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“How’d you find us anyway?” Cannon asks, having ditched the girl he was dancing with and joined us. He crosses his muscled arms over his chest.
I belatedly realize the girl I was with has left, blending into the crowd and lost from my sight. I pout like a petulant child that’s lost a toy. Ugh, I’ve definitely had too much to drink.
Hayes tosses us a look like a pissed off dad who found his kid sneaking out the bedroom window.
“Rush,” is all he says.
The three of us turn and as one we cringe when we spot our drummer on top of the bar, with a bottle of whiskey, live on fucking TikTok.
TikTok, the reason our band went viral in the first place, and has this chance to work with Joshua Hayes.
“Get your asses outside and into my car. It’s the Range Rover. I’ll get Rush.”
He’s already pushing through the crowd, away from us toward the bar.
“I thought he was our producer, not a fucking babysitter,” I mutter.
“Heispart of one of the most successful bands ever, maybe we should listen to him.” Cannon shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears. I swear I hear a girl moan when she gets a look at his neck tat.
I have a bigger cock.
And isn’t that what’s most important?
“Fine, whatever.” I weave my way through the crowd to the exit, Cannon and Fox on my heels. I might be drunk, but I know better than to refuse Hayes’s request to leave the club.
“He’s going to be unbearable tomorrow,” Cannon sighs, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He smacks the new box against his hand and pulls one out, sticking it between his lips but not lighting it.
“Why?” Fox asks with a laugh, though he already knows the answer.
“No pussy for Hollis means he’s an insufferable bastard.”
I don’t even try to defend myself because they’re right. It’s one of the best parts of being in a band, girls throw themselves at you just to have bragging rights that they fucked a lead singer.
We step outside into the crisp fall air and spot the Range Rover easily.
“Shotgun,” I call, and stand by the passenger’s side before one of these fuckers gets the bright idea to steal it from me.
We wait outside the car and it’s a few minutes before Hayes comes out, supporting a stumbling Rush.
“My boy never can handle his liquor,” Cannon chortles, tossing his cigarette on the ground.
Hayes unlocks the Range Rover and I slide into the passenger seat while the other guys tumble in the back. Hayes dumps Rush with them.
Hayes jogs around the front of the car and into the driver’s seat.
Glancing in the rearview mirror he warns, “Don’t throw up in my fucking car.”
“Of course not, sir,” Fox replies, flashing a cocky smile. “We would never do that.”
Fox is way too fucking jovial. I want whatever he’s on—not that he does drugs, that’s just him, always so fucking happy.
Hayes stares for a moment longer before pulling out into traffic.
We barely make it to the stoplight before Rush retches up whatever cocktail he’s consumed tonight.
“We’ll pay for the detailing.” Cannon says in a tone that says the three of us better not argue with him.
Hayes pinches the bridge of this nose. “What have I gotten myself into?”
