Maggie took it like the pro she was and handed over the jeans with a frown of disapproval. One of the wardrobe girls seemed to have swallowed her tongue and got busy looking anywhere but at my dick. The other one almost said something as I stepped into the jeans, commando, and zipped them up. Almost.
“Perfect.” I turned to leave.
“Jesse!” Maggie called after me. “We still need a shirt.”
“Whatever.” I yanked on my T-shirt as I went. “I’ll wear whatever.”
I headed downstairs, into the fray, waving off the half-dozen people who wanted to talk to me along the way. Any one of them probably would’ve fetched me anything I wanted, but I was already tired of being poked, primped and waited on.
All I really wanted was to get this day fucking over with and get down to L.A..
There were way too many people crowded into Brody’s place. Film crew, band management, security, wardrobe, makeup, and the many models that had been hired for the shoot were making the massive house feel like the bus we used on our first Dirty tour—totally overrun with hangers-on.
The house was strewn with lights, camera equipment, and all kinds of crap that was being used for the morning-after scene in the living room. It might’ve just been easier to actually throw a party and let everyone trash the house rather than make it look like the aftermath of a shaker. Zane had suggested it; no surprise Brody vetoed that one.
I passed the living room, where they were setting up for that scene, crew prepping a camera on the dolly track. Zane was in there, the only women in the room swarming around him like bees on a honeycomb, dabbing at him with makeup sponges and finger-styling his beach-blond hair while he ate a bowl of something with chopsticks.
Zane and Dylan, two of my bandmates in Dirty, were doing cameos in the video, the second single from my debut solo album. Since the album was called Sunday Morning, Brody had asked me what I’d be doing on an ideal Sunday morning. I said, “Fucking,” he ran with it, and the concept for the video was born. Zane and Dylan would be passed out in the living room in the aftermath of a party along with a bunch of babes, which would take about two seconds to shoot since all they had to do was lie around. Meanwhile me and the model that was playing my girlfriend would be getting it on, which would probably take hours to shoot, since I had to fake-sing the entire song to her while we went at it and the camera probably had to catch it from a billion different angles.
I was bored already.
I stalked into the dining room, which was mostly empty. Just a bunch of hot chicks fussing over their reflections in the big wall mirror and making goo-goo eyes at Dylan, who was in the adjoining music room, kicked back behind the drum kit in his kilt, talking to Brody, eating a sushi cone and being characteristically laid-back, borderline oblivious, about the attention.
I was about to dive into the sushi myself when the lone girl on the other side of the table snagged my eye.
She looked different from the other girls loitering around the house. For one thing, she was short for a model. The other girls were also completely ignoring the food. This one was hovering over it, looking adorably confused in her oversized bathrobe.
“You alright?” I took one of the avocado rolls she’d been eying and popped it, whole, into my mouth.
She looked up at me, and her already big eyes went wide. They were a pretty blue-green, a nice contrast to her dark hair. She looked familiar, maybe. But then again, I’d spent the last month having hundreds of photos of models shoved in my face.
“Um… I’m just not sure what to eat? They gave me a straw for my drink, to protect the lipstick, and the robe to protect my clothes.” She held up the water bottle she was holding, a straw poking out the top. “But I’m not sure how to eat without destroying this.” She made a sweeping gesture to indicate her face.
“Eat what you want,” I told her. “They’ll retouch it.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, unsure.
“Eating your lip will probably do worse.”
She let go of the lip and blushed a little. I could see the color on her cheeks even through the high-def makeup they’d lacquered onto her already flawless skin. She smiled a little. “Thanks for the pro tip.”
“And you’ve got lipstick on your teeth,” I said, popping a cherry tomato into my mouth.
“Shit.” She ran her tongue over her front teeth.
“If you’re really worried about it, have some of these.” I put the bowl of cherry tomatoes in front of her. “They don’t even need to touch your lips.” I winked at her and she blushed again.
This girl was too cute. Unfortunately she was fangirling at me big time.
Then again… I hadn’t fucked a groupie in a hell of a long time.
“Hey, Jesse.” Maggie walked in. “They’re ready for your next shot. Then it’s time for your scene with Katie.”
“Who?”
“Katie.” Maggie looked from me to the girl in the robe and waved a thumb at the girl. “Your girlfriend du jour. You met her at the agent’s office.”
I looked her over again, slowly—what I could see of her in the bathrobe. “What happened to the blonde?”
Maggie looked annoyed. “You didn’t want the blonde, remember?” I did remember. I just liked messing with Maggie. “You said she was, quote, ‘forgettable,’ as soon as we left the office.”
“Because I had no idea which one you chose.” It was true. I’d pretty much been writing song lyrics in my head the entire time she and Brody perused the models on offer.
Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it.” She made a gesture toward the girl in
