel to face her. Reaching out, I grab her left foot and place it on my lap. After discarding her shoe, I massage her instep, hoping to relax her.

Her gentle sigh clues me in about how much she’s enjoying what I’m doing. In silence, I switch to her right foot. Some of the anxiety has drained from her eyes, which now take on a deeper hue.

Without saying a word, I place both of her feet on the floor and skim her arms. Her eyes slam shut and her breathing hitches. I trace her shoulder and place my index finger on her cheek, pulling her closer to me.

She’s exactly what my body needs right now. And despite her comment, I believe I’m what she needs, too.

Our breaths mingle, our lips almost touching. “Open your eyes,” I demand. I want to confirm I’m right.

McKenna’s eyelids flutter open midway, unfocused. Her breathing comes in rapid pants.

I move to seal the deal when her eyes fling wide open and she plows backwards into the chair, words flowing from her kissable mouth. “So, how’s your new album going? Almost finished with it? Your residency is ending soon, right?”

I close my eyes to shut out her rapid-fire questions. I don’t want to talk about my nonexistent writing. When I open my eyes again, I play with the stripe of white hair amongst the dark brown. “I like this.”

She huffs out a small breath. “I thought it would be good for the wedding. You know, festive and all.”

I twirl a white lock around my finger, bring the softness to my lips and kiss it. She shakes her head and leans back even further into the soft leather seat. Sighing, I retreat. “So, ah, what have you been up to lately? Haven’t seen you around Vegas.” Hmmm, at all. Has she been avoiding me?

“I’ve been keeping busy. Working on the Artist Adventure Avenue Project, you know.”

“Oh, right.” How could I forget? They’ve been hounding me for songs for their exhibition. Of course, Platinum insists that they be my new songs. “How’s it coming along?”

She twists and puts one leg under the other. Damn. What I want to do with those legs.

“It’s good, actually. I’ve finished up the part of my presentation for all the other artists but you.” Her eyes bore into mine.

Fuck. “Oh. How many were there?”

“Sex.” Her mouth forms a perfect circle and eyes grow wide. Clearing her throat, she says, “Six. I meant six.” She holds up six fingers. “And I know Felicia, my contact at the Project, has reached out to you for your songs, but I haven’t seen them yet. Did you send them to her? I’d like to dive right in when we get back.”

“Freudian slip?” I chuckle and reach out to skim her bare arm. No need to keep talking about such an unpleasant topic.

She pulls her arm back. “Ozzy. I told you I’m not sleeping with you. I only needed a ride back tonight.”

Something in her voice clues me in that she’s none too happy with her decision. “What’s the hurry? Didn’t you have a flight booked?”

She turns her head toward the windows, but since it’s dark out I know she can’t be admiring the view. For the second time tonight, I want to know what she’s hiding.

“Something came up at home that needs my attention right away. I could’ve waited for my flight, but since you had this at your disposal, I thought I could get back sooner. Must be nice to have a private plane on speed dial.”

Yeah, right. I stifle a snort. If she knew my now ex-wife cleaned me out right before I hopped onto this borrowed plane, maybe she wouldn’t be busting my balls about it. “Looks can be deceiving.”

She faces me again. “So, I’ll be ready to start in on your music tomorrow. It takes me about a month to do the graphics per artist, and as the final deadline is year-end, I don’t have any time to waste. And, not that I want to feed your already galactic ego, but your new songs will be the highlight of my submission. If I win, it could make a real difference in the lives of people who depend on the proceeds from this event—disadvantaged youth who need a creative outlet.” She plucks at her top. “It could make a real difference in my life too, Ozzy.”

Yeah, like I need this kind of added pressure. Instead of continuing the conversation, I stand up and head over to the bar area. Opening the rum, I hold it up to her with a can of Coke. “Want some?”

“I’ll take the Coke, straight.”

“Ah, c’mon. If you won’t let me have my wicked way with you, at least let me make you a real drink. You’ve got to tolerate me somehow for the next five hours.”

She tilts her head. Something passes across her eyes and she says, “Well, alright. Just one.”

“There’s my girl.” I busy myself making our drinks. Walking over to where she’s sitting, I hand her the glass and clink mine to hers.

“Thanks.” She takes a small sip and puts the glass down into the cupholder. “So, really, I can’t wait to hear your new stuff. Want to give me a preview?”

Her latte-colored eyes bore into mine. How long can I keep the truth from her? I swallow the last of my drink and deposit the empty into the cupholder at my seat. “Yeah, well.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

Shit. She’s so fucking cute. And she’s going to find out that I’m empty as an old guitar case soon enough. I inhale the recycled air and force myself to expel all of it. Here goes nothing. “You see, McKenna… I’ve been having a bit of a dry spell.”

Her eyes slant. “And by dry spell, you mean—”

Her sentence hangs there. I clear my throat. “I mean that I haven’t been able to write any new songs.”

Silence.

“Any?”

I shake my head.

Her voice takes on a hard edge. “At all?”

I can’t look at her any longer, so I walk over to the bar for a refill. Within seconds, she joins me.

“Please tell me I didn’t hear you right. You’ve been at the Jade now for well over a year. During this time, you were supposed to be doing shows and writing the songs for your next album. Remember, I was at the dinner when you and Rose came up with this plan. You really don’t have one new song written?”

I dump ice cubes into my glass. “No.”

“What the hell have you been doing? Oh wait, let me guess. You’ve been doing every vagina in Vegas rather than actually working.”

I bang my glass on the bar. “You don’t know anything about it.”

She stomps her newly-massaged foot. “I can guess. You get up on stage, sing your old songs and choose which bimbos you want to take backstage after. You’re too busy getting laid—and high—to do actual work.”

“I have a penthouse, thank you very much.” And I rarely touch drugs. However, having to attend a wedding the day after finalizing a three-year-long divorce certainly was a valid reason to do so, but she doesn’t deserve to know this. I pick up the rum and pour a very healthy splash into my glass.

Through clenched teeth, she responds, “Whatever. Your songs were contracted to the Project a year ago. Your new songs.”

I add a second pour of rum and whisper some Coke into it. Before taking a sip, I face the woman I wanted to fuck five minutes ago, and now just want to throttle. “It’s not your problem.”

“Not my problem! Are you kidding me? While you’ve been fucking your way through Vegas, I’ve been working my ass off on this project. Getting actual deliverables ready. Yours is last on my list and then I can hand it in.”

I raise the glass to my lips and take a sip. Shit, it’s strong. My eyes stray to the woman next to me and I take another swallow. Turning my back to her, I head to the bedroom. “I think we’re done here. Since we’re obviously not going to fuck, which is the only thing you think I enjoy doing, I’m going to sleep until we get back to Vegas.”

“Ozzy—”

If I wanted nagging, I would’ve stayed in Vegas and listened to Ginger. McKenna’s not my boss by any stretch of the imagination, so I don’t have to take this. Slamming the door behind me, I collapse on the bed.

If I could snap my fingers and create a whole new album, don’t they think I would’ve done so before now? It’s kind of hard to create fresh material when your own life is in the fucking shitter. Ducking deadlines from my label is exhausting. Getting hounded by all of these women is getting old.

I take another huge swallow of my drink, the ice cubes clanking against my teeth. A knock sounds. “Leave me alone.”

“Can we talk?”

I’m done talking about my failures. Failure as a husband. Failure as an artist. Failure as a client. Failure with this woman who flitted into my life and brightened it up. Finished. Through.

“Go away.” My glass sails through the air and crashes against the closed door.