Page 5 of Finding Storm

I don’t recognize her. But then again, she could have been coming to the after-parties for months, and I still wouldn’t recognize her.

I’d have to care to remember, and as of late, I care about very little.

“Hi.” She smiles and bites her lip, giving me a shy look. “You’re Storm, right?”

This chick is anything but shy. She wouldn’t be here, about to proposition me for sex if she was.

And no, that’s not me being a presumptuous asshole.

That’s from me being in varying scenarios of this exact same situation far too many times to remember.

A woman who doesn’t work for the label or the band, standing in my doorway after a show, is here for one reason only.

To fuck me.

But she’s going for the coy angle, and I’ll play along. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.

I don’t say anything. I just let my eyes drag down the length of her while I take another drag on my cigarette.

She’s pretty.

Tall, like I like my women. Long legs. Shoulder-length blonde hair. Short skirt. Low-cut top. Tan skin. Pouty lips, which aren’t natural. The tits aren’t real either.

I’ve seen enough to know the difference.

Hey, I’m not judging. A girl wants to make some changes to what the genetic gods gave her, then all the power to her.

If I could cosmetic surgery out whatever the fuck is going on with me at the moment, then I would.

She’s probably a nice girl.

But it also doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what she’s here for.

I wouldn’t say she wants to fuck me specifically. Hell, maybe she does. But, usually, these girls just want to screw any guy from the band.

Whether it be for bragging rights or because she’s hoping more will come from it, I’ve no clue.

I’d like to think she’s not that stupid.

Me and the boys definitely aren’t known for being the settling-down type.

She twirls her hair around her finger and bites her lip again, looking at me from under false lashes. “I’m Nina.”

“I’m not in the mood to talk.”

Okay, that was a bit assholish, but it’s also the truth. The last thing I want to do right now is talk. And I definitely don’t care what her name is.

“Okay. So, no talking. Are you in the mood to fuck?”

And there it is.

Am I in the mood to fuck?

Good question.

It’s not like I have anything else going on right this second.

But the prospect of screwing this girl doesn’t exactly get my blood pumping either.