How to Reprimand Your Rock Star (DommeNation #2) (20 page)

Grinning, I realized, was just an inevitable thing now that Keaton was in my life. I couldn’t stop smiling at him. He was right, even though this was a completely absurd situation and there were scores of people taking stills and videos of us, I felt very content. This was what having a boyfriend was like—joking around, eating crummy food, enjoying each other’s company. This is what I’ve been missing.

We stopped at the ice cream place on the way out and got those cones they dip in waxy chocolate. I nibbled at my cherry dip and Keaton got the butterscotch kind. I enjoyed watching him lick it and wondered when the next time we’d be alone would be.

“I’m sorry to say it’s almost that time,” he said as we stayed in our protective little diamond of muscle, pushing through the frantically waving crowd.

“Don’t go,” I mumbled, grabbing his bicep and pulling him closer.

“You know I’d obey your every whim, but we’ve let too many dates get postponed. I must go after we say good-bye to your parents.”

My head settled on his shoulder as we walked. “I know.”

“But in two months, you’ll be with me.”

I had almost forgotten the fact that I’d be touring Europe. His proximity to me, the heady scent of leather and cologne, all made me forget everything.

“What are the details?”

He handed me a slip of paper. “Here’s a rough itinerary. My assistant will send you everything—flights, hotels, ways for your parents to keep track of you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Basically you’ll be meeting us in London, then traveling to Athens where we’ll play a few shows and then move on to Frankfurt and Paris. And please, don’t be intimidated by my crazy manager. It’s his job to keep me safe and in line, so you two probably won’t get along so well.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great.”

“It will be fine. It’s going to be an adventure.”

Marveling at the slip of paper, I took inventory of my life. I was his personal goddess, in a D/s relationship with a rock god, and I’d be traveling Europe in two months.

And playing hoops until then.

Ain’t life strange?

So that Perez guy was a real dick.

The TMZ ones were assholes.

And don’t get me started on Keaton’s manager, Benjamin.

Keaton approached me privately right after he had thanked my parents again for their hospitality.

“While I’m still here, Benjamin sent over an NDA for you to sign. It’s just stuff to protect the band and me. Nothing to worry about.” He slid a piece of paper over the table to me and I looked at it with wide eyes. It looked legal.

“What’s an NDA?”

“Nondisclosure agreement,” he said, rolling his eyes. “With the paparazzi dogging me for the past five years, my manager thought it would be a good idea.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Your manager, eh?”

Keaton nodded. “It’s a typical case of cover your ass.”

My frown deepened. “He doesn’t trust me?”

“He doesn’t trust any girl with me. I told him you’re different, but—”

I shoved the paper back at him. “But I better keep my mouth shut or there will be legal consequences? This must be to keep me from coming on tour, something to piss me off so I don’t go.” I felt my anger boiling and took a step away, turning my face from Keaton so he couldn’t see.

“Goddess, I’m sorry. It’s part of the package.”

I looked up at him through blurred eyes. “You said you trust yourself with me completely. That I made you feel safe.”

This time, it was Keaton’s turn to anger.

“Will you stop questioning my devotion to you at every turn? You just can’t get it in your head that you’re it for me, Thea? Dammit, I don’t know what else to do. The fucking NDA is just one of the many inconveniences of dating me. There will be more. If you can’t handle having to sign a paper saying you won’t publicly malign me, then we will have to have this conversation another time.”

And then he was gone.

I now sat in my dorm room with my head in one hand and my laptop in the other.

It was dangling outside the window.

“If you do that, Steve Jobs will come back from the dead and haunt you!” Callie said, trying to keep me from dropping my MacBook three stories.

“I don’t care,” I said, wanting to wipe my eyes but letting the tears fall anyway.

She shook her head. “Don’t listen to them. And, might I add, letting your computer take flight won’t kill the Internet. It will still be there, sadly.”

Retracting my hand, I placed my laptop back on my desk and collapsed with a sob. “Why are they doing this to me?” I asked. I didn’t specify whom, but Keaton was definitely on that list. This NDA thing broke my heart and he just gave it to me and left.

Callie put her hand on my back and gave it a rub. “Because it makes them money. And scrutinizing famous people’s lives makes them feel like they have big peens.”

THE DAY AFTER OUR TEAM
won the at-home, Final Four game, one of my teammates whom I had never spoken to much sent me a link and a note:
Are you okay?
The link was from one of those celebrity bloggers and it was plastered with pictures of Keaton and this Russian model, Nastia Svetkov. It read that sources close to the model say that she’s expecting a reunion with the rocker once his tour hits its West Coast route.

Keaton lands in LA today.

He wasn’t at the Final Four game and he didn’t text me about whether or not we won. Was he still mad about the NDA? He was being suspiciously quiet and I worried I had lost him, despite his heartfelt pleas otherwise. How could he want to give himself completely to me? How did he feel safe with a college freshman who barely knew anything about the world and yet make her sign some ridiculous legal document at his manager’s insistence? Yes, I doubted things sometimes.

And those bloggers were just so mean. I probably should have thought to turn on my privacy settings.

Perez went through all my Facebook pictures, posted some of the less flattering ones, and drew all over them in white ink, making lewd comments. He mocked me, made fun of the fact that I played women’s college basketball, and basically said I wasn’t good enough for Keaton.

And then I read the comments.

Never, ever read the comments.

“Thea, it’s what they do. And you’re one of a million victims. Don’t let it get you down.”

I ran my hands through my hair—my hair that was so frizzy and awful according to everyone in the world—and sniffled. “Easier said than done.”

And then Scarlett told me she needed to give me a good talking-to. I was supposed to go to her shop in an hour. But I didn’t want to move. I wanted to crawl into a hole.

“We have to win the national championship tomorrow, Thea.”

I sat up.

It wasn’t that I forgot about the game. Most of my day somehow revolved around it in one way or another. Practice, workout, seeing Callie in her Husky Pride gear twenty-four seven. It was just that I hadn’t really emotionally committed to it yet. I had other problems on my mind, other fish to fry than Notre Dame. And where was Keaton?

“We need your A game, Thea. You know this.”

I breathed in and out through my nose, clearing my mind. “I know.”

She put her hands on my shoulders. “Then cut the shit, woman! What the fuck do you care about some blogger guy who you’ve never met and never will? And those people commenting are probably slamming you because they know they’d never be as lucky or gorgeous or talented. Pull yourself together and focus on what matters.”

Blinking, I sat up and looked at Callie. “You know what? You’d be a good Domme.” I stood up, partially emboldened, and headed to see the best (and only) Domme I knew.

SCARLETT WAS DARK TODAY.

The black eye makeup she had put on made her look like a bandit, with long thick wings coming off her already smoky eyes. Her lips were black and shiny like the vinyl she wore. Her hair fell in long straight sheets down either side of her face and when I saw her expression, a chill ran down my spine.

“Back room, now.”

I marched my way to her innermost sanctum feeling like a child who was being sent to bed early with no dinner. Who was she to boss me around? I thought these things, but did not say them. She scared the crap out of me today and I was as emotionally fragile as it is.

I got into the room and there was just a cold metal chair in the center.

“Sit.”

I jutted my chin out but complied.

“Do you know why you are here?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her.

I clicked my tongue. “Gee, did I tie a knot poorly at some point? Use the wrong end of a riding crop?”

She hovered over me, looking down. “You’re being played and I won’t have it.” The last three words she pronounced staccato, punctuating each syllable.

“Is this because Keaton is a rock star?”

Scarlett sneered. “I thought you were smarter than to get involved with someone like that. A fucking playboy who has little regard for women and who treats the girls he dates like disposable party cups.”

I sat up straighter. “You’re telling me this now, once it’s public? Why didn’t you state your feelings when you actually met him? Why does it have to be now when the whole fucking world is against me?” The walls in here weren’t lined with instruments of pain, but she was already using the worst thing in her arsenal—she made me question my pride.

She bent over me. “That’s because I didn’t know who he was. So I googled him after people started talking about you two. And promptly wanted to flog you.”

“Because he’s famous?”

“Because he’s a womanizer! Because he stands for everything we do not. You and I are Amazons, Thea! We are fucking powerful women who are not to be trifled with. We make boys cry. We make them eat their shame for breakfast. How dare you take a philanderer like him into our circle?”

I stood, knocking the chair over. “He is not any of those things. And he’s not using me. I’m the one benefiting here. He’s taking me to Europe. I get to live a rockstar lifestyle this summer. Don’t you see?”

She squinted. “I see a little girl who doesn’t see the forest for the trees. Taking you to Europe, eh? You’ll be his little pet, who he parades around when it’s convenient and who he leaves in a hotel room when he wants to party.”

“I am his Domme.”

“You are his nineteen-year-old fuck toy.”

Anger took control of me and I raised my hand and slapped Scarlett open-handed across her cheek and mouth. My hand had shiny black lipstick and I wiped it on the metal chair.

“Keaton Lowe is mine. He is my property. He wears my collar. I choose to accompany him because I want to be near him. He pleasures me and I reward him for his good behavior. And I love him not because he’s a rock star, but in spite of that fact.”

Scarlett fixed her hair and straightened, not bothering to wipe the black smear from her mouth. “Don’t come to me when he breaks your heart,” she said, voice cracking. “Don’t set foot in my shop once he’s done pretending he’s submissive and wants to go back to banging fifteen models a night on his tour bus. And don’t you dare raise your hand to me again unless I ask for it.” She smiled at that, and chuckled. “Not a bad bitch slap, I must say.”

I was disarmed by her change in attitude, but I wasn’t going to back down. “Why are you doing this, Scarlett?”

“Because I was like you once. Young and in love over my head. He wasn’t a rocker, but an actor. On Broadway. I was going to school in New York City to be a dancer and I had met him one night after one of his shows. He was the lead. Spectacular,” she said, and began to pace the room. “He introduced me to this world, and to power play. He kissed me and collared me. He held court over my life, making all my decisions, all the while fucking every actress in the city. He got me pregnant, then demanded I get unpregnant. And when he was done with me, when he had his fun with the young coed whom he’d introduced to a new world, all I was left with were these scars and a crop he had left behind at my apartment,” she continued, opening her top and exposing scar upon scar. I was surprised I hadn’t noticed before. “So yes, Thea, I’m leery of powerful and famous men around impressionable college girls.”

I breathed in deep, letting her story sink in. “I’m sorry, Scarlett.”

“Don’t be. It made me who I am today. The man-eater,” she snickered drily. “I made sure I’d never be in the passenger seat ever again. I drive my life now.”

I nodded. “And so do I. I know you care about me, Scarlett, but please believe me. I think Keaton has the best of intentions. I also think I have a good head on my shoulders. You don’t need to worry about me.”

She took a step closer. “Promise me this. Promise me that every decision you make is driven by what’s best for you. What you want for the long term. Subtract anything that’s temporary—cool clothes, things he may buy you, fancy events you may attend. Decide for yourself what’s best for your life. Your real, actual future. If you can still say that you’re happy with going to Europe with him, then fine. Go, and go with my blessing. Hell, nobody likes a good hot D/s relationship more than I do. But take care, okay? Watch over your heart, because I’ve read about him, Thea. He’s a heartbreaker.”

Without a word, I pulled Scarlett in for a hug. She gripped me tight. “Too much like me,” she whispered into my hair. “I want you to have it better, though. I want you to be a Domme because it’s in your personality, not because you hardened like I did.”