One hundred days without sex? Is that even possible?
When I got offered an exchange year to the Italian art school of my dreams, I nearly cried. I could barely afford college expenses at home let alone in a foreign country. I had to decline but my rich, uptight grandmother called with her screwed up offer.
If I agreed to her conditions, she’d foot the bill. So I agreed. I figured she didn’t really care about my sex life, she just wanted me to keep my partying off the radar of her fancy friends.
I was so wrong.
The sexy but annoying Chad moved into my apartment to keep me under surveillance. He’s impervious to my charms and for some damn reason, dead set on making sure I lose this deal.
One hundred days is a helluva long time to avoid temptation – even longer when Chad becomes the temptation.
I was about to suggest heading back to my place for some quiet time when he jerked around.
“Who’s that guy?” he asked.
“The one over there, glaring at us.” He backed away from me a bit. “I’m all up for some fun but if you’re not single then, sorry, not interested.”
My stomach sank as I turned around. Chad waved at me again.
“He’s no one.”
“He’s taking notes. See, he’s got a notebook out.” The barman got up off his barstool, shaking his head. “I have no idea what the situation is here but it’s too freaky for me. Catch you later.”
What the hell? Was that beefcake actually taking notes? The entertainment value of Chad had started wearing thin already.
I marched across the room.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you some kind of stalker?”
“Yeah, I am. A stalker paid by your grandmother.”
I folded my arms. I guess he was right.
“Were you taking notes? Because that is exceptionally creepy, you know.”
“I need evidence. I can’t just tell your grandmother that you were chatting some sleaze ball up in a bar. I’m sure you know her well enough to realise she is going to want evidence. I was about ready to get out my phone so I could get a photo when you moved in to kiss him.”
“I wasn’t!” I so was. Anything to shut him up with his motorbike talk.
“You were. I’m glad you’re so predictable, makes my job so much easier.”
What a jerk. I was not predictable. I was raunchy and provocative. And now I’d spent an hour of my life listening to motorbike talk and I’d never get that time back again. Luckily, the night was still young and there were plenty more hot bodies out there to target. I spotted someone across the room and turned to walk off.
Chad grabbed my arm. Ha, I’d gotten him jealous. The Chad, he wanted me for himself. Of course. He was only human.
“I need you to take me home,” he said.
I looked up at him through my lashes. That was just too easy but I could imagine a world of fun to be had with The Chad.
“I’m staying with you, in case you’d forgotten and I don’t have a key. I really don’t want to spend all night waiting around for you. So, you can hurry up and score with one of these losers so I can quit this job or you can leave it for another night and we can both get some sleep.”
Ouch, slap down. I fished in my bag for a key and handed it to him, trying not to let him see the disappointment on my face.
“Here,” I said, smacking the key in his hand. “Don’t wait up for me.”
As I walked off, he grabbed me again.
“I can’t go without you and I’m exhausted.”
I shrugged, he could do what he liked. I fully intended to stick around. Even if I didn’t get any action, I wasn’t going to let him control my life.
His big arms folded around me and suddenly I was in mid-air. Over Chad’s shoulder.
I kicked and screamed. Not those little girlie kicks either like you see in the movies where you know the girl really likes it even if she protests. I kicked hard and I elbowed him in the back of the neck. He didn’t put me down, he didn’t even flinch. I tried to grab a handful of his hair but he held me too tight. I would kill him as soon as he let me down. I would kick him in the nads until he screamed. Nobody treated me like that.
I yelled some more but, by this time of night, the music in the bar had gotten super loud and the conversations even louder. With the screams of girls around the pool table and shrieks of laughter, my screaming just dissolved into the crowd. Not one single person came to help me. Not one. As he walked towards the door, I caught the eye of one of the bouncers. Ha, Mr Clever Pants Chad was screwed now. No one would be allowed to get away with manhandling a woman out of the bar. It was a clear-cut case of non-consensual touching. You could tell by the way I struggled to get free that this was not a game. But the bouncer just laughed.
What a jerk. That was how girls got raped and murdered, because dumb-arse morons like him just watched and laughed. I’d be ringing my grandmother in the morning and telling her I wanted Chad off the case. No matter what.
He dumped me in the passenger seat of his car and I thought of making a run for it, back into the bar. That would show him. But he’d probably just drag me out again and I’d had enough humiliation for one night. I’d wait until I had a chance to talk to grandmother. If she was so concerned about me being in a scandal, she would not condone this behaviour.
I folded my arms, prepared to give him the silent treatment all the way home.
Jayne ran across the parking lot.
“Are you okay?” she called to me. She reached the car window, out of breath and panting. Thank god for friends who had your back. “Do you want me to call the police?”
“Thanks,” I said. “I think this jerk just wants to take me home. In the separate rooms kind of way. I’ll call you as soon as I get home to let you know I’m okay.”
I still had my body turned from him and I knew he could hear what we were saying.
Jayne shook her head.
“Why are you in his car anyway? Get out and take your own. He could be an axe murderer who’s planning to dump your body somewhere.”
Jerk-face Chad started putting the window up. I put my finger on the button to lower it again. Maybe Jayne had a point.
“I’m taking her home because I don’t know where we live yet. She can pick up her car in the morning.”
Jayne’s mouth had set in a determined line, like she’d jump on the roof of his car rather than let him drive off with me. I didn’t want this turning into more of a spectacle.
“I’ll call you in 2o minutes. If you haven’t heard from me by then, definitely call the cops. Get a photo of his licence plate number to be on the safe side. I’m sure Grandmother has had him all checked out, security-wise though.”
Chad just groaned and started the car.
Candy J. Starr used to be a band manager until she realised that the band she managed was so lacking in charisma that they actually sucked the charisma out of any room they played. “Screw you,” she said, leaving them to wallow in obscurity – totally forgetting that they owed her big bucks for video equipment hire.
Candy has filmed and interviewed some big names in the rock business, and a lot of small ones. She’s seen the dirty little secrets that go on in the back rooms of band venues. She’s seen the ugly side of rock and the very pretty one.
But, of course, everything she writes is fiction.
She is currently working on Rock Star vs Millionaire – the sequel to Bad Boy Rock Star. Want to know about new releases and secret fan only offers? Join her mailing list – http://bit.ly/160V44m