Her Reckless Rockstar by Gena Snow

Chapter 15

 

Avery

 

 

 

It’s been two weeks since I married Tristan accidentally. He’s busy working in his studio with the band, preparing for their first virtual concert, which will be live-streamed at the town theatre and released online. I spend most of the days at home or visiting friends like a wealthy housewife. I still can’t believe this is really happening. Sitting on the chaise by the pool, I have to pinch myself once in a while to see whether I’m dreaming.

Tristan is such a sweet guy. Although it’s a pretense between us, he treats me like I’m really his wife, not just in public but in private as well.

Although I resisted in the first week, I gave in to temptation eventually, and we have sex every night now. He’s so ravenous and seems to want me every minute we’re together. But he never forces me and always makes sure I want it before making a move. At first, I thought I was doing it to please him, but I quickly realized I was kidding myself. I want him, too. I crave his touch whenever he is with me. I know I’ll have a hard time once all this is over between us because my body will miss him. But I can’t help it. It’s the first time in my adult life I want someone so badly. My fear and disgust regarding sex completely vanish, and I enjoy it now.

I’ve learned at an early age that a woman’s body is her asset. I have been forced into displaying my body in exchange for money. Since I was fifteen, I’ve worked at restaurants where the less I wore, the more tips I earned. And I’ve done worse than that… I would like to say I’m used to having men’s eyes raking my body, stripping the little that’s covering me, but the truth is I never get used to it.

It was a reason why I felt so offended and disappointed when Tristan took my pictures last time.

But ever since our marriage, I realize I was wrong about him. He doesn’t just lust over me but worships me. He makes sex enjoyable for me as if it’s his job to please me and not the other way around.

Just remembering how he kisses me and caresses me sends shivers to my whole body.

I miss him already.

I’m ruminating when my phone rings.

I check the number and frown. It’s Tropic of Cancer. I quit the job, as Tristan suggested, as soon as I came back from Vegas.

“Hello?” I answer it.

“Hi, Avery? This is Jeremy. How’s going?”

“Fine, thanks.” I’m not thrilled to hear from the man, but I’m still grateful for him letting me go without making a fuss.

“ Listen. I’m low on staff tonight. Do you think you could fill in for a few hours?”

I consider. Tristan won’t like it, but I do owe Jeremy one.  I was supposed to give a week’s advance notice, but he waived it with understanding. Of course, he did it because of Tristan, whose last rehearsal concert promoted the bar’s business, but still, I feel the need to agree to his request. After all, the man treated me well when I worked there.

“Sure, I’ll be there,” I say.

“Awesome. I’ll only need you for the evening. You could leave before ten.”

“Okay.”

It’s four o’clock. I return to the house, shower, and get ready.

I put on a conservative outfit—a button-up shirt with an A-line skirt. It was what I wore when I worked for Tristan at his party. Remembering Tristan’s demand still makes me smirk. He’s so possessive. I can’t imagine his reaction if I wore anything revealing. I don’t want to risk him being angry.

Before I leave the house, I text Tristan, telling him I’m going to help out at the bar for just a few hours.

I arrive at the bar at five and prep like I always did.

When I quit, I didn’t think I would miss the work and only worried about losing the job. Frankly, I took the job for its pay. But I was wrong. I didn’t realize how much I missed the mundane tasks of changing kegs, restocking glass wares, and slicing lemons. Damn. I feel accomplished just completing these ordinary chores. It’s better than sitting home watching TV.

But as soon as my regular customers come in, I know nothing is the same as before.

The men don’t look at me the way they did before. Well, first of all, I’m not showing much of my body. But I believe the main reason is they found out the fact that I was “married” from other employees because they check my ring finger and don’t say anything.

They’re a bit surprised to see me here, though, and I have to explain I’m only subbing.

This means the tips for the night will be abysmal, but hell, I’m not doing it for money. I’m here to help Jeremy out and keep my options open just in case if I don’t find any teaching job in the future.

So, I’m enjoying the new feeling of working as a bartender, a professional bartender, instead a stripper posing for one.

Oddly, I feel better about myself this way because I’m not selling my body. I’m using my skills.

And then I see a man standing by the bar entrance, gazing at me for a minute before coming towards the counter.

When my eyes meet him, I groan silently. He’s Vinny, the customer who’s obsessed with me. He always tips me handsomely— at least twenty.

He proposed to me a few times, too, but I skillfully refused him.

Today, Vinny looks haggard. I’ve never seen him like that. He’s in his early fifties, but today he looks like an older man.

His eyes never leave me as he walks across the room, not even when he approaches a stool and drops onto it.

“Hi Vinny,” I say, trying to keep calm although I’m a bit nervous. He looks weird. Maybe he’s already drunk. “What can I get you?”

He doesn’t respond for a second, and then he smiles. “You’re finally here. I’ve been coming every night, hoping to see you.”

“Oh! That’s so sweet of you,” I say, not prepared for such devotion from a customer. His breath stinks, meaning he’s been drinking.

And then, he sees my ring, and his eyes narrow. “How could you do this to me?”

My mouth opens. Ohmygod. He’s drunk.

“Do what, Vinny?” I force a laugh.

He growls. “You promised me you would marry me one day!”

My mouth drops, a few heads turning our way.

I hiss. “I’ve never promised you anything, Vinny! What are you talking about?”

To my horror, the man’s face crumples. “You whore, you said if I came up with a good proposal, then you would marry me!”

Crap. I said that, and I said that to everyone. He wasn’t supposed to take it seriously. And besides, no one had a good proposal. It was my way to refuse them. Is the man nuts? Does he not get it?

“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding,” I say. “But you didn’t have a good proposal, did you?”

“True,” he says, sobbing. “But one day, I’ll come up with a good one.”

I stifle a laugh. Clearly, the poor man is very drunk. “Well, again, I’m sorry, Vinny, but my husband came up with a good one before you did, so you can’t blame me, can you?”

“What the hell did he say? I want to hear it.”

It took me a moment to realize he meant Tristan’s proposal.

I chuckle as I think of a proper response. No way I’ll share the private information with this man, however sorry I am for him.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” I say with a shrug.

The man who’s at least two hundred pounds, starts to sob.

Oh shit. I panic. “Please, Vinny. Don’t feel bad. I’m sure you’ll find yourself a good wife one day,” I say as I pull out a napkin and pass it to him.

He takes the chance to grab my wrist and press it to his lips.

I want to take it back, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he starts to give to talk, “The first time when I saw you, my heart nearly stopped beating because you were so beautiful.  You’re my rum and coke. I mean, you’re my sun and moon. I can’t live without you. Please, give me a chance. I promise I’ll make you happy. Marry me, Avery!”

Goosebumps rise all over my skin, and I cringe. Where the hell did he copy this ridiculous proposal? I want to laugh but I know better than humiliating the distraught man further. So I say as calmly as possible, “Please let go of me, Vinny. It’s a good proposal, but it’s too late. I’m already married!”

At the same time, I give Jeremy an entreating look, and he gets the message. “Is everything ok here?” he comes over and asks.

While Jeremy speaks to Vinny, I notice a group of young people at a table looking my way. One of them has her cellphone in the air, either recording or taking pictures.

“Hey, stop it!” I say to them.

“Sorry!” they apologize.

I let out a breath of relief when Vinny finally calms down and leaves the bar.

“I’m sorry about the scene,” I say to Jeremy.

He shrugs. “It isn’t your fault.”

It’s only nine, but he says, “Since we aren’t that busy, you may go home if you wish.”

“Sure,” I say and get the feeling that I won’t be back subbing anymore.

 

When I get home, the living room lights are all on. Tristan sits on the sofa, looking at his phone. When he sees me, his eyes narrow, and his face darkens.

“Hey,” I say, squeezing a smile. “You’re home early.”

“So are you,” he says. “Had enough of flirting for the night?”

“What are you talking about? Jeremy asked me to help out at the bar. I sent you a text. Didn’t you get it?”

“You aren’t supposed to work for six months until our marriage ends. We have a contract.”

Jeez. Is he serious? I expected he wouldn’t like it, but I argue nonetheless. “A contract? I don’t remember signing anything.”

That’s a mistake. He grits his teeth and looks mad. “It’s an unwritten contract. I didn’t make you sign anything because I trusted you. I guess I shouldn’t have put my faith on a slut.”

“Why did you just call me?” I’m so angry I shout at him.

He doesn’t respond but slams the phone on the table in front of me. “See for yourself!”

On a twitter page, someone posted a picture of me and Vinny. Vinny’s kissing my hand. Oh my God. How did it come out so fast?

“I was not flirting,” I say. “The man is…”

“I know what he did,” he barks. “It’s all recorded.”

In a different post, there’s a short video clip showing Vinny crying and saying, “You promised you would marry me.”

No! No! No! I whine. It’s gotten thousands of views already and hundreds of comments. “She’s a slut. Whore. Gold-digger. Poor Tristan.”

Oh my God. Why did they twist the fact so vilely?

Why didn’t they post the part of my explanation? But it wouldn’t matter, would it?

“I’m sorry, Tristan,” I say. “It’s isn’t like that. You’ve got to believe me.”

His jaw clenches. “I warned you not to talk to that guy! Why wouldn’t you listen? Why did you have to go to the bar?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that… I wanted to help Jeremy and it was boring staying home. I missed working.”

“You missed working? Or you missed flirting with your customers?”

He goes into a guestroom and shuts the door.

Oh my God. He really thinks I am a slut. Doesn’t he?

The way he glares at me with contempt shows it.

Maybe I am. At least I behaved like one. I bared my body for money, didn’t I? I can’t even blame Tristan. I don’t deserve him, even though he isn’t even mine.

I stay where I am and let my tears drown my face for another ten minutes. And then I go back to the bedroom to pack my suitcase. Since I’ve already broken our “contract,” it doesn’t matter if I do it again, right?