Bottom Feeder (9 page)

Jackson’s brow creases in
frustration.

“
I swear if you’re
showering, I’m coming in!” Dixon yells.

Remembering the squishy butter in my
sneakers, I press a finger to my lips, signaling Jackson to be
quiet. He follows silently as I tiptoe to the entrance.

“
Come on, hussy!” Dixon’s
voice inches closer. “It’s hot and I want to get to the
beach.”

Jackson leans into me. “Did he just
call you a hussy?”

I roll my eyes and nod.

“
Seriously, Maddy, it’ll
just be a few . . .”

I blindside Dixon as he steps through
the entrance, bringing him to the floor with a grunt.

Hey, I never said I was a
lady. Well, there
was
this one time. I swear it was the worst twenty minutes of my
life. Besides, I can’t pass up a good tackle.

“
Dammit, beesh!” Dixon
grunts. “That was dirty.”

He tries to get off the floor, but I
have a control grip wrapped around both his wrists. I’ve been
practicing Krav Maga for two years. Much to his amusement and
dismay, I often practice my training on Dixon.

My palms are sweaty so he quickly
loosens the grip and manages to stand. He shuffles like he’s in a
boxing match and motions for me to get up. I sweep my leg around
his feet, bringing him down on his back. In one swift move, I
straddle his waist and pin his arms to the floor.

“
Say it and I’ll let you
up,” I tell him.

“
Never!”

“
Say it and I’ll let you
up,” I repeat.

“
Fine,” he grumbles and
begins his best Muhammad Ali. “Maddy is the best. Maddy floats like
a butterfly and stings like a bee. Maddy is not the greatest, she’s
the double greatest. Not only does she knock 'em out, she picks the
round.”

I kiss his cheek and help him up.
Dixon charges at me again, but comes to a halt when his eyes land
on Jackson, who is pressed against the wall stifling a
laugh.

After an awkward introduction the two
stubbornly nod once and look in opposite directions.

Dixon begins a long speech about his
co-star. Apparently Laney has intentionally ripped several gaping
holes in one of her dresses.

“
. . . I told you that
beast was dreadful,” Dixon complains, bringing his rant to a close.
“She’s a shitty excuse for a human.”

“
Language, DJ!” He rolls
his eyes at my mom-ness. “I’ll shower and be right
over.”

“
Don’t bother. Most
everyone has left.”

After throwing a scowl at Jackson,
Dixon jogs out the front door.

“
Sorry about that.” I turn
to face Jackson. “What were you saying before?”

“
Wanna go somewhere
later?” His tone is harsh. Maybe I made an idiot out of myself by
tackling Dixon. But I do not pass up perfect opportunities for a
little payback.

“
Huh? Like, together?”
Honestly, could I be any more intelligent right now?

His lips soften into a smile. “If
we’re going on a road trip, I’d like to get to know you better.
Just you and me.”

Is it weird that I like the sound of
that a little too much? “Um, okay.” He follows me outside to lock
up the studio.

“
Hettie’s sound good?” he
asks. “I’ve been craving their surf and turf for
months.”

“
Sure. Dixon and I were
planning to catch a movie, so he can drop me off there.”

He slides into the driver’s seat and
rolls down the window. “I have one condition.”

“
Condition?”

He nods seriously. “If you plan on
tackling me, I’d like to know ahead of time.”

I grin. “I promise I won’t tackle
you.”

“
Hmm.” His face is
thoughtful. “Don’t make promises you may not want to
keep.”

Jackson laughs at my flushed cheeks.
The almost-silent sound is a bit off, like he has forgotten what
it’s like for his body to make that kind of noise. Still sexy,
though.

I grab Laney’s dress off the floor in
front of the stage and set up the dress-form mannequin and sewing
machine in the prop room.

I begin mending the rips by hand. A
few minutes later I decide reinforce the fabric with the machine in
case Laney decides to throw another tantrum. Trust me, it’s
inevitable.

“
She’s such a brat,” a
voice behind me says. Matt, a cast member playing the role of Mae
tomorrow night, stomps into the room. His black, white-tipped
shoulder-length locks are tucked beneath a blonde wig. At six-two
with full lips, a slightly imperfect nose and a body made for
curling against, I almost wish he liked girls so I could form a
realistic fantasy about him.

“
She’s . . .
headstrong.”

“
Bitch on burnt toast is
more like it.” Matt places his hands on his hips and impatiently
taps his toe.

“
What does that even mean?
You’ve been hanging out with Dixon too much.” He and Dixon have
been flirting heavily for months behind the scenes. I secretly hope
they finally kiss at the after-party tomorrow night.

“
I’d like to knock her
perfect plastic nose out of place. That’ll teach her to act like
such a bitch to everyone.”

I continue to sew while Matt continues
to rant. Dixon strolls in and throws himself on a sofa.

“
I am so aggravated with
you, Madelyn Faith Carrington,” he announces.

With a needle and thread in my mouth,
and my hands full of fabric, I answer him through pressed lips.
“Why? I haven’t tried to sabotage the show by ripping a hole in
this dress and throwing a tantrum every twelve minutes.”

“
True,” he agrees. “But I
don’t like that you’re giving in to Monroe’s charms. Or venom. Or
whatever it is he’s spitting at you.”

“
Jackson
Monroe?” Matt swoons, moving to sit on the edge
of the sofa. “He’s back?”

“
Oh, he’s back all right,”
Dixon says. “And ‘ol Maddy over there is falling ass over teakettle
for him.”

I remove the needle and thread from my
mouth. “It’s not like that,” I say, knotting off the last few
stitches. “And what does ‘ass over teakettle’ even
mean?”

Matt stands to leave. “Just a little
advice, Maddy: Jackson Monroe? If he’s giving you attention, take
it. I’d give up an entire year of future Botox injections for one
night with that piece of sexiness. Most people would.”

“
That’s really creepy,
Matt,” I say.

Dixon nods in agreement, his face
seething with disgust. “Slut.”

“
You wish, darlin’. You
wish.” Matt turns on his heel.

“
My father asked him to
take me to New York.”

“
You mean the Don
is
forcing
him to
take you to New York,” Dixon corrects. I nod. “I just don’t want
you to get hurt. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

Knowing his sister’s
experience, I have a good idea of what Jackson Monroe is capable
of. Libby was not the only girl who fell for him. I refuse to ever
be like that over a guy. I
can’t
be like that over any guy. He would never be
safe.

I pull Dixon up from the sofa. “Come
on, I need to shower.”

His protective nature makes me feel
wanted. Sometimes, though, he worries too much. I quickly decide
not to mention Hettie’s.

“
I agreed to eat dinner
with him tonight.” Crap. Didn’t I decide not to mention Hettie’s?
Jackson seriously has me flustered. I hope I don’t say anything
crazy while I’m with him tonight.

I unlock the door to Just Dance,
relocking it when Dixon is inside. “I’m nothing like those other
girls.”

So what if Jackson makes me flush
bright red when he smiles, makes my heart beat erratically just by
breathing near me, and makes me want to sin today and not worry
about repenting because I will probably do it again tomorrow? None
of that means I am going to give it up to him.

It’s not like I’m saving myself for
marriage or anything. I just don’t like regrets.

“
I hope you remember that
when the incubus tries to suck you in.”

I laugh.

“
This is serious, Maddy.
There are plenty of guys who like you. Despite what you think,
Cordell’s money is not the reason.” Dixon straddles a bench while I
gather items from my locker. “I should know. I’ve been in the
locker room hearing detailed, graphic ‘what-if’ scenarios about my
best friend for years.”

Even if that were true, I do not get
involved with anyone because of Daddy. What he does. What he is. I
cannot have anyone sucked into his trap because I want to go on
dates with someone other than my best friend.

I love my father because loving him is
what’s expected of me. But as a person, he kind of
sucks.

“
You have to admit,” I say
before going into the showers, “Jackson is gorgeous.”

“
Of course he’s gorgeous!”
Dixon exclaims. “How do you think he gets away with so much
bullshit?”

“
Out, DJ.”

I let the hot water run over me,
unknotting my tightened muscles, scorching the latest scratches and
burns on my back and upper thighs. I let the pain overtake me until
the water turns lukewarm. I don’t welcome the pain, but I earned
it. It’s mine to do with as I please. Maybe I’m deranged, but I’ll
take the hurt so no one else has to deal with it.

I drape my favorite Hello Kitty bath
wrap around me and begin my beauty routine of combing my hair,
slapping some SPF moisturizer on my face, SPF moisturizing lip
butter on my lips, and slathering SPF 25 cocoa butter on the rest
of my body. What can I say? I like SPF.

I shake out the wrinkles in my dress:
a crisp-white eyelet pattern with front pintucks that fits snuggly
in the bodice. The silhouette flows at the bottom, just above the
knee. The straight neckline provides the perfect cover for my boobs
and the cap sleeves cover my scars.

I finish the look by sliding on my
favorite pair of Grecian sandals.

Dixon is sleeping across four chairs
in the lobby. I draw my foot back to kick the chair at his
feet.

“
Don’t even think about
it,” he says, his eyes closed. I kick anyway. Before I can run, he
jumps up and throws me in a fireman’s carry.

“
I’m wearing a dress,
DJ!”

“
Boy shorts don’t count as
panties. You probably have panties on underneath those. And maybe
some underneath those.” Switching to an English accent, he adds,
“It would be absolutely scandalous for Miss Carrington to show off
those sexy knickers she wears.”

I slap his back until he finally sits
me down.

“
Come on,” he laughs.
“Let’s catch a matinee before you proceed to be enamored by the
incubus.”

Jackson

I greet Mama with a kiss on the cheek.
“You have to stop leaving the door unlocked. This might be a nice
neighborhood, but you can’t trust people anymore.”

She rolls her eyes. “You sound like
Maddy.”

I don’t ask what she means. I’ve been
home less than twenty-four hours and most of that time has revolved
around that girl. She is becoming an involuntary
obsession.

Speaking of Maddy, I need to get out
the ironing board. Just because I’m being forced to take her out
doesn’t mean I have to go wrinkled.

I had no plans of going on a date this
weekend, so the only clothes in my duffle bag are jeans and
t-shirts. I rummage through the closet without any luck. I open the
top dresser drawer. Staring back at me are two pajama short sets,
two matching bra and panty sets and a travel bag filled with
toiletries.

The bra and
panties,
I hope
,
are too risqué for Mama. I shudder at the thought. Out of
curiosity, I check the bra size. Mother of God.

Close the drawer.

Open it.

Peek further inside.

Yep. Still there.

I gape at the lacey material as if it
will suddenly answer my questions.

“
Drool much?” Mama asks
from the hallway.

“
Please
tell me these aren’t yours.”

“
And if they are?” she
asks, placing her hands on her hips. “I can rock that just as good
as the next fort—er, thirty-something.”

I stare at her in horror. “Too much
information is just too much information.”

Another eye roll. “Maddy sleeps here
sometimes. On the couch.”

“
Maddy?”

“
Be careful. Your eyes are
liable to bug outta your head if you stare too hard.”

I hold them up to her.

Mama raises her hands in surrender.
“She doesn’t get to enjoy much in life, Jackson. That girl has been
broken down so much that I’m afraid she’ll never see how beautiful
she is.”