Plastic Confidence (Good Bye Trilogy #1) (5 page)

SEVEN

When
Love Sick Ponies first started to tour, the accommodations we were given weren’t exactly five star. Those dingy motels, God they were disgusting. The room consisted of beds covered in polyester floral blankets over hard smoke scented sheets and a five station cable television that was always on its last leg. We slept five people deep in a double bed room. Technically there were only three of us in the band but Johnny, Dex, and I usually had one or two people tag along after a show. We didn’t call them a groupie. The victim was a far better label. The victim usually left the next morning looking like death had taken them multiple times.

From the
very first night, I told the guys I would leave the tour if I didn’t get my own bed. Dex and Johnny constantly fought over the second double bed but the one with the scissors or rock normally won. Paper just never made the grade. Johnny once waited until I was dead asleep to do his thing with a girl. It was evident when Dex, a buddy of his, and I all woke up to a female voice crying out Johnny’s name until his final two thrust grunts.
Dumbass
.

That night
, I locked myself in the bathroom and slept in the bathtub with a pillow. I remember chanting, “Anything for the music”, while the girl’s screams of ecstasy threatened to tear down the fucking walls. Fuck nugget thought he was being all stealthy. Habitually, he hooked up with his conquests either back stage or at their house first and then crashed at the hotel but I guess that night he was clearly out of his brain. I told Dex the next morning that if I had to listen to my ex bang out another chick, I was gone. It didn’t happen again. And so... we endured each other’s disgusting sweat, dirty underwear, and major gas spells city after city. Grimy hotel after grimy hotel. Some nights, I didn’t think I would make it.

I reach
ed the forty second floor and passed my card over the panel to prove that I had secure access to the floor. Nick Sawyer would only pay for secured floors for his beloved Lizzie therefore we all got to enjoy the benefits of being in an exclusive group. I found my way to Room 4210 and swiped the card to enter a beautiful suite. It was plenty of room for one. It had a brand new leather couch and a monstrous king sized bed. The Jacuzzi and spa style bathroom was calling out. “Jules, come here. I want you naked now,” coaxed the bathroom in all of its marble and fluffy towel glory.

I
didn’t have to listen to boys farting through the night. I didn’t have to smell the pot smoke lingering its way from underneath the bathroom door, the flimsy white towel stuffed under it be damned. I didn’t have to look at Johnny the next morning and wonder if he enjoyed his sexscapade as much as his verbal conquest did. Now that our band was bigger and, well, we finally grew a pair and made strict demands for boarding, we got decent rooms to sleep in. Decent meaning that I got a room to my own self.
Hallelujah.
I looked forward to drinking a bottle of wine, taking a muscle relaxer, and soaking in a bath... all by myself. Tonight, however, I didn’t even make it to the white fluffy robe before a loud banging started on my door.

“
Juliiiiaaaa,” Johnny yelled as he attempted to replicate the spirited line from Rocky when he called out to his wife. I held my breath. I didn’t want him here. Why
was
he here? He knew to always leave me alone after getting back to the hotel. Perhaps, I wasn’t clear that I would not spend the night in his company when I pulled out of his embrace back at the show? Or maybe I wasn’t clear when I told him to basically fuck the hell off via text message?
Mother fucker
.

“Jules, open up. I know you are in there. James told me you came back early.”
Using his authoritative voice that I used to mock back at him during relationship squabbles reminds me of that awful time.

“
I saw you looking at that dude.”

“
You forgot to pay the electricity bill.”

T
hat hard tone used to both turn me on and make me laugh. The make-up sex was always out of control impressive. We could never stay mad at each other for longer than an hour.

“When are we going to fuck again?”

I slapped him across the face and inquired how many times a day he anticipated sex.

“Six times doesn’t seem too much to ask,
Pony,” he smirked and kissed me hard on the mouth. I suppose I missed having him to sleep with. We knew each other’s needs and we could bang it out in minutes. I did miss that. He was familiar. Safe, maybe. Beyond that physical security, there wasn’t anything left between us. So again, why the fuck is he outside my hotel room door?

I threw open the door
instinctually and the instant smell of hard liquor met my nostrils. Wincing, I placed the back of my hand both underneath my nose and over my mouth.

“Jesus, Johnny, booze
has taken over your body,” I admonished him with disgust.

“Oh Jules.
You know you love me no matter what I smell like. Let me come in. I want us to talk... you know... talk about the show and shit,” he scrambled out his words.

He didn’t want to talk.
He wanted ass. I wasn’t a friggin’ idiot. Okay, maybe one time I fell for his drunken charm, but I was wasted. It didn’t count. I chalked it up that we did it again for old times’ sake. And, humiliated, I left before he woke up and pretended that I didn’t remember us having sex at all. Faking a blackout has always been my excuse of choice. It’s flawless really. How can someone truly put the blame on you if you don’t have the foggiest idea what they are talking about?

“Nah.
I am going to bed,” I begged off, as I started to close the door on his smiling face. He was still so adorable. His tall, slightly built tattooed body was beautiful. His silky blonde hair could put him in the California beach boy category. Johnny didn’t break my heart. He broke my trust. Since him, I sleep with guys and then I leave. I am not reckless or dumb about it. I am safe. I take all precautions. I didn’t know if I could say the same about Johnny. I don’t think he knows what the word protection even means.

He stopped
the door with his hand.

“Just let me come in for one drink. I will be good. I promise. I know you aren’t interested Jules. I just
... I just fucking miss you. I miss us,” he slurred as he crooked up one side of his lip. This was a side to Johnny that only came out to play every once in a while. Vulnerability.
Neither
of us showed it often and when it happened... well shit the last time it happened, I had to beg off a blackout.

Tonight, he
had me with his rare helpless plea and he knew it. Besides, I was a sucker for waxing nostalgic with him and Dex. I loved to listen to the old stories about our college days and our first few tours. I loved talking about how we made up dinner recipes from a can of tomato paste, shredded cheese, peanut butter, and toast. Best damn sandwiches to this day. Actually, I could go for one right now.

I waved my arm with a flourish and let the door automatically shut. I immediately went to the bar
, popped open the wine, and poured two glasses. Johnny sat on the couch. Actually he sat in the middle of the couch and his tall frame crowded most of it. If he wanted me to sit there, I would basically be on top of him with either side I chose. I shook my head at him as I handed him a glass and laughed.

“Not falling for that one
, beach boy,” I warned.

I
carefully lowered myself into the business chair at the cherry wood desk. It wasn’t as comfortable as the couch but I was sure it was far more comfortable in other ways.

Johnny clucked his tongue at me and winked.

“So, no hot chick to bang out tonight?” I questioned nonchalantly over the top of my wine glass.

He had the
audacity to appear embarrassed. Everyone saw his obvious promiscuity. Was he really that dumb to think I hadn’t noticed too?
Blind fool.

“Well
... if you
must
know.” he started. I rolled my eyes.

“
Must
? Oh yes, Johnny, please. Please tell me. I am on the edge of this business seat. I can’t wait. I
must
know now,” I laughed with nastiness.

Ugh, he just brought out the worst in me.
He looked at me like I had lost my mind and then wobbled his head a few times and took a deep inhalation.

“I
met a smoking barbeque blond tonight. God, I would have devoured every rib on her until she was licked clean.”

Oh.
My. God
. Did he just compare a woman to a rack of ribs? He didn’t notice that my wine was stopped half way to my mouth as I gaped at him. I cleared my throat of the nausea inching itself up from my stomach.

“
We were all set to go back to my room. In the elevator, she started... you know, working on me.” His face flamed red hot as I listened but I was unresponsive. Why did I ask him about this again? Oh yeah, I am a masochist. I
must
know.

“So, she was taking care of business but she didn’t really know what she was doing and then I thought about you.
Something about how you know every inch of me. For just a tiny minute, I pretended she was you. I tried to guide her like you would do it. I just wanted it to feel like you again and then I guess I moaned out your name,” he admitted as he shrugged one shoulder. I was unquestionably and outright thunderstruck. My eyebrows were aching from the force of my eyes being pushed so hard together.

“So!
” He slapped his jean clad leg that was crossed over his other one. “She got pissed and took the elevator back down. It made me think. I mean, really think. For the ten seconds that it took me to walk to your room, I came to the conclusion that you, Jules Delaney, are hands down... wait for it... wait for it... the
finest woman
at giving head.”

His voice was like a game show host’s telling the winner that they had just won a brand new car. His expectant expression for my
thrilled moment of joy slowly faded with the seconds that ticked by.

I coughed. He did not just say that. Part of me wanted to throw my wine at his face. But then I felt it.
A little sense of vanity. Acknowledgment. Admiration.

“Well, hells bells, Johnny!
Where the shit is my fucking gold painted plastic trophy? Put best blow jobs right up there in my accomplishments column. Maybe right above the one that says I am the most popular singer-songwriter in the new millennium?” I was fucking fuming. Despite that small feeling I had a few moments before, did he think I was going to drop to my knees and give thanks?

“But what
makes
you such a good singer, Jules? Think about it. You are making love to the microphone and the mic is a dick,” he snickered as he popped one of his eyebrows up in a way that only concluded that he was right.

Touché
, Johnny. Tou-fucking-che.

Did
the microphone really symbolize a proverbial penis for me? Maybe. Yes, it probably did but what the fuck ever. The microphone was not an
actual
dick and why the fiddle fuck was I even having this conversation with him or myself?

I laid my head back on the chair and swigged my wine.
I grew introspective as Johnny started to get more comfortable in the leather cushions. I never tried the whole girl on girl scene for sure but I was flawless at having sex with men. I had a lot of practice growing up and I paid rapt attention to what they desired from me.

Although most lovers, including
Johnny until I trained him on a thing or two, didn’t know the first thing about a woman’s anatomy, I didn’t mind. I was there to serve their desires so that in the end, they gave me the attention I craved. It gave me great satisfaction to give them the memory of being with such a skilled woman. It made them want me more and the thought of that is what got me off. It was a confidence enhancement and I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything.

I didn’t consider that
I was a whore. Nope, not in my eyes. I chose the guy... always. I had to be with a guy that was sexy. He
had
to be funny. He
had
to like to listen to music during our time together. It was what got me in the mood. Despite those specifications, I didn’t really mind who the guy actually was as a person. For all I knew, they had zero money and still lived with their momma. However, I needed to know how they evaluated my mad skills at the end. One hundred percent of the time, I was hands down
the
best lay they ever had by their looks of satiated bliss. I always patted myself on the back as I showed them the door. I knew there was one more guy out there that worshipped me.

“
Gee whiz, Johnny. Thanks so much for your praise,” I regarded at him with a cheeky smile. He rolled his eyes and then drank the whole glass of wine in two gulps.

“Is sharing time over now?” I asked. “I want to get a bath in.”

“I don’t
want
our time to be over. Can I just sit here while you take a bath? I’ll watch TV or something. I just don’t want to go to my room alone.” He sounded tragic. Was he just lonely or was I a constant that he had come to rely on? Maybe he just missed the idea of me being there every night.