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Van: I am, but in another vehicle
Holloway: Yo fuckers, I’m getting my dick sucked. I’ll be ready in ten.
Ronin: He’s busy getting his hair done. He wishes the stylist would suck him off.
Holloway: Fuck off, I score more than you
Faisel: Meet at Brodie’s room and go down together
I’m riding with Van
Faisel: Can’t we all ride in the same vehicle? There’s only five of us.
Van: Let’s meet at Brodie’s suite. Play nice at the party for an hour or two; then we’ll head to Crimson Bones for the rest of the night. I booked a VIP room. I’ll be ready on-site with NDAs.
Normally our PR person came along when we went out and handled all of that shit.
Suddenly, guilt ate away at me. Van had been working non-stop the last week leading to our trip here and now during.
Tours were hell to organize. Last-minute gigs like this one, even more so. And now he was dealing with the press and NDAs.
I’d have to find a way to thank him personally. I know what I’d like to give him, but in the interim, something non-sexual would have to do.
My phone buzzed. My bodyguards were here.
I opened the door and was greeted by Regan and Dawson. “The boys are meeting us here. Can we all fit in one car?” I asked as the nearby ping of an elevator sounded.
“Not with our additional security staff,” Regan replied and began talking into her earpiece.
Dawson glanced at me and gave me a thumbs up.
I liked the guy and had worked with him for as long as I’d been around Van.
Dawson was intimidating to look at, a massive wall of muscle and six feet four, but he had a laid-back personality that fit in well with the band.
I stepped into the hallway to join them and noticed my bandmates walking toward us with their bodyguards flanking.
“Are we set?” Regan asked.
“No, we’re waiting for Van,” I replied. “Nice look, Holls.”
“Right?” He grinned and ran a hand over his hair.
The stylist had parted Holloway’s blond, shoulder-length hair in the middle and feathered it. With low-rise, wide-legged pants and a tight collared shirt that was open to his navel, he was rocking the 70s look.
Until he did a turn and started twerking, causing all of us to groan out loud.
“None of us want to see your lame attempt at dancing,” I quipped.
Holloway chuckled. “You’re just jealous of my smoking hot ass.”
Ronin kicked Holloway in said ass, and they tussled, nearly toppling over. They hit the wall with a loud thud, and the sound reverberated down the hallway.
Dawson crossed his arms and pinned them with a dark look that had both Holls and Ronin standing at attention.
Dawson and Holloway were always at odds. Holloway tried to escape his security on more than one occasion, and it had caused a rift between them. That’s why Dawson was my primary now and not his.
“What do you think of my fit?” Holloway asked my bodyguard.
