#I’m lookin for dicks honestly but if anyone wants me to focus on anything I can XD

[purge-that-urge-rhackathon]

It’s gonna be cock-o-clock on this blog later either after I get back from my walk or before bed tonight…. I’m gonna get into the blog archive again and probably reach my post limit XD you’ve been warned 🤣

[justjessame]

A Little Ass and A Lotta Sass Chapter One:  Unimpressed Doesn’t Begin to Cover It

"Little pig, little pig-let me in," I heard a gruff voice call from the gates with an accompanying metallic clang and rattle, as I was taking my little sister Judith out for a walk. Rolling my eyes, I let out a huff of breath and started back to our house.

I passed Dad as he was rushing to the gates, he paused long enough to kiss my forehead and hers. I smiled at him in encouragement and continued toward the house. Negan. The murderous psycho that killed two of ours wasn't supposed to come by for another couple of days. I wasn't surprised. Clearly he was an asshole.

I hadn't been with the others during the mission to flatten the Saviors. Dad had decided that I was more helpful to them if I stayed in Alexandria and kept morale up, while also taking care of Judith. That was fine with me. Not that I was afraid of standing up for our people, but honestly, usually my mouth tended to get ALL of us in more trouble then we started with. My only excuse, and one I was careful not to use too often, was that I'd been an only child for my first six years of life. Dad and Mom had spoiled me rotten, and by the time Carl came along, well it was way too late to reign me in. My mouth at least. Mom had called me "Sassy Pants".

Bouncing Judith in my arms, kissing her silky blonde curls, I considered whether I should rush inside and stay far away from Negan and his minions, or settle on the porch in one of the white rocking chairs and watch. Dad would probably want me to hide, with Judith, inside. Unfortunately, I rarely considered what Dad would want. I mean, I kind of wanted to see how horrific this dickhead was for myself. But I didn't want him or his people to see Judith. I rushed into the house, carrying her upstairs, and was happy to see that she was clearly ready for a nap. I grabbed one of the baby monitor's receivers and pushed it into the pocket of my skinny jeans. I had it turned loud enough to feel the vibrations, just in case she woke up in the middle of the unannounced visit.

Rushing back downstairs, I opened the front door and sat down on the top step. This would give me more options to run, if I chose the chair, jumping over the banister might break my damn leg. As I sat, I considered what Carl had told me about the night Abe and Glenn had died. The night Negan stole Daryl away. The night he nearly forced Dad to cut my baby brother's arm off. I'd felt so much rage and pain since that night. Losing so much, especially when I saw how fucking broken he'd made Dad. Nothing had hurt him so much that he lost sight of what was important, but now? Now he was almost a husk.

Things had been tense, not just in the community, but in our house. Michonne and Dad seemed almost on pins and needles around one another. Carl looked like he'd rather do nothing other than storm the gates and take Negan's head himself. And little Judith was picking up on the entire mess and making her sleep less restful. Me? I felt like I had when we first learned that the dead walked. Like nothing could get fucking worse, but then God laughed and considered that thought a fucking challenge.

I heard that same gruff voice give an order that made little sense, until I caught a glimpse of Dad walking beside a tall man in a leather jacket, barbed wire baseball bat on his shoulder. Negan, I thought, and then my eyes caught the reason for the order. "You don't look at him, you don't talk to him, and I don't make you chop anything off of him." Daryl was creeping alongside one of the minions. He was dressed in the dingiest sweats I'd ever seen, looking far worse than I'd ever seen him look before. Saviors? I snorted to myself. Sure.

I watched, trying to decide if Negan looked as scary as everyone felt he was. He came closer and more in focus, and I tilted my head. Dark hair, slicked back like an old fashioned greaser, a little gray brushing here and there. His face was far more salt than pepper, but his scruff looked too perfect, deliberately careless. The leather jacket was more fitted than I'd imagined. The bat was less intimidating, but then again, he wasn't playing a disturbing game of "Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe" with me. The rest of him looked like most of the men in my life, just far cleaner than I thought he'd be.

"And what do we have here?" He whistled and I saw my dad flinch. Shit, guess I'd been too far inside my own head to realize they'd grown closer and now the asshole had his attention focused on me. "Shit, Rick, who the fuck is this little beauty?"

I rolled my eyes and stood, crossing my arms across my semi loose wine colored v-neck t-shirt. I really hoped he didn't think I was going to fucking kneel like he'd made my family before he killed two of them, because that shit was NOT going to happen. He'd asked Dad to tell him who I was, so I didn't feel the need to answer. Dad was looking at me like he'd wished I'd gone all the way inside, but I could also tell he was happy that Judith wasn't with me.

"My daughter," I wanted to scream at the quiet defeat I heard in Dad's voice. "This is my daughter, Callie."

"Fuck, Rick, if you'd brought her along to negotiate, you'd made it out far fucking better than you did." Negan hadn't taken his eyes off of me, rather off of my body, since he'd caught sight of me. "Your wife must have been fucking gorgeous." He walked closer to me and I stood my ground. "And shit, she's lookin' at me like she doesn't fuckin' care who I am." His dimples grew deeper as he shot me a smile that might have been charming if it wasn't attached to a fucking psychopath. "Damn, darlin', you gonna say 'hello' to your new leader?"

I raised an eyebrow and smiled just as deeply. "Sure," I looked at my dad and said, "hello, Dad!" And gave him a little wave.

Negan gave a bark of laughter and stared up at me from his position on the bottom step. It wasn't a far tilt of his head since I'm so goddamn short. "Fuck, you've got a fucking sassy ass attitude don't ya." I stared at him full on, refusing to be charmed or intimidated. "Shit, I swear to fuck your fucking mouth is making my dick hard." I rolled my eyes, breaking contact first, but honestly what the hell?

"That sounds like a very personal problem." I answered, and squinted at him. "Since, I'm guessing that bat on your shoulder is your compensation for the inadequate one in your pants, I don't think you'll have a problem working through it."

Another loud laugh and I could fucking swear his eyes were twinkling at me. Shit, was this fucking foreplay for him? "Hot damn, you got a firecracker here, Rick the Dick!" He winked at me and turned back to Dad. As they walked away, I moved into the house thinking that I could last a fucking lifetime before I had to deal with that dickhead again.

The visit was terrible for so many reasons. They took our weapons. They took comforts, like mattresses and furniture. They took so much, and for what? For power? Because they could? When Carl tried to fight back, I was upstairs holding Judith. She could sense the tension in the air, I swear, and she'd become fussy. When I heard the shots, I clutched at her tighter, wondering if today would be the day that everyone died.

It wasn't, but we weren't safe. Luckily they'd left the food. Apparently Negan wasn't as complementary to the other women, at least not poor Olivia. It was more than certainly better that I'd stayed inside. If I'd heard him make the obscene comments about her weight, I wouldn't have been able to hold my tongue. Or my knife, to be fair. I hated when anyone shamed someone else for a perceived shortcoming. Fat shaming, slut shaming, any type of shaming was fucking wrong.

I heard Dad and Michonne discussing retaliation. Numbers, Dad says, are the issue. Savior numbers are far more vast than they had planned for, and he completely shoots down her idea of utilizing Hilltop. He urges her, and all of us to just learn to live the way we have to now. It's our new reality.

A FEW DAYS LATER

I look all over for Carl, wondering where the hell the kid got to. Dad and Aaron are off trying to find supplies to satisfy their new overlord, and for once I cannot fucking believe that I've become Mom and lost Carl. Shit. Carrying Judith with me, I look from street to street, going all the way to the front gate and seeing nothing. I swear to fucking God, I think I am going to ring my brother's fucking neck.

Hours pass, with Olivia visiting me and helping me keep Judith occupied. We talk about the things we miss from before, something I try really hard not to do when the rest of my family are around. It's too painful, and it almost seems ungrateful seeing as we have all this.

"My cell phone," I nearly moaned. "I swear, I used to threaten to throw the fucking thing in a ditch, but I'd kill to have it back, along with the people I used to text and call." I sober at the thought.

She smiles at me. "Starbucks," her eyes closed thinking of her daily dose of overpriced caffeine clearly. "All the complicated orders and my name misspelled on the cup." We giggle, Judith starting to yawn.

"I'll be right back," I say, picking up the toddler and jogging upstairs to her room. I put her carefully in her crib and smooth her curls. "Sleep tight, baby Jude." I whisper, kissing her forehead as she closes her eyes and drifts off.

I'm coming down the stairs when I heard voices. Thinking it's only Carl, I call out, "I swear to fucking God, I'm going to strangle you." As I clear the bottom step, I'm confronted with a leatherclad chest, and fuck, fuck, fuck more laughter.

"Strangle me?" Negan places his leather gloved hand over his chest as though I'd wounded him. "Fuck, I never thought I'd find a threat so fucking sexy." His voice was low and I rolled my eyes again.

"Not you," I growled, seeing my brother standing by Olivia, "him." Carl didn't have his bandage on and I returned my attention to the asshole blocking my path. "What the fuck did you do to him?"

Negan stepped back slightly, frowning at my tone. "Me? I didn't do shit to him. He came at me, shot more of my men. Fuck, your people, your fucking brother can't seem to get this shit through your fucking heads." He was leaning forward now, regaining the intimidating image that may make someone else cower, but he clearly didn't fucking know me.

I brushed past the overbearing asshole and pulled Carl to me. "Are you alright?" I asked, cupping his face in my hands, even if he was taller than me. "Where's your bandage?"

"Why does he need it?" Negan's voice demanded behind me. "He looks more badass now than he did with the fucking gun he tried to shoot me with." I rolled my eyes and then focused on the terror in Olivia's face. Oh for fuck's sake.

"And her?" I asked, releasing Carl from my grasp and turning to face Negan with my hands on my hips. "What did Olivia do to make you upset her?"

He grinned, dimples trying to distract me by coming into play. "I may have teased her a little. I apologized and even offered to fuck her after she slapped me."

I had to fight against rolling my eyes again. More time spent around him and I'd know what my own fucking brain looked like, enough to detail all the fucking wrinkles. "Do you think that's charming- or?" I squinted up at him and watched him process what I was insinuating about his desirability.

"I'm Prince Motherfucking Charming, darlin'." He winked at me and leaned closer. "For you? For you I'll be anything you want."

I lost the fight against rolling my eyes. "I suppose I should thank you for bringing my brother home. Dad isn't here, he's on a run to get you and your savages more supplies." I make it sound cheery, waiting to see if he noticed that I should thank him, but I didn't.

"Yeah, uh," he looked toward Olivia and I could see he was confused about her name. "She told me about Rick. I think I'll wait for him."

I glared up at him. "Fine. There's a porch right outside, make yourself at home there." Southern hospitality it wasn't, but I was trying to keep him far away from Judith.

He shook his head and started to wander through our house. I shot a look at Carl, televising that I was going to totally fucking ream him over coals for this. He had common sense to look a little bit ashamed.

"Olivia," I said, looking at the woman that Negan had been so rude to. "Why don't you head back?" I walked her to the door, once out of his earshot, I grinned at her. "You really fucking slapped him?" She nodded, a smile forming on her own face. "Way to fucking go, girl!" I hugged her goodbye and walked back into the living room.

Negan was taking in what was left of our luxuries. "Making yourself at home?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. "Don't get too comfortable, I'm sure your minions will be around to collect you, after all you have complete power over everything. They probably can't go potty without your approval."

He turned to me, dimples in full bloom. "Darlin', what the fuck did I do to you to get your panties in such a fuckin' twist?" I noticed he'd placed the bat down, near enough for him to reach it, but down as thought he really was at home. "Your dad did all this, sweetheart, not me. Why don't you be a lamb and make a little lemonade?"

"What?" I asked, looking at him like he'd lost his fucking mind. "Before the world went to shit, did someone give you a proper diagnosis? I mean, you're fucking insane, right? Like hard to pronounce, long latin worded, diagnostic insanity." He was still grinning. "Does being insulted and smacked turn you on?" For fuck's sake, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"No." He answered, sitting on the couch and putting his feet up on the coffee table. Boots still on his fucking feet. "I'm not certifiable." He turned his head to stare up at me. "And as for turning me on? Oh, sweetheart, that's gonna be a LONG conversation for you and me real fuckin' soon." His dimples mocked me and I glared at him. "Now about that lemonade-"

"Get your fucking boots off the furniture," I demanded, glare still firmly in place. "As for the lemonade? We'll see." I pointed at his feet.

He was there for HOURS. He did take his fucking boots off, then he moaned at the feel of the carpet on his bare feet. Moaned indecently, by the way, as though he thought that would somehow make me swoon. I made his fucking lemonade, only because we had the supplies for it readily available. Not because he requested it. He wasn't my God for fuck's sake.

Carl had disappeared upstairs, I hoped he was keeping Judith company because I didn't want the idiot to see her. But of course, he wanted a fucking tour. And he found her nursery. He'd picked her up with more tenderness than I expected him to be capable of, glancing at me as he kissed her head and talked quietly to her.

"What?" I asked, as he alternated looks between the two of us. "Seriously, what are you doing?" I was about to reach for her and take her away from his grubby paws, but he just held her gently and actually fucking rocked her in his arms.

Another kiss on her head and he smiled at me. "You two look nothin' alike." I sighed, I was NOT going to explain Judith's parentage to this idiot, no more ammo for him against my dad. "Course, you don't look like your little brother either."

I smirked, no I didn't. I looked like my paternal grandmother. The auburn hair, the green eyes, my tiny stature, and from what Dad told me, my sass had come directly from her. "So?"

He shrugged and started toward the door with Judith still in his arms. "Nothing." He answered, walking away.

He drank so much lemonade that I thought he must want to have that sour taste on his tongue for days. Then, as though holding us hostage with his presence was his only goal, he took Judith out to sit in the rocking chairs and held fucking court waving to the neighbors like he owned the fucking place.

I heard him say something that made no sense to me, but Carl understood. Then he offered a chilling thought, and I wondered if he were serious, or if this was one of his games. "Maybe I should just bury you both down there in the flower beds, then me and your hot as fuck older sister and this sweet angel in my lap could settle in the suburbs." He chuckled and kissed Judith's nose, staring at her sweet face asking, "What do you think about that?"

[noctomania]

I’m bored and so this is the last dance mate

@paratrooperslife

You supplied me with these two articles (which are the same article by different publishers good job on that one) and asked me also look at BoJ stats for Firearm Violence, 1993-2011

Don’t know how to tell you this, but we know.

We know many if not most crime guns are stolen. Go figure, someone lookin for a gun can steal, or even just borrow, one from their neighbor who has so many they can’t keep track.

“All guns start out as legal guns,” Fabio said in an interview. But a “huge number of them” move into illegal hands.

…

“We have a lot of people with a lot of guns,” Fabio said, referencing statistics on the large number of guns in circulation. “And some of them aren’t keeping track of them for different reasons - maybe because they have a lot of them and they don’t use them that often.”

That was from the article you linked. Honestly you’re still just proving my point that we need better regulation, better legislation, and better enforcement.

As a reminder this was my original post:

Honestly I’m not surprised that through all of this you never once mentioned suicide. Probably because suicide has long been in the lead in overall gun deaths which you probably have no answer for except hopes and prayers

(pew)

And ya’ll don’t like to see that because once someone has killed themselves they can’t be taken to prison which entirely fucks up the whole plan of just incarcerating everyone.

Dern.

I also wonder how much you even looked at your own sources because another interesting chart I found is this one

What makes this interesting is the rise in Military-style semi/full autos in 2004. I wonder what else happened in 2004 that may have coincided…oh that’s right the federal assault weapons ban expired. Go figure legislation actual does do something!

Now, what kind of legislation does matter, but pretending it does nothing good at all is a farce at best.

Other things needing to be done, as i said before, is

More/better FFL audits

require FFLs install proper security including cameras where ever they store and sell guns including gun show arenas

red flag laws with more/better audits of gun owners

PDs should not be selling unclaimed confiscated guns back out to the public cuz go figure that aint a good idea even by cops

Before they went all partisan the NRA used to actually teach responsible gun ownership.

Mind you I grew up around guns. I’ve shot guns when I was younger, my dad had a shotty and a rifle and never had em locked away properly (though i dont know what the laws are in that state then or now in regards to that), not that it counts in the same realm but i was also always playin with my mom’s bb gun, my cousin is a hunter, and in general guns are a big part of the culture of where i grew up. In fact my dad often told a story of how he was at a baseball game and got hit by a bullet (he liked to show the scar). He was never certain but he figured someone shot upwards during an excitin point of the game and what goes up must come down. Lucky it was just his arm. I’m no stranger to guns and I’m not afraid of them. But i respect them as i should in recognizing they are weapons made for the purpose of harm at the very least.

Sure some may look cute and focus more on form than function, or may even be historical, but a gun is a gun even if it don’t shoot straight. It’s still a danger that needs to be taken seriously and the rights come with responsibilities, which are clearly not being taken seriously by enough gun owners, also contributing to the various pervasive issues around it such as trafficking.

Well this is it my guy, I’m done givin ya essays on this when your best contribution is a limp-dick attempt to source yourself on a strawman. You’re intentionally trying to waste my time, but joke is on you because I enjoy research! However I like some variety and, further, reading about how many people died is depressing when i remember so many yall just dont care about how many people die. Call me a parrot, tell me to squawk all ya like, but this is the last serenade because you aren’t even reading anything, just skimming. If you want to know more about gun violence, I guess you’ll just have to finally get off your thumb and do the work yourself. Perhaps if you spent less energy trying to decide what other names you want to call me you might have some left over to piece together something worth anyone’s time. Good luck with finding a personality. Keep your powder dry, mate.

final edit:

their heart is dead, i rest my case.

(What's also funny is this denial resides within them despite the fact the BoJ source they reference literally counts suicides)

[anavoliselenu]

Creighton Chapter 1

COUNTRY STAR JC HUGHES CAUGHT BETWEEN A COCK AND A HARD PLACE

How is he going to explain this one away to girlfriend Selena Wix and his fans?

“That two-timin’ son of a . . .”

I hiss under my breath as I stare at the headline—and the compromising picture accompanying it—splashed in vivid color across the front page of the gossip rag displayed prominently in the checkout line at my supermarket. For the second time in two months, it’s a picture of my “boyfriend” locked in an unmistakably passionate embrace with another woman, except this time she’s wearing a giant black strap-on.

The edges of the paper crumple in my sweaty grip, and I fight the urge to tear it to shreds, along with every copy sitting on the rack in front of me.

He’s going to destroy my career before it even has a chance to become a reality.

One year, they said. One year in this joke of a “relationship” and I’d earn my stripes, be all set in the world of country music. Judge me all you want for agreeing, but when your brand-new record label puts something like that in the contract that will jet you out of the backwoods town you’re dying to escape, you don’t ask questions. You sign on the dotted line.

But reality is a cold slap in the face, and some days it hits you when you’re standing in line at the grocery store. What happens when they finally catch JC with a guy? His habit of swinging both ways, but preferring men to women, is about to become the worst-kept secret in Nashville.

I’m Selena Wix, winner of a make-me-a-star TV show, and handpicked by the label to buoy JC’s once-impressive but now flagging career. It didn’t seem like a big deal when they slipped it into my contract in the beginning. What starry-eyed girl wouldn’t be thrilled to have her name linked to a country star?

Instead of the one-way ticket to stardom I naively expected, I’m becoming the butt of every industry joke faster than the guys back home can spend their paycheck on twelve-packs and scratch-offs. But I’ve got one shot at keeping this dream career alive, and honestly, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save it. So this situation with JC needs to get settled before things spiral further out of control.

Tugging the bill of my trucker hat lower, I glance around to see if anyone has noticed me flipping out in the checkout line. A woman behind me clucks her tongue as she pulls her sunglasses out of her baby’s mouth.

Crap.

That cluck of her tongue was aimed at me, not the toothless, blue-eyed, smiling baby. Surprisingly, though, the expression on her face is sympathetic, not angry.

“Men are assholes, am I right? Being famous just makes them bigger ones.”

I smile weakly, and she continues. “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, doll. They’re always ninety-five percent bullshit. Probably Photoshopped. He should have his head examined if he’s cheating on you.”

Snapping my gaze back to her, I read recognition all over her face, despite my hat, glasses, complete lack of makeup, and relatively low level of fame. I force a smile onto my face, but it feels awkward and fake.

“It’s called a gossip rag for a reason, I guess?” I reply, failing at my attempt to inject some humor into my tone.

She nods and gestures to the half dozen bottles of wine in her cart. “This probably sounds crazy forward, but you look like you could use a drink and someone to vent to.”

Vent to a perfect stranger I met in the grocery store? That would be insane, not to mention dangerous. If I did, the “she said” side of the story would be splashed all over tomorrow’s papers, and the label would kill me—the painful death of breach of contract and being blackballed in the industry.

I already used up strike one the first time a picture of JC hit the papers. I marched right into Homegrown Records’ offices and told them their devil’s deal wasn’t worth it, and that I wouldn’t help JC’s career at the expense of my own.

Their response? If I didn’t turn around, march my ass right back out of the office, and paste a smile on my face, they’d yank me off my tour, and I’d be a has-been before I ever got the chance to become a someone.

I’d go to bat for my career any day of the week, but faced with the threat of losing it, I’m ashamed to say I backed down and toed the company line. You only get one shot at your dream. It’s not something I’m willing to let go . . . regardless of how much of my pride I might have to swallow. Which brings me back to the gossip rag and the woman in front of me.

An awkward silence stretches between us in the checkout line as all the scenarios swirl through my brain of how I can reply to her. Finally, she smiles, and there’s something kind and knowing in her expression.

“I know what you’re thinking—you can’t spill your side of the story to anyone. Too risky.” She lifts her hand and flashes a giant rock on her left ring finger. “But I’m not just anyone. I’ve been on the front page of the tabloids too, and I know exactly how much it sucks. After being married for a decade to the biggest reformed horndog of them all, I’m no stranger to any of it. On top of that, I’d never break the vows of sisterhood.”

My gaze darts from the giant diamond to her face. Studying her makeup-free features, it finally hits me. “You’re Tana Vines.”

Tana Vines was the Female Country Artist of the Year about ten years back, and her husband was awarded Entertainer of the Year at least four or five times during that time. They’re country music legends. A true power couple.

She holds out her hand and I shake it, operating purely on instinct.

“Yes, I am,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you, Selena Wix.”

Two bottles of wine later, Tana and I lay sprawled on chaise lounges beside her indoor pool. Behind the gated walls, and in the presence of someone I listened to on the radio in junior high, I finally have a chance to unburden all the crap that has been filling my head for months.

“Six more months? That’s a hell of a long time to put up with JC’s bullshit. Not to mention keeping your own legs closed. Good Lord, girl. Aren’t you dying to get some dick?” Tana asked.

An embarrassed laugh escapes my lips. “Um, I’ve been pretty preoccupied with learning the ropes, I guess.”

“Well, shit. I’d be dying for dick.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize my position with the label. I have a feeling that if my picture ended up in the paper the way JC’s has, the double standards would have me out on my butt so fast, I couldn’t even yell ‘Bingo!’ first.”

Tana rolls onto her side and faces me. “That’s probably the truth, but it don’t make it fair. The only reason they’re covering his ass is the shelf of awards he’s got from five years ago, and all the money they’ve got invested in him. You’re the perfect image booster. But you’re right—you’re expendable if you step out of line.”

I already looked up to Tana as a country idol, but now I have to say I have a bit of a girl crush. She doesn’t sugarcoat anything, and it’s refreshing in this world of people who say one thing and mean something completely different.

“Who’s expendable?”

A deep voice echoes through the pool room as Mick Vines walks in. The man—a living country legend—picks up one of the empty bottles on the table between our lounge chairs. “And damn, Tana. I’ve been lookin’ for you for a half hour.”

“Gemma knew where I was.” Gemma, I learned, was Tana and Mick’s live-in nanny.

Tana sits up as Mick sets the bottle down and leans over to press a kiss to her lips.

“There. Been lookin’ for that. My little bit a sugar.”

I turn my head away as Tana wraps her hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in for another kiss, this one not nearly so innocent. She doesn’t seem to care that I’m intruding on their intimate moment. And it’s a moment that makes me wish even more that I wasn’t trapped in this mess.

Not that I’m looking for what they have—because I’m truly not. I’m not looking for that kind of happily-ever-after for a good five or ten years. I’m too young for that, and my focus is on my career, exactly where it’s supposed to be when you’re standing on the edge of achieving the dream you’ve had since you were ten years old.

But even on that edge, I’m still only a puppet with the label pulling the strings. Six months in, and I’m already sick and tired of being yanked in the directions they want me to go. What could I accomplish if only I could cut those tethers and come into my own? But slicing those ties would mean sacrificing what I’ve already accomplished, and that’s not an option.

Mick stands tall again and notices me for the first time. “Who’s our guest, babe?”

It’s much less of a surprise that he doesn’t recognize me than it was for Tana to make the connection. Honestly, I’m still a nobody in this industry. I’m working my tail off on becoming a somebody, and I’ve got fans, but to someone at Mick Vines’s level, I’ll always be a nobody.

I smile and hold out my hand. “Selena Wix.”

His eyes narrow as he shakes my outstretched hand. “I’ve heard your name. Why have I heard your name?”

I’m stunned that there’s even a hint of recognition in him. My stomach turns in big flopping waves, and Tana jumps in, saving me from bumbling whatever explanation is about to fall from my lips.

“I picked up Selena in the checkout line while we bonded over how much it blows to see yourself on the front of a gossip rag.”

Mick’s gaze narrows further before it lights with knowledge. “Wix. You’re the hot young thing JC Hughes has on his arm these days.”

I cringe at the description, because that’s not how I want to be known. But that’s what happens when you sign a deal with the devil.

Tana slaps his thigh from her seated position. “And she’s touring with Boone Thrasher because she’s the hottest new talent to hit the stage since Carrie and Miranda.”

Her adamant statement throws me for a loop, and those nervous waves in my belly glimmer with pride.

Mick rocks back on the heels of his tooled black leather boots. “Ain’t heard her sing yet, but I’ve sure seen her picture.”

I wince, pride doused.

“And that’s the problem. The label has backed her into a corner, and they’ve made the JC situation a requirement. She can’t get out of it,” Tana explains.

Mick studies me. “Who you with, girl?”

“Homegrown. They signed me when I won Country Dreams.”

“Ah.” Mick nods twice. “Now I know where I first heard your name. And you probably signed a devil’s bargain to get your ‘million-dollar recording contract’ after you won.”

It isn’t even a question. Mick knows how the game is played.

“It was that or keep working at a bowling alley in BFE, Kentucky, and never taking my shot. At least this got me to Nashville.”

He raises a hand. “No need to get defensive. I’m not judging. We all take the route we need to take to get here, but that means living with the consequences. How long are you stuck with this JC bullshit? I’m assuming you have to suck it up and smile on his arm to help shine up his image and get some good press. Besides, we all know he’s been on the edge of casino-playing retirement for a more than a few years now.”

Dang. Mick really does know how the game is played. I guess you couldn’t be in Nashville as long as he has without learning all the pitfalls.

“Six months,” Tana offers. “And it’s not like when our managers hooked us up. JC doesn’t seem to care either way if he hurts Selena’s career.”

I swivel my head around to stare at Tana. “I didn’t know that you . . .” I glance back to Mick. “Really? Your relationship started out as a publicity stunt?”

Tana laughs. “Of course it did. Why else do you think I’d get involved with such a man-whore? I needed some street cred, and he was getting all the wrong kinds of press for sleeping with everything with tits.”

“Jesus, baby. That’s ancient history—and we kept that shit quiet for a reason.”

“I’m just saying that sometimes it actually works out fine,” Tana says.

Mick shakes his head. “Back to the point of this conversation.” Aiming his stare at me, he continues. “You could be fucked in six months if JC keeps this shit up. You’ve got sympathy on your side right now, but if you keep laying down and taking it, you’re just going to look like a fool.”

Tana slaps his thigh again. “Not helping.”

Her husband reaches down and grabs her hand. “Quit, woman, or I’ll spank your ass even harder tonight.”

Tana’s face flushes a bright red, and I decide to let the comment go without trying to figure out exactly what they’re talking about.

Mick releases her hand and grabs the magazine shoved between the wine bottles. “This the rag with the cheating dick?”

Shaking her head, Tana grabs it from his hand. “Nope, that’s the one with the hot billionaire dick I’m going to marry if you decide to leave me for some country starlet.”

I catch a glimpse of the cover. It’s a copy of Forbes, and there’s a stupidly handsome dark-haired man on the cover.

The headline reads: JUSTIN KARAS CRUSHES COMPETITION.

“What are you talking about, woman? You’d bury me out back if I so much as looked at another woman,” Mick grumbles.

Tana’s lyrical laugh echoes off the walls. “Damn right, and don’t you forget it.”

I snatch the magazine out of his hand to get a closer look.

“Whoa, girl. Calm down.”

I wave him off, the wine dulling the instincts that would otherwise have me continuing to bow and scrape in his country-music royalty presence.

“Shhh. I need to look at him.” I’m not sure why I need silence to do that, but apparently the large bottle of wine I drank says I do.

The man is gorgeous, but he looks cocky and arrogant. I flip the magazine open and page through it until I find another picture of him.

I win because losing isn’t an option.

—Justin Karas

I know I’m truly drunk when the only thought filtering through my brain is how much I’d like to be his prize when he’s winning. Where the hell did that come from? And like I’d even know what to do with a man like that. He’s so far out of my league, it’s not even funny.

I glance over at Mick and Tana, who are once again locked in a tangle of lips and limbs.

And . . . that’s my cue to leave.

I slap the magazine shut and rise on shaky legs. “I should probably get going.”

Tana pulls away from Mick and raises an eyebrow in my direction. “Honey, you ain’t driving anywhere. I’ll go make up a guest room. It’s the very least I can do since I got you shitfaced.”

“Not necessary. I should get home. I have . . . a plant that needs water. Or something.”

I squint because I can’t remember if my plant is dead or alive. I haven’t watered it in as long as I can remember. Apparently I’m thinking too hard about plants, which might be alive or dead, and not concentrating on my balance because I tip forward.

Mick catches me with an outstretched palm. “Come on, honey. We’re putting you up tonight. Won’t hear anything different.”

He turns me around and marches me toward the door that leads into the sprawling mansion. “Besides, it seems like someone needs to take you under their wing so you don’t get chewed up and spit out by this bitch of an industry. My wife isn’t exactly the type to bring home strays, so she must’ve seen something in you needing a little protection. We’re gonna make sure you have it.”

My eyes burn, and I blink back the unexpected tears. I’ve been in this town for six months, essentially friendless, and in one night I’ve apparently been adopted by two people I never thought I would ever have a chance to meet.

“G’night, Selena. I’ll see you in the morning, sweets,” Tana calls from behind me.

Apart from those blissful moments standing onstage, for the first time in months I have a genuine smile on my face, and I feel like I belong somewhere.

It doesn’t last long.

“We’ll put your ass on a bus back to Podunk if you don’t toe the line, Wix. That bowling alley you used to sing at? They won’t even let you back onstage when I’m done tearing you apart,” Morty, the jerk-off record exec, rails at me in the conference room of Homegrown Records.

It’s been two months since the night I met Tana, and JC has managed to land in the paper three more times. I can’t let this stand any longer. I’ve officially become the laughingstock of Nashville, and I can’t take any more pitying looks from the guys on my tour.

When the bus pulled into town this morning, I went directly to Tana’s house first. We’ve kept in touch, and every time I’ve been back in town on a break, she’s made time to get together. It’s the first real friendship I’ve had since Mary Jane Devo married her Marine sweetheart and moved to Hawaii almost two years ago.

I’m not the kind of girl who makes friends easily—mostly because I work as much as I can, and I never have extra money to go shopping or get a pedicure. But now when it matters, and I’m living in a new town and knee-deep in a business where I’m not sure who I can trust, Tana has been a lifesaver.

Her advice was to tell them to fuck off and take my chances. So this morning I grew a pair of lady balls and marched into the office to tell them to screw this JC nonsense because it isn’t worth it.

I just didn’t plan on JC being there too.

“What the hell do you have to complain about?” he says, leaning back in the cushy leather conference room chair. “You’re getting plenty of press. Maybe you’re still too green to realize it, but there ain’t no such thing as bad publicity.”

I want to smack the smug look off JC’s face. He’s baiting me, just waiting to see if I’ll push Morty any further and get myself thrown back on that bus to Podunk.

“Well, in this case, I think you’re wrong,” I say, holding my chin high. “Crushing my career doesn’t seem like good business.”

JC laughs. “You’re just gettin’ started, sweetheart. This is the best thing that ever happened to you. I guess I can try to be a little more discreet . . . ,” he says, glancing at Morty.

Morty nods. “Good, then we’re done here.”

Oh no. No, we are not done here.

“I don’t think so,” I say, and point at JC. “He needs a babysitter to keep it in his pants, not a pretend girlfriend. If you want to save his career, why don’t you focus on putting out more hits, not on his love life?”

“I love when you talk about me like I’m not even here, baby,” JC drawls. “Maybe I’ll write a love song for you. How’d ya like that?”

He was patronizing me. I’ve never been exactly sure what that word means, but I’m pretty sure this is it.

“Don’t call me—” I start.

“Girl, if you don’t—” Morty interrupts, most likely to threaten me some more, but Jim, his partner, jumps to his feet and presses both hands to the solid wood surface of the conference room table.

We both shut up and look his way.

“You know, I think we’re going about this all the wrong way,” Jim says, nodding and looking very much like a man with a plan.

Relief filters through me at the hope that Jim might be seeing some sense. But my hope and relief are doused just as quickly as he continues.

“I don’t think it’s less of a relationship that we need for you two, but more.”

What in the world? More?

I look at JC, but he looks puzzled too.

“Go on,” he says. “I can’t wait to hear this idea.”

I’m pretty sure I could wait the rest of my life and never hear this idea and be perfectly happy. This is probably the moment I should march out of the room and search for some time rewinding device, because I have a feeling things are about to go from bad to worse for me.

Jim looks from JC to me and then back to Morty, his eyes lighting with excitement. “JC and Selena will get engaged; it’ll be perfect. We can set it up so it’s all public.”

He pauses and rubs his hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. “New Year’s Eve. That’s it. Boone and Selena’s tour will be on break, and JC, we got you that spot on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. You can propose at midnight, and it’ll be fucking brilliant PR.”

As my chest tightens in horror, Jim looks at me. “The press will forget about all this bullshit in the papers because they love a good celebrity romance. JC will put out a statement about how he’s been sorting through some things, but now he has his priorities in line and he’s ready to move forward.”

No, this is not happening.

“What?”

My voice, which is capable of hitting some pretty earsplitting high notes when necessary, screeches through the conference room, and for a moment I hope I have the vocal capacity to shatter the glass door.

I don’t.

I look at JC, who has slapped his hands over his ears. “Whoa, girl. Easy on the ears.”

“You can’t agree to this!” I yell. “This is insane!”

Morty slaps the table. “Jesus fucking Christ, Wix. Calm the hell down. It’s not like you have to marry the man. Just pretend to be engaged for four months. Maybe longer, depending on how things go.”

I bite my lip until the coppery tang of blood fills my mouth. It’s the only way I can stop myself from screaming and cursing them out. And maybe, you know, murdering them. I’m from the backwoods; I know how to hide bodies.

One phrase repeats in my head: Maybe longer?

Four months. That’s what’s left of my contract. Four. Months. And then Homegrown won’t own my soul. Oh, they could still try to blackball me, but they won’t have a legal hold over me.

I can’t do this. JC will never agree, either. Right?

I walk around the table to JC and sit down next to him. “You can’t think this is a good idea. You can’t go along with this.”

JC just smiles his easy good-ole-boy smile and lays his hand over mine. “You ever worn a strap-on before, baby? Because I think we can make this work. Country music’s power couple. Fuck, maybe even a real weddin’ and everything.” His eyes rake me up and down. “You’re lookin’ a hell of a lot sexier than the last time I saw you, so why the hell not?”

Oh. My. God.

I yank my hand out from under his. “Never. No way in hell.”