Chapter 1.
1284 Words
JAX
- PRESENT -
Another morning, another regret.
Fuck! Why do I keep doing this to myself?
I woke up with a huge banging in my skull and before I could even open my eyes flashbacks from the night before crashed into my mind. There was me, Michael, Diddy, a couple of our ballerinas and a bunch of bottles of scotch around us. Silly games, dirty talks and I was gone...
After a few miserable minutes, I manage to start opening my eyes but the light coming through the windows right in front of the bed made me groan in pain.
"Morning, handsome." A sweet and tired voice says from beside me. My hands were now grabbing the sides of my head and I was mentally slapping myself because I don't even remember picking up a woman.
I feel her move, putting herself on her elbows to face me and my eyes finally opened curious to meet the owner of the voice. Fake eyelashes, small blossom lips, huge t**s, her hair so pink that looked like cotton candy. I sighed in relief. Thank f**k she wasn't any of my ballerinas because business and pleasure is the only s**t I don't mix in bed. That’s the only f*****g rule.
"O.M.G," she starts, giving an unnecessary pause between the letters, "I can't believe I slept with Jax Miller! My friends will be so jealous!" she says excitedly clapping her hands together like a petulant child and the sound of her voice hit me like a pan greeting my skull.
"I need to take a picture!" she screams, laughs and her body does little jumps on the mattress and now I feel like a machine gun is firing inside my head.
"f**k!" I manage to say, pressing my fingers on my temples - I just want her to shut up for two freaking minutes - But when I saw her hand trying to reach for her bag next to the bed, I grabbed her wrist, pulling her to me and raised my head from the pillow so I could hold her eyes with mine "Don't." I threatened and her eyes widen in response.
She frowns as I release her wrist and put some distance between us again but she quickly follows me and her hands went right to my c**k. Usually, I don't refuse morning s*x after a wild night, I'm always ready for it, but this girl is a real turn off. I put her hands away and got upright searching the room for my clothes, leaving her looking at me with confused eyes.
I have no idea where I was. The room was somewhat large but the only furniture was a bed in the center and two nightstands on each side of it, a grey carpet covering the whole floor and big windows that would lead to a balcony. It looks like a cheap hotel room. Where? The f**k if I knew. Hopefully, I was still in New York or else my agent is going to cut my balls off.
"What's wrong?" The girl asks as I pulled my underpants on and grabbed my white shirt from the floor.
"Sorry, sweets, I guess I'm not a morning person." I tried not to sound rude.
I grabbed my pants next.
"Are you leaving?!" she says moving slowly up on her knees still on the mattress, exposing her naked body to me. I couldn't help but glance at her. Her huge t**s were calling for me like sirens and if I was drunk, I wouldn't say no to that. But now when I remember her voice, it's like putting my d**k under cold water - A f*****g turning off. What a shame.
I had to get out of here, I don't even know where I am or where the f**k is my car.
Damn it.
My hand finally reached the door handle when I heard her voice again, "Hey! Can we meet for a drink or a coffee some other time?"
"Yeah, I will give you a call."
"But I didn't give you my number yet?!" her head turned slightly to the right.
I smirked, "Exactly." with that said, I walked out closing the door behind me.
~
~
“I swear to God, Jax, another headline like this and I’m out!”
Paola, my agent, says passing furiously behind her desk after tossing today’s magazine to my lap. I could barely move, my head was heavy, my body numb and I still couldn’t bring myself to take my sunglasses off. I was still wearing the same clothes from last night and I haven’t even showered - Zac Efron would be proud.
She was nuts about the girl on the cover that I was making out in a bar. Apparently the paparazzi enjoyed the shitshow so much that plastered on another magazine. This happened last week and it’s making her lose her hair, so, I was mentally praying for her not to find out what happened this morning with the cotton candy girl.
“Did you know this girl was a fan? Did you know she was almost ten years younger than you?”
“She told me she was eighteen,” I shrugged, “Besides, it was just an innocent share of affection, it’s not like I bend her over the bar and f****d her for everyone to see.”
“According to this, you almost did,” Paola pauses, looks up in the air with her hands on her tiny waist trying to remain calm. She was a businesswoman from head to toe, I’ve been working with her for more than six years now and never once I’ve seen her wearing a sportive t-shirt or her brown hair with blond lowlights unkempt. Her attire is always clean and sophisticated and her hair and makeup always on point. She is a very attractive woman in her late 40's. She is a professional and saved my ass more times than I can count.
She moves to her modern white desk and presses her finger into one of the magazines laying there, “And just for the record, she is actually seventeen! You are lucky that she only omitted a year of her age and we can barely see her face in the pictures this time, or you would be facing another charge!"
She finally sits on her executive chair and tangled her fingers together. “Your fans are mad, your name is being trashed by all the media and critics. If you keep going like this you won’t sell another album!” her voice was calm now and that made me anxious.
I shrugged, unable to find a good excuse for what happened and she stood up again and starts passing, biting her manicured nails, probably already thinking of a plan to make this go away. Again.
I hate to admit but she is right. I am a man with no self-control.
Women have always been my weakness, my drug of choice and like an addicted, I can’t stop using them where they are everywhere offering themselves to me. I can’t do much when women don’t even try to respect themselves. They don't care about their reputation or morals if a night with a famous pop-rock star is on the table.
“By the way, Juliett called again and she sounded desperate, Jax. You should call.” she said after a long silence giving me a concerned look.
My jaw tensed and my hands turned into fists.
Juliett.
God, That woman!
- Writer
