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He flips us over, coming over me. “First of fucking all, we had you first. You’re committed if this becomes full time at any given point. With me. Anybody else can kiss my ass, and better be mobile.”
I lift my upper half off the bed, my hands fumbling for the button on his jeans, jerking it through the slit. “I like it when you’re possessive.”
When I pull back the band of his boxer briefs and reach in, grabbing his shaft, he groans. I start to stroke it. “I like it when you make me yours,” he returns, making my pulse race.
I shove his pants and briefs over his ass. “Only mine,” I clarify.
“No other bitch will ever have me like you.”
My legs wrap around his waist, and I pull him in, my mouth already nibbling on his lips. “Yeah?” I taunt. “Put it in and remind yourself that no other dick will have me like yours.”
A growl comes out of him, and then he comes at me, everything primal and good, just the way I like it. This is us. We can fuck as good as we can fight, but we love hard too.
SEVENTEEN
PAXTYN
Istand close to the stage so that I can get a good video of the performance. I’ve been here a while. I figured it was a good idea to get a spot close to the stage when I realized the place was filling quickly. That was a couple of hours ago. The club is packed. It has to be at max capacity by now.
I’ve been posting on the band’s social media accounts all week, trying to pull in a big crowd. I made them do a ‘live’ video a couple of times to draw people to their account. I even found a local graphics shop to make up a few hundred tee shirts to give away in time for the event. At the beginning of the week, I put up flyers all over the strip. I also added the QR code to get to the band’s social media accounts. I’ve done everything I know to do. They’ve been practicing since they found out they had a gig lined up. Now, they just need to perform.
The lights dim all over the club, a single spotlight beaming down on the stage in front of me. The crowd is body to body, drinks speckled all over the place. I hate the stupid X decorating the back of each hand in black marker to signify I’m underage. I only got in at all because I’m with the band. Lame. I long for the day when I turn eighteen. It’s annoying having a limit on anything, especially when everyone else is older.
A man comes out on stage, grabbing the mic on the front stand. He looks to be in his mid to late twenties. “What’s up, Miami?” he singsongs in the microphone, letting his words echo.
The crowd yells in a domino effect, participating, making the atmosphere more fun. I ready my phone’s camera by setting it to video, not wanting to miss the opportunity to get it from the beginning. I decided to record each song separately so that I can post multiple videos after it’s done.
“Y’all ready for tonight’s performance?” he adds. Everyone answers with another yell. “The live music tonight is from a local band. Give it up for the boys in our own backyard, Savage Saints.”
He exits the stage. Whistles and shouts go off all around the building, hands clapping to add to the noise. Adrenaline floods my veins as I hold my phone, my heart racing as a result. The single spotlight turns off, but only for a second, and then four come on, Riggan now at the front instead of the other guy, the rest of the guys in a V behind him, Maddox the point.
I hit record on my phone just in time. Riggan starts playing the guitar, looking down as his fingers strum the strings, his tattooed arms flexing as he does. The drums fade in at just the right time. Konnor joins the melody, and within a few seconds, Riggan brings in the vocals. As if Landon knows exactly where to hit with bass, it pulls everything together.
My smile spreads quickly as I watch them all come together flawlessly, creating a sound that’s hard to beat; at least to me. Occasionally Riggan stops singing and Konnor takes the lead, almost like a rotation, the other two backing them up at high points in the song.
I’ve listened to their old music, watched them perform on past videos, and with the addition of Konnor, they sound better, like they were supposed to be together this whole time. Maybe in some cosmic way, Abby brought them all together, and that’s a reason to keep her memory alive. I’m proud of how far they’ve all come.
When they hit a break for a guitar solo, I twist my body and raise my arms to film the crowd, scanning over the hands all over the room in the air holding smartphones. My hope is they swarm social media. I catch heads bobbing to the music, bottles and cans and cups raised in salute. It’s easy to see they’re digging it.
When the guys become the focal of my phone screen again as Riggan comes back in singing, Landon is staring straight at me while he plays. I’m surprised he found me in the crowd. He moves his mouth in front of the microphone and falls in with backup vocals to bring them all into harmony. The way they’re all in perfect sync with each other, it’s clear this is what they were meant to do.
Landon inches back moments later, still watching me as he plays. Shouts go off all over the room when the music hardens from a softer rock to more of a metal sound, and Riggan’s voice takes on a scream compared to before.
“Yay-uh!” I toss out as loud as I can, giving them the rock symbol with one hand while the other keeps my phone steady. It’s hard to miss Landon’s smirk just before he winks at me.
As the song comes to an end, I stop the recording, quickly hitting the share option to send it to my dad. I’ll post it on YouTube when they take a short break, because I don’t want to miss anything. I type out a message as they prepare for the next song before hitting send.
Me:You can be scared to put your neck out in an industry you haven’t set the example in, or you can take a gamble and be part of their discovery. The Dunagin way is to exceed everyone’s expectations. I learned that from you.
Sayler walks up beside me and bumps my shoulder with hers. Her parents have Chloe tonight. Presley sat this one out since she’s still in a postpartum status. She also doesn’t have anyone to watch Kylar, since we aren’t from here. Our family is in California. One of the girls was supposed to FaceTime her during the performance. “Thirsty?” she asks, already handing me the cup of clear liquid in one hand while she sips the identical one in her opposite.
“What is that?”
“Sprite.” She smiles. “Gabby may have spilled a shot of vodka in it. Damn klutz. Baby Burns can’t have alcohol. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
I laugh, discreetly taking it out of her hand and hoping like hell the big crowd keeps eyes down and noses out of my business. “Tonight’s going to be a good night. I can feel it.”
“A night to remember,” she adds, both of us slightly raising our cups until they meet out in front of us in a toast.
