When I glare at Marcus, whose laughter is vibrating in my chest, he gives me a halfhearted apology, “Sorry, but you deserved that.”
* * *
I’m surprised I didn’t put my sticks through my drum kit with how hard I hit it while performing. All I’ve been imagining the past four hours is Kylie lying in Sonny’s bed with her smile directed at him and her eyes staring lovingly into his. If that isn’t bad enough, the worst image by far was her lips touching his. I pounded the living shit out of my kit, and by the end of our set, I was the most exhausted I’ve ever been.
Even the groupie who’s been eye-fucking me the past thirty minutes of the fan meet and greet isn’t enough to pull me out of my slump. I’m a fucking wreck, and more than ready to give Seattle a one-finger salute farewell. My dour mood isn’t Seattle’s fault, but since I can’t shift my frustration onto the person responsible, Seattle is getting the brunt of it.
Once I finish scribbling my name across a bunch of photographs, I make my way to the stage to grab the drumsticks I left behind. The roadies will dismantle my kit tonight in preparation to transport it to San Francisco for our next set of concerts, but I take my custom-made sticks with me to save them from getting lost during transport. My head was a little clouded after tonight’s performance so I left them behind instead of taking them with me.
After gathering my sticks, I stride toward the back entrance of the stadium. My quick pace slows when I hear murmured voices coming through the velvet curtains on the wings of the stage. I’ve previously used heavy stage curtains as a hook-up point with groupies, so my interests are piqued as to who else uses them.
When I break through the thick velvet curtain, I pace toward people talking and laughing. Upon turning the corner, the first person I spot is Kylie. She has a King of Hearts playing card stuck to her forehead and is sitting around a table with a group of male roadies. They also have playing cards stuck to their heads.
Kylie bites down on her bottom lip before her bloodshot eyes shoot up to the ceiling, no doubt trying to read the card on her head. “King of Spades?”
The S of spades is barely out of her mouth when the roadies shout loudly. With a grin of a man who looks like he’s about to cream his pants, Sonny fills a shot glass with bourbon before sliding it to Kylie.
“Y’all better not be cheating.”
When they assure her they aren’t, she downs the shot of bourbon in one hit before her tongue delves into the glass to ensure she didn’t miss a drop. I can’t help but smile when she acts unaffected by the burning sensation most girls hate from hard liquor sliding down their throats.
From the corner of the room, I watch them go another round. Each member of the crew has to down a nip since they guessed wrong.
Now, it’s Kylie’s turn again.
She taps her index finger on her pouty lips, her face showing her pure concentration. “King of Hearts?”
My jaw ticks when the roadies holler again like she guessed wrong. When Sonny slides her another shot of bourbon, I head their way. Kylie’s heavy-lidded eyes lift to mine when I stop next to her. She looks neither scared or worried.
Snarling, I remove the card from her head and throw it on the table. She takes in the card with a playful glint in her eyes before they drift between the guys playing. With a wink that reveals she’ll always be a wild child, she swallows her second shot of bourbon more eagerly than she did the first. The road crew cheers and claps, encouraging her defiance. My response is the complete opposite.
My jaw spasms as my nostrils flare—even more so when Kylie says, “I’m living my life.”
The bad slur of her words reveals she’s drunker than I thought. She’s the only one, too. Other than Mark, none of the other roadies’ eyes are as glazed over as Kylie’s.
“You’re done for the night.” I nod my head to the exit, demanding she follow me out. When she crosses her arms under her ample chest, my eyes narrow into tiny slits. “I’m not requesting, Kylie. I’m telling. Move your ass, now.”
When Sonny stands from his seat, I point to the amp he’s using as a chair. “Sitthe fuckdown.” My tone tells him I’ll place him in the chair myself if he doesn’t comply with my request.
Once Sonny takes a seat, I turn my furious eyes back to Kylie. She licks a card from the deck, then sticks it to her head. “Why don’t you join us?” She jerks her chin to an empty amp a few spots up. “The next game is strip poker, isn’t it, boys?” Her words are barely comprehensible in her drunken state.
Growling, I pluck her from the speaker box she’s sitting on, throw her over my shoulder, then storm out of the room. Her hair swishes back and forth, matching the rhythm at which her arms are hitting my back. I’m just about to exit the stadium when it dawns on me that the paparazzi will photograph me carrying her over my shoulder if I turn up to our hotel like this. I hardly know her dad, but I’m reasonably sure he wouldn’t appreciate having his drunken daughter slashed over the morning newspapers.
After a few seconds of deliberation, I head toward our tour bus. Because it sits in a secure lot, the driver doesn’t bother locking it.
As I make my way to the back of the bus, Kylie mutters several soft curse words under her breath.
Once I enter the bedroom and set her on her feet, her words turn into a full blown rant. “Why did you do that?” When she throws her arms in the air, she sways like a leaf in a hot summer breeze. “I could’ve drunk them under the table.” She leans against the bedroom wall, stabilizing her sways. “Are we moving?” I would laugh if she weren’t dead serious.
I go fetch her a glass of water and some Advil from the kitchen. “You need to sleep it off.”
I’m only gone for thirty seconds, but she removes her shoes and shirt in that small amount of time. She’s drunk, but I can’t help but drink in her jiggling breasts when she wrangles her jeans down her thighs. She mumbles to herself while undressing. It doesn’t make any sense, but one point is featured throughout her slurs: “You don’t want me, but no one else can have me either.”
Once her jeans are removed, she stands before me in nothing but a silky bra and matching panties. When I get busted gliding my eyes over her enticing body, her lips curve into a seductive grin.
“Is this how you want me?” She paces so close to me, her erect nipples scrape my chest with every breath she takes. “Then take me.”
Knowing there’s no way in hell I can control myself having her standing in front of me half-naked, I pull off my shirt and place it over her head, effectively breaking the spell she’s attempting to cast on me.
