The Sophomore (College Years #2) - Monica Murphy Page 0,7

my time. I think about him every single day, worried, happy, curious, yearning. All of the emotions, they hit me when it comes to Jackson.

Yet he doesn’t think about me at all. Not at all.

Wait. I take that back. He does think about me. As his friend. As the one girl who’s always just sitting there, waiting to lap up whatever scraps he tosses my way.

Well, I’m done. I can’t be that girl any longer.

Jackson Rivers is dead to me.

And I mean it this time.

Three

Jackson

I fucked up.

When do I not fuck up when it comes to Ellie? It’s almost as if I want to get caught. Maybe I do. I’m not good enough for her. I never have been. She’s just so damn sweet, always there, always willing to talk to me, give me advice, encourage me when I need it the most. And I need that support a lot.

Deep down, I’m an insecure asshole who’s scared to take it to the next step with the pretty girl who’s been waiting in the wings for me to get off my ass and actually do something for far too long. And what happens? I start kissing some rando woman I don’t know and I get caught.

By Ellie.

If looks could kill, I’d be dead thanks to the glare Ava’s shooting my way as Eli grabs her arm and escorts her out of the dressing room. Always protective of her best friend. Gotta love that. Eli knows I got busted and I see the sympathy there in his eyes, though he’d never say anything in front of Ava and Ellie.

He’s not stupid.

All of my friends are currently looking at me as if I’ve lost my damn mind, which maybe I have. Well, with the exception of Caleb, who grins and flashes me two thumbs up as he nods in Brit’s direction before Diego shoves him.

They offer up muffled goodbyes as they exit the tiny dressing room and the minute the door is shut and they’re all gone, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Brit—I didn’t even realize that was her name until she introduced herself to everyone—is on me the second that they’re gone, her mouth finding mine as she grinds her tight body against me.

“I thought they’d never leave,” she murmurs against my lips before she dives her tongue into my mouth.

I kiss her for a while and then push her away, taking a couple of steps back for some much-needed space. “Don’t know if I want to do this.”

Huh. When do I not want to do this? I’m all about the quick fuck in a dressing room, hotel room, on the tour bus. Hell, wherever I can get it. I’ve lost track of how many women I’ve been with over the summer.

Too many to mention.

But now I can’t get Ellie’s face out of my mind. The flash of pain in her eyes when our gazes met. Seeing me with Brit hurt her.

I don’t know if she’ll forgive me for what she witnessed.

“What do you mean, lover?” Brit rests her hand over my dick, giving it a squeeze. “You seem ready to go to me.”

I remove her hand from my crotch. “Yeah. Not right now.”

Anger lights up her eyes. They’re pale blue and a little freaky. “So when? A few minutes? You want to change? I get it. You’re all sweaty and worked up.” She rests her hands on my shoulders, letting them roam over my chest. “I can help you burn off all that energy rumbling inside of you.”

Her words are tempting. She’s describing exactly what I’m feeling. I guess she’s done this before. How else would she get backstage when I didn’t invite her? Security must know who she is.

A groupie. It doesn’t matter what band you’re in, she’ll do you just for the clout.

“I don’t know…” My voice drifts.

She drops to her knees.

And I don’t stop her.

I show up at my apartment an hour later, freshly showered and without a lick of Brit’s cloying perfume on me. When she was finished, we shared a bottle of Jack, though I drank most of it. Kicked her out of the dressing room when I realized she wasn’t going anywhere. Cleaned up, then got an Uber home because I didn’t drive to Strummers, knowing I would get fucked up when my performance was over.

This is it for me this summer. My rock star moments are finished—for now. I still want to produce music. Write a few songs. Plan for a tour next summer.