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Imagine a bodyguard version of Chris Hemsworth but with redder hair. And fuller lips. And stunning green eyes.
Too bad Dawson was wound so tight.
He let out a loud groan that meant total frustration. On that one item, we agreed.
My phone buzzed again. Shit.
“Who’s calling you?”
“How the fuck should I know? I’ll check it after the show.”
I walked around him and started down the hallway to the VIP room. There was still time to check out the scene and find someone to hook up with. This time, however, I’d be a good little rockstar and let Dawson watch.
I sauntered into the room, with Dawson at my back, and spotted my bandmates downing shots. They were surrounded by a group of VIPs, several of whom were sexy as hell.
My luck was changing already.
“Hey, what’s happening here? The party can’t go on without me,” I declared as I reached my friends.
Faise rolled his eyes, and Ronin mimed jerking off.
“Are you under some delusion that we’re your placeholders?” Brodie snarked, and I gave him a playful swat on the shoulder.
Then Brodie motioned to the bar staff for another round. “We assumed you were getting your pre-show ritual on.”
Another tray of shots appeared, and I grabbed two of them, downing them in quick succession.
Top-shelf tequila, my favorite. I reached for a third.
“The hand job got interrupted by my jailer.” I pointed over my shoulder to Dawson. I could feel his angry glare on me like a spotlight. “But I’m ready now. Introduce me to our new friends.”
It turned out the guys didn’t have to say anything.
A handsome man in a fancy suit, maybe late twenties, stepped forward. He had a confident air, a perfect smile, and held my gaze for a long time.
He’d do.
Pretty Boy reached out his hand. “I’m Frankie Salich, a friend of Zoe’s. It’s very nice to meet you, Iain. I’ve heard good things.”
Zoe Nord was our PR rep and dealt with our shenanigans for the past three years. ‘Good things’ was probably her PR code for horror stories about our antics.
“Holloway,” I corrected him when I shook his hand.
I didn’t like strangers calling me by my first name. Too personal and tied to my past. Only my closest friends were allowed to use it.
And a certain bodyguard who shall remain nameless.
“Sorry, Holloway,” Frankie repeated and gave me a thorough once over.
He had a firm grip. I could work with that. “Nice to meet you, too.”
For some strange reason, though, my dick was not with the program. I wasn’t getting turned on at all.
What the fuck? Maybe I needed another cigarette.
“You want to have a drink in private?” he asked with a flirty grin.
Still nothing. Fuck.
