Plowed

Chapter Three

IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE NOT TO crack a smile. The blonde couldn't have looked more shocked if she'd suddenly lost all of her clothes and was standing in front of the press in her birthday suit. And judging from the way those clothes clung to her luscious curves, it was definitely a vision that would have Daxton pumping his hand later.

Sara's green eyes, wide with confusion, focused on him. Words still hadn't emerged, but her perfect, pink lips pursed, patiently awaiting sounds to push forth. For a girl who'd had plenty to say just a few minutes earlier, she was currently rendered mute. So self-righteous, yet demure at the same time. It was an insanely, not to mention refreshingly, hot combination, considering all of the desperate, fame-seeking groupies flooding his inner circle. They didn't know the meaning of the word demure. Probably couldn't pronounce it, either.

"It's very nice to meet you, Sara." Peeling his eyes away was futile. An aura of innocence surrounded her, despite the skimpy outfit and snarky tongue. Fuck yeah, that tongue. He could think of a million and one things she could be doing with that tongue and none of them required her to utter a single syllable.

"Nice to meet you, too." Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, eyes averted. So unlike the normal prospects, girls who knew all too well who he was and what he could get them. But this chick really had no clue, which meant no agenda. That alone made him semi-hard. How fucking sad.

Merrick Quinn, the band manager and his best friend, headed toward them, squeezing through the crowds of reporters and photographers with his cell phone in hand. He was loud, inappropriate more often than not, and kind of a prick, but he'd been the one by Daxton's side through...everything. "Okay, guys. You know the drill. The press gets fifteen minutes for questions, and then we're out. The opening band is taking the stage in five, and I don't want any delays tonight."

"The lead singer from Smeared Lipstick is fucking hot. I'd like to tap that. Like, tonight." Finn snickered.

Liam yawned and stretched his arms overhead. "Didn't you already hit it? Your recovery rate is impressive, man."

"Jealous?"

"Negative. Just fucking tired. We've been in and out of cities for the past two weeks with no break. I'm ready to hibernate for the next few days."

"Strap yourself in, Liam. We've got another few weeks to go after the hiatus, and Smeared Lipstick is our new opener. So if Finn doesn't get his tonight, there's always tomorrow." Merrick snickered. "Okay, let's get this press conference rolling."

The press box was standing room only. Flashbulbs popped as the photogs snapped seemingly incessant streams of pictures, something Daxton had never gotten used to, even after all these years. He'd lived under a microscope his whole life as Tyler Cole's son. And Tyler hadn't taken too kindly to Daxton's decision to jumpstart his own career. Stepping out of the shadows, putting his talents on display for the world to see...it was the only way for Daxton to establish his own self-worth after all the years of being told he wasn't good enough, that he wasn't Jase. And the press had been all over Daxton like maggots on rotting meat. The limelight surrounding his father dimmed substantially, essentially leaving him in darkness, as Daxton steadily climbed the charts. His success was just another sore point in their otherwise fractured relationship, as welcome as a fart in an elevator.

He gritted his teeth. Damn his father for not ever giving a shit. Maybe he wouldn't be such an emotional train wreck if his dad had focused even a modicum of attention on him over the years, instead of tearing him down every chance he got. Tyler's top priority was always Tyler. Jase had been second. Daxton didn't rate.

His chest tightened at the thought of Jase. Being on the road was the most effective distraction. He didn't want to think about what would happen when the last note was sung. They had a few days between this show and the final leg of the tour, and being alone with his thoughts and feelings of inadequacy always made for a very drunken, hazy hiatus. Too bad he couldn't ever channel that angst into his songs. He might not be so fucked in the head if he let it all out in his music. But maybe he didn't want to let anyone in. Maybe he didn't want the world to see the ugliness that surrounded him on a daily basis.