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“I’m sorry?” I ask, raising a brow at the girl standing before me with her hip cocked out in her short as hell skirt. If she swishes, I think her perfectly sculpted butt cheeks would pop out and show the world what she’s got cooking under her hood.
“I need a stamp; here’s my cover charge,” she hisses loud enough for me to hear the venom in her words, practically shoving the money at me. Her eyes dart around the room, and she strains her neck to look over the bobbing crowd.
“Have you seen them?” she shouts over the music to her friend standing behind her when I stamp her hand, and she moves aside.
“No,” Sara giggles, shoving fifteen dollars into my hand, a little nicer than her friend.
“Ugh. Their FlashGram said they’d be here hanging out tonight. It’s my one chance. They won’t be onstage for once,” she murmurs, grabbing her friend’s hand, and tries to take off into the sea of people.
“Central Trash,” her friend says, tilting her head when I wrinkle my nose at the name.
“I have a name,” I state with a tight expression, narrowing my eyes at her. Running a finger along my boob, I show the name printed on my shirt for good measure. “I’m River. The manager.” I, once again, run a finger over the word manager etched into my tit, earning me a haughty scoff.
Three years ago, they graduated from high school, yet they act like we’re still roaming the halls together. This is their ridiculous way of putting me in my place and showing me I’m nothing more than a Central girl, which is laughable. To them, I’m firmly under their fucking sharp heels, ready for them to squish me to pieces.
“Have you seen them yet?” Her friend curses, trying to pull her along, muttering under her breath.
“Who?” I ask, waving the next person forward.
I take their money and stamp their hand, repeating the process with the following people, and check IDs along the way. At least fifty people, okay, that’s an exaggeration, come through the door before these two make up their minds. When I look back at the doorway, it’s practically empty, and the line has died down. Thank God. It’ll give me a second to finally breathe.
“Whispered Words,” the girl snarks, leaning forward.
“God, Sara!” Tessa mutters, stomping her foot.
“What, Tessa? She sees everyone who comes through the doors. It’s her job,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “So, she’d know if they were here. They just played a few days ago!” Tessa nods, staring at me for confirmation.
A deep heat invades my cheeks and ears, remembering precisely what Kieran and I got up to earlier. His fingers were inside me and swirling over my clit while my ex-boyfriend browsed the shop, none the wiser. Rad promised Kieran would deliver the best orgasm of my life, and he did. He really fucking did. I want a repeat, spend a day getting lost in his dick, pretending the outside world doesn’t exist and enjoy the man he is now because I’ve obviously broken my vow about swearing off him. So, why not have some fun?
“No,” I state with a shrug, keeping my voice as even as possible. There’s no way in hell I’d admit to these two groupies. That has to be what they are, if I have seen them or not.
“See,” Tessa scoffs, rolling her eyes again. “We’ll find them ourselves. Thanks for nothing, Central Slut,” she hisses, dragging her friend into the crowd of people, losing themselves to the loud metal music flowing through the speakers.
“Enjoy the show,” I mutter, discreetly lifting my middle finger to their backs.
Who are they going to tell on me, too, anyway? I’m the damn boss right now. I should tell them to shove their judgmental names where the sun doesn’t shine, but I like to think I’m a little more professional than that. Well—I cringe, lowering my finger—sometimes I’m professional. I can only handle the whole Central whore/slut, name-calling for so long before I blow a gasket and give them what they deserve.
“Well, hello, Pretty Girl,” Rad sings above the music, throwing his arms around. If he wanted to stay small and away from the two groupies asking about them, he’s failing miserably by announcing his damn presence. I sneak a peek at the two girls in question and grin when they’re caught up in the crowd and unable to make it over. Too bad, so sad for them. Such a shame.
“Well, hello, drummer boy,” I sing-song back, cocking my head to the side at the sight of him.
God damn. My momma said don’t fuck with rock stars, but it’s so hard when they look this delectable and lickable. Seriously! Rad’s sporting tight jeans, leaving not-so-little Rad’s outline on display. Like holy eggplant in the pants, Batman. I swallow hard, my gaze making it up to his exposed arms coming out of his sleeveless tank, giving me a peek of the tattoo expanding over his chest and into his throat. And finally, his ridiculous curly mullet is perfectly styled, not a curl out of place. But the icing on the cake tonight is the septum piercing glowing in the dark space. His pearly whites pop out when he grins at me again, catching the moment my eyes roamed downwards.
He snorts, leaning against my little podium, grinning like a madman. “I don’t know if I’ve properly introduced myself to you yet,” he murmurs, reaching for the stamp in my hand, stamping Callum’s and his hand. “Although drummer boy is pretty hot coming from your lips, I’m….”
“Ashton Radcliffe the Third,” Asher says in a mimicking tone, strolling through the front door with a smirk plastered on his lips. Leaning against Rad, he places his elbow on his shoulder.
“It’s Rad,” he hisses, a soft red blooming across his cheeks, reaching to the tips of his burning ears. “I’m Rad, definitely not Ashton,” he says, shaking his head and curling his lip. He looks back at me with pleading dark eyes and points. “It’s Rad, not Ashton,” he argues again, leaning down onto the podium and putting the stamp back into my fingers.
My heart falls when I stare into his sparkling, dark eyes. Although I’m in no particular mood to relive the night, he saved me from the shadows and brought me to the hospital. It’s disheartening to hear he doesn’t know who I am. I mean, I don’t blame them for not recognizing me from high school. So many students from the surrounding area squished into one building that it’d be hard to keep track of everyone. But to look me in the eye and not remember? I shake my head. Maybe he’s like me. That night was horrific; if I had come across that sight, I’d have blocked it out, too.
“Okay, definitely not Ashton, who I went to high school with and have talked to before. You’ve been stamped. Now pay up,” I say, holding my free hand out. “It’s a fifteen-dollar cover charge per person.”
“It’s Rad, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbles to himself, reaching into the depths of his back pocket. “And wait,” he says, holding up a finger. “We went to school together?” His brows furrow when he steps around the podium, taking in my short shorts and a tight black t-shirt. “I’d definitely remember you.” He rubs his chin, eyeing me with a hunger that makes my stomach knot.
Fuck. If he doesn’t stop staring at me like that, I’ll invite him into the back room and rock his world with Kieran. No one says I can’t have more. Besides, If I’m breaking my vow, I’m going all in.
“There’s only one fucking high school in this mediocre town,” Asher huffs out, rolling his eyes at our antics like the douchebag he is. I wonder if he ever lightens up or if he’s a perpetual grumpy pants?
