AllFreeNovel
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I chuckle, slipping a cigarette between my lips as my fingers tease the neck of the guitar in my hand. The brunette I dragged up here after the show, who’s been slumped high as fuck next to me on the couch for the better part of the last four hours, turns to me. She spreads her legs, making sure with all the subtly of a freight train that I’m fully aware of what garments shedid notdress in tonight.
I’m twenty-five, rich as fuck, the lead singer and guitar player for the biggest band on the planet, and I’ve just been named bothPeople Magazine’s “Sexiest Man on Earth” andGuitar World’s“Most Fuckable Rockstar”.
I should be up to myeyeballsin pussy right now. And I may be yet. But not now. Not when I’ve got the faintest hint of a melody line humming somewhere in my head as my fingers run over the strings.
When I get a spark, I don’t stop forshit. Not for food, not for booze, not for drugs. Not even for pussy.
I ignore the brunette—Shana? Shania? Sharina? I don’t fucking remember because I doubt I heard it at all. But apparently, she’s done waiting.
Her hand slides to my thigh, boldly sliding up towards my dick as she slips to her knees in front of me.
“I’m busy.”
“You can play while I do it.” She rakes her teeth over her overly done bottom lip. “Actually, that’d be hot.”
“And I already said fuckingno,” I grunt.
“No means no, darlin’,” Iggy snickers from his couch. “Jackie’s waiting until his wedding night anyway.”
The four us snort laughter when the girl’s brows arch in pure confusion.
“Another time, babe,” I shrug, pushing her hands away from my thigh. “But I’m working. Go play with Iggy.”
My friend gives me a sharp look as the girl turns to him hungrily. Asher snickers from the corner.
“Oi, that’s forbidden fruit, luv. Alice will have your ass on a goddamn spike for that. And best knock that shit off, Jack,” he snickers at me. “Or Alice’ll cuthisballs off, withyourballs.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Iggy grins before he glances at the brunette. “Go play with Will, sweetheart.”
The girl turns to frown at the scene behind me, where the formerly comatose blonde is now gyrating in our friend’s lap as he shrugs with mock helplessness.
“But he—”
“Isincerelydoubt he minds dividing his attention,” I grunt.
Will looks out of his mind drunk. But he grins a sloppy grin at me as the brunette strolls over to also climb into his lap.
None of this is real. I mean, itis. But even three or four years into our “success”, it feels like a dream. Or at times, a nightmare. But certainly, surreal or even fake either way.
Like a deep trance I’m going to wake from at any point. Like I’ll open my eyes one day and it’ll turn out I’m still back in Liverpool. Still washing dishes at restaurants and working part time for the construction company—all while forgoing sleep so I can write and practice at night.
“You know who wouldn’t mind?” Iggy slurs as he drops his head back to the couch.
“Dean Martin?”
“Bloodystud.”
“You pricks talking about me?”
I roll my eyes even before I turn to see him. And when I do see Kurt Harrison, strolling out of the hallway from the direction of the bedrooms in just a pair of boxers, my brow furrows. I don’thateKurt, he’s just kind of a douchebag.
But it’s his bloody music that makes me want to hang myself.
Though branded “rock ’n roll”, Kurt’s basically a one-man fucking boyband with a guitar and a leather jacket for “cool” points. His shitty “rock influenced pop songs” fucking suck, and it’s well known that his success comes at least half from the fact that his uncle is an executive with Columbia Records.
Kurt was an ignorable, utterly forgettable name that usually made me turn the station on the radio. Until some genius at our label decided he should open for us on the first half of this tour. Now, it’s like perpetually having that party guest who drinks all your booze, does all your drugs, and doesn’t know when to fuckingleave.
“No one was fucking talking about you, you dumb wanker,” Asher mutters. “Now put some pants on.”
