I don’t have any female friends. I was practically raised by four rockers. It’s little wonder that I have no interest in shopping. Last night was the first time I have ever wanted to own a dress. This baby is so making me lose my mind!
All I want is to feel pretty, sexy, but I don’t want to lose who I am. I don’t want designer dresses. I would probably throw up if I spent more than a hundred dollars on an outfit, so I end up at the mall.
At a mall on a Wednesday in a touristy city? Yeah, that’s a good idea. Not!
Do you have any idea how many teenage girls are at a mall on a Wednesday during the summer? Well, I sure as hell didn’t, and I was positive Nik hadn’t had a clue either. So, when we walk into American Eagle and the salesgirl standing with a half-folded shirt in her hands screams, I nearly jump out of my skin because I hadn’t been expecting it.
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod!” The girl is in front of Nik before I can even figure out where the scream came from. “You’re Nik Armstrong.” She screams again, causing everyone in the store and outside to stop and see what’s going on. “I am, like, your biggest fan ever. I’m Meg.”
I know then and there that I’m not going to get any shopping done with Nik today. It seems as if, as soon as Meg says his name, he’s surrounded by panting girls. One actually pushes me out of the way so she can get to him. Hands are all over him, the girls wanting to have the memory of touching the rocker who probably starred in their immature wet dreams.
I’ve had to hide my feelings for Nik for years now. Even when it was killing me inside, I never let anyone see how much having skanks touch him—or worse, sleep with him—bothered me. But today, I’m not able to hide behind those walls that I had built for times like this. I’m pregnant with his baby, for fuck’s sake. He spent hours making me come apart in his arms just the night before.
So, while he grins and laughs and lets them touch him, I turn and walk away. Jealousy eats at me like a disease, and I’m so fucking mad at him for allowing them to touch him, for allowing them to push me out of the way like I am insignificant. A more rational part of my brain tries to excuse it, attempts to make me see that he’s just playing the part and hamming it up for his fans. But when it comes to most of the female Demon’s Wings fans, I wonder if they even listen to their music or if it’s just about getting in a hot rocker’s bed? From what I have witnessed over the years, the latter is more along the lines of truth than the former.
My phone starts playing “Ashes” by Demon’s Wings, and I glare at the damn thing in my hand, seeing Nik’s face smiling back at me from the screen of my iPhone. Instead of answering, I get on the escalator and go up to the second floor. I can’t face him right now. There’s no telling what I would do if I saw him right at that moment.
Slap his overly handsome face? Knee him in the balls? Confess that I’m obsessively in love with him? No way would I do that. It’s bad enough that he knows how much I want him, the lengths I had stooped to just to get in his pants.
“Em?” I don’t look over the rail when I heard him frantically calling my name from the ground level. Let him worry. Give it five minutes and he’ll be surrounded by girls again, and I will just be an afterthought. Fuck that, and fuck him!
A store catches my attention, and I go in without thinking about it. Now, this is my kind of store. Black lace, chains, silk, and mesh. Oh, fuck yeah! There’s a moody girl behind the counter who raises her head to frown at me when I walk in. She has some kind of rock magazine on the counter in front of her, and after deciding that I’m not worth her time, she goes back to the article she seems to be reading.
I get lost in buying clothes. Sexy black panties, matching bras. Thigh highs and garters. A black dress that screams that it’s made for me. A skirt with chains holding the sides together. Tops that show off my new assets. Shoes, shoes, and more shoes that go with all my darkly sexy outfits.
I make sure to get everything a size bigger so I’ll have a little room to grow since my pregnancy will start showing soon. And when I try on shoes, I find that a size bigger and wider are needed, but that doesn’t surprise me. I have read about some women’s feet growing like that when they were pregnant.
The girl behind the counter gives me a long look as I toss my stuff up on the countertop. “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks.
I take in her dyed black hair, the piercings in her nose and eyebrow, and the tattoo of a demon on her right forearm and feel like I have found a kindred spirit. Had I known this girl growing up, she would have most likely ended up my best friend. “All I have are jeans and stupid Demon’s Wings shirts. It was time for a change.”
The girl’s eyes narrow on me. “Demon’s Wings shirts are not stupid. I have six of them.”
“Then you have exceptionally good taste in music. But I needed something that screamed sexy, not rocker girl next door.”
She starts ringing up my clothes, and I turn to the jewelry rack behind me. They are cheap little things, some of them only twenty dollars at most, but they are beautiful. A sexy demon with her wings and horns made of tarnished silver hanging from a chain catches my attention, and I toss it onto the counter with the rest of my things. The side with the belly button rings is next, and I find several I like. I add some nose studs, and I’m done.
There are eight bags full by the time the girl is finished scanning my things into the computer. I hand over the credit card and watch the girl’s eyes bulge when she sees the name on the card.
“Nikolas Armstrong?” She sputters and gives me a closer look. “It is you. I thought you looked familiar. You’re Ember Jameson!”
I smile at the girl. “Yes.”
“You have to be the coolest girl in the fucking world.” She swipes the card before giving it back. “I love that poster of Demon’s Wings with you clinging to Jesse Thornton. Damn, I would kill to be you.”
That makes the smile disappear. “No. No, you wouldn’t,” I assure her. My life might look perfect now, but no one would ever wish for the life I had growing up. No one deserves that kind of nightmare-filled childhood.
There’s a commotion outside the store, and I turn to find three security guards standing outside with a pale and frantic-looking Nik. I glance down at my phone and see that I’ve been in the store for more than an hour. Crap!
“Nik!” I call out as he starts to pass the store.
He snaps his head around, and he moves quicker than I have ever seen him move as he enters the store and pulls me against his chest. His entire body is shaking, his fingers trembling as they knot in my hair and jerk my head back to meet his blue eyes.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again!”
Most of my anger had faded while I was shopping, so I stand on tiptoe and give him a peck on the cheek. “Figured you were having so much fun with the fan club that you wouldn’t even miss me.”
He narrows his eyes. “Were you jealous?”
I pull away from him and turn to the girl behind the counter, who’s gazing at Nik in wonder. It doesn’t bother me this time. I know that this girl is a true fan of the band, not just a fan of the way the guys look. I see her name tag and give her an appreciative smile. “Thanks for all the help, Beth. Nik, Beth has been so much help today. I spent three grand without even realizing it.”
Nik raises an eyebrow but offers the girl a grin. “Thank you, Beth.”
I pull out one of the tops I’d just bought—a gray one—and reach for the marker on the counter beside the computer. I write my name across the back and then hand the marker to Nik without looking at him. “Write down your address for me, and I’ll send you that poster you like so much with the guys’ autographs on it.”
“That—” she shakes her head “—that would be awesome. Thank you!”
I shrug, watching her scribble across a small piece of paper. “It’s nothing. I like meeting real Demon’s Wings fans. Thanks again.” Nik snatches up the eight bags and follows me out of the store with a wink at the girl.