Free Bottom Feeder by Maria G. Cope

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