1
EASTON
I belt out the final chorus to our closing number and close my eyes as the fans sing along. I've sung this song thousands of times, but the lyrics hit my soul differently every time the crowd joins in.
I open my eyes as the last word hangs on the end of my breath. Looking back at me are thousands of faces, their arms reaching toward the sky. A sea of illuminating light sways like ocean waves. The only time I feel alive is when I'm on the stage performing with my friends. It's a natural high you can't get anywhere else.
I have a flashback to our first sold-out gig. Archer, Cody, Micah, and I were all incredibly nervous beforehand, but all my nerves evaporated when we went on stage. I was playing the same music and performing beside my friends. The crowd went bonkers. We’d never had people lose their shit like that before, and it was amazing. The same energy fueling my body right now is no different than what I felt that night so long ago.
"Thank you, Seattle!" I shout, the speakers amplifying my voice over the deafening cheers from the crowded arena.
As the guys and I exit the stage, our tour manager, Heisley, tosses me a bottle of water. "You've got the meet and greet in thirty minutes."
"Where's my wife?" Micah asks, and I grin at his use of the word wife. A month into our tour, he and his woman went and got hitched while we were in Vegas. They got married in true Vegas style in a small chapel with an Elvis impersonator presiding. The impromptu ceremony was exactly what we would expect from Micah. He and Tallulah marrying didn't come as a shock, either. The two have been together from the very beginning of East of Addiction. She's been at his side since we were nothing more than three friends, broke with pockets full of dreams and half a tank of gas in our first shitty 1978 Winnebago RV his grandad gave to him. When he found out Tallulah was carrying their first child, he was determined to give her his last name.
"In your dressing room!" she yells at my retreating back.
"Heads up, fellas," Cody says, wiping his face with a white hand towel one of the roadies gives him.
"Isn't that the same blonde we saw two nights ago in Portland?" Archer mentions, and I look to confirm. Sure enough, the blonde is standing amongst the others, fixated on me. "Looks like you have a devoted groupie. Maybe if you gave the woman what she's after, she'd go away," Cody teases but knows I'm not interested. "Hey, man, I'll take one for the team." His hand lands on my shoulder.
"Easton, Cody, Archer, Micah!" The group of good-looking women shouts our names, eagerly waiting for more than an autograph as we make our way down the brightly lit corridor leading to the dressing rooms. I force myself to stop and give them my million-dollar grin.
"Ladies." I give them my attention, as do my bandmates, and begin signing our names on the merch they shove at us.
A long-legged blonde with large tits and desperate blue eyes thrusts a black marker at me. "Can I have your autograph?" Her eyes drop, roaming over my bare chest. She chews her bottom lip.
"Sure thing, beautiful." I don't call her out for having seen her recently. "Where would you like me to sign?" I ask, already knowing her answer as she pulls her hand back and runs the end of the marker between her cleavage.
"Right…" she drags the marker over the swell of her left breast, "here."
I'm a man. I look. But her seduction does nothing for me. My dick doesn't even acknowledge the fact there is a sexy blonde bombshell eye-fucking me right now. Why? Because my head isn't in it—neither of them. I've had enough mind-numbing sex to last any average Joe a lifetime.
The truth is, I'm tired of the road, touring, women, hotel rooms—all of it.
I smirk at her anyway and play the part of the rock god I am. Removing the cap with my mouth, I scribe my signature across her left breast, which she eagerly exposes to me and my bandmates, who are standing beside me, getting equal attention from the other females.
"Let's keep on schedule, men," Heisley announces, steering us away from the groupies, who begin protesting. "Don't worry, ladies. I'm sure a few of you will get to add another notch to your rockstar to-do list tonight."
I look at the blonde standing in front of me with pouty lips and hold out the marker for her to take back. "I'll catch you later," I tell her before walking away. It's a lie. Sure, a couple ofthe guys will snag themselves a warm body to hold tonight, but I'm not. All I want is to go home—alone.
Heisley's six-inch heels click against the concrete floor as we fall in behind her. "Goddamn. It should be illegal to have curves like that," Archer states, his eyes glued to our tour manager's ass. "Heisley, you gonna come see me tonight?"
Heisley continues walking without missing a single beat in her stride and flicks her long lilac hair over her shoulder. "Keep dreaming. I don't mix business with pleasure. I've told you that a million times."
Archer grabs at his chest, mockingly in pain. "You wound me." Heisley stops just outside our dressing room door. Archer looks down at her. "Come on. Let me show you what you're missing out on." I hang my head. My friend is laying it on thick tonight. He leans in close to her ear but doesn't attempt to hide what he says. "I promise you won't regret it."
"Can you contribute anything that my dog, a bowl of triple chocolate ice cream, and Bob can't take care of? If not, move along and stop wasting both our time."
I spit water from my mouth. Archer has been hitting on Heisley since she was hired as our tour manager. She turns him down every time with good reason. Archer lives his life like a true rockstar stereotype, and she is smart enough to stay clear of his lifestyle. My friend isn't a bad guy. Archer is upfront with who he is and how he chooses to live his life. Unfortunately for him, Heisley isn't into any of it.
"Who the fuck is Bob?" Archer's demeanor changes, and I look to our friends, who are taken aback by his sudden shift in attitude.
Heisley rolls her eyes. "Jesus." She looks at her watch, ignoring Archer, and then announces, "Freshen up. I'll be back and take you to the conference room where you're meeting the VIP holders in thirty minutes. After that, there will be a fewinterviews with the local press," Heisley says, then walks away, leaving Archer in his heated state.
"Who the fuck is Bob?" Archer asks once inside the dressing room, and I give him aare you kidding melook.
"You've bedded more women than you can count, yet you really know nothing about them?" I shrug on a clean shirt.
