And I’m not certain what gives me the biggest thrill – Rye performing his music or the thought that he and Court will later be performing in an entirely different way. With me.
5
Rock stars have the best freaking jobs in the world and sure do know how to have a good time. They get to make music, sing and give people something that makes them happy.
But I also know from firsthand experience from watching Rye these past weeks, it’s also exhausting to be on all the time and the adrenaline rush will last for hours after a show. That’s why there’s always an after-party that typically leads to an after-after party.
During the first festival we attended in Austin, Texas, a couple weeks back, I tried to keep up with Rye that first night, but by four a.m., I hit the hay. I remember hearing him come back to the trailer around five-thirty, his return amplified by loud noises and laughter coming from his bedroom. And then lots and lots of bumping, grinding and hollers from the sex taking place.
I didn’t even know what to make of it at the time. I just pushed my pillow over my head and tried to get some sleep. The next morning, I made sure to stock up on the ear plugs so I’d be prepared for more of that wild commotion going on.
Tonight, however, I won’t need ear plugs, but it might call for a few condoms.
“Nice show, Rye,” calls out a drummer from another band as he walks by the three of us standing off to the side of the stage. Rye guzzles a beer and wipes the sweat dripping down his neck with the towel I’d just handed him. “You going to the bonfire tonight with the crew?”
Rye’s eyes flick to me and then to Court, a question hidden in his gaze. I nod in answer, because yes, I’m in tonight. All in. As crazy as it sounds, I’ve never been more excited over anything else in my life and my body vibrates with desire.
“Yeah, we’ll be there. At least for a little while.”
The drummer claps Rye on the back. “Cool man. See you then.”
As others mill around us, with Rye accepting all their praises, Court and I hover behind him, each of us on our devices checking messages and social media feeds. I’d posted several shots of Rye performing during his set and have already racked up five thousand likes on Instagram and his story.
Finally, the crowd lessens, and Rye turns to us, with a look of happiness and accomplishment.
“I need a shower, some sustenance and then we can head to the party. Are you coming with us tonight, sugar?”
I lift my eyes to them both and nod. “I’m all yours tonight.”
Rye’s smile widens at the double-meaning within my words.
And then he bends down so his face nuzzles my neck, his breath tickling me as he whispers, “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
Rye then flings the towel behind him and takes off running toward his trailer, waving a hand in the air and singing, “You’re getting so fucking lucky tonight, Shae!”
Clasping my hand over my mouth to stifle my shocked giggles, I turn to Court who has that serious look over his face again. But the barest of smiles crooks up at the corner of his mouth and he shakes his head.
“He’s such a toddler sometimes.”
Bumping his hips with mine, we head off the same direction as Rye to wait for him to freshen up.
By the time we get to the bonfire, the fire is blazing high, with the heat of the burning logs keeping most of the partiers a safe distance away. Some are standing, while others have blankets strewn out or lawn chairs in semi-circles. Everyone has drinks in hands, some smoking weed and everyone just enjoying the beautiful moment on the Alabama shore.
Court, Rye and Saul all carried cases of beer and booze with them from the trailer, while I was the food valet, my arms full of chip bags and snack-size goodies.
I’ve been to parties in high school and college, and while this is similar in atmosphere, the party-goers tonight are not your average Joe’s. All of them are part of this music industry and as such, there’s certain unspoken rules that apply when gathered together.
No pictures or videos without consent from everyone. And just like Vegas, whatever happens here, stays here.
We pick a spot a little further out from the crowd, but close enough where the party vibe still filters in, but I know Rye wants quiet time with just us.
“How’s this?” I ask, pointing to the grassy knoll a few yards away, the beach and ocean in close proximity if we wanted to take a dip. The moon is bright and casts a yellow-hazed glow over the water, the breeze carrying a scent of ocean and pot smoke from the crowd.
Rye plops down, the case of beer sitting next to him as he pats the ground next to him for me to sit. Court sits in front of us and Saul, as usual, ends up disappearing off into the shadows, where he keeps an eye on things.
We all open our beers, but Court has other ideas, taking a bottle of high-end tequila from the stash and opening it up.
“What’s a party without some tequila shots?” he asks rhetorically, taking a swig and handing Rye the bottle. He takes a few pulls from the bottle and then hands it to me.
