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CHAPTER THREE
XOAN
My little vampire wasback.
She leaned against the door of my dressing room wrapped in boots to her knees, pleather and PVC and fishnets. Not that I usually cared, but this little package came with eyes full of stars, lips I could still taste, and curves my body craved.
I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head all fucking week and thatneverhappened.
No encores.
No names.
Those were the rules.
She stood there, one leg crooked against the door, the other booted heel planted firmly on the floor. But that was where the confidence stopped. I could read it in her eyes, in the way she clutched a large folder to her chest.
I stopped before her and looked her up and down like I was considering passing her up for the night. But fuck that. If she wasn’t in the dressing room when I was done, I’d hunt this girl down and carve my lyrics into her skin with my tongue.
“I don’t do autographs. I don’t write songs for anyone. And I don’t do encores, goth girl.”
She stared at me, long enough I thought I might never make it into the dressing room, and get my shit together before I hit the stage.
“I’m looking for a job.”
Both my eyebrows raised. Color me intrigued.Alright, sweetheart. Let’s try this your way.
“Fine. Lance will give you a list of events. Every night. Be here before the show. I won't talk to you, but I’ll fuck you after. You’ll be paid as part of the stage crew, nothing terrible on your resume that way. Bragging rights. No selfies, and no other fucking lovers. Clear?” My inner asshole came right out to play.
When did I turn into a selfish dick who sounds like he has been forty years in the making?
Next I’d look in the mirror and see my eyes bloodshot from drugs, my cheeks bloated from alcohol and late nights, and something dead in my face amidst the wrinkles that told me my on stage life passed by in a blink and I was too slow to catch it.
“That’s not the job I meant,” she said softly, still standing in my way.
I sighed. “I have a pre-concert routine. I need silence, and I need to focus.” She still hadn’t moved. “And I need to get into the fucking dressing room.”
My silence afterward said everything else as I fisted my hand on my guitar strap slung around my chest. I needed to go through my songs, check the order at least half a dozen times. I knew them, and it was a small set for a charity event, but they gave me space, as always. The event organisers, whoever made it all work.
I didn't get involved in that shit any longer. I walked on stage, sang my songs, wooed the crowd, and got the fuck away.
Then fuck within an hour of walking off that stage while the power and energy from the event still roiled in my veins.
