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Z’s smile is timid as he closes his eyes. When he rolls onto his back, he flips the camera to give me a full view of his toned stomach and the noticeable stiffness in his low-riding sweatpants.
I growl. “Fuck. Why am I not there to take care of that?”
“Because you’re off being social and loved by your bandmates.”
I grind my teeth together and palm my stiffening cock. “Take it out. Show me.”
“You sure about that?” His voice is sultry and low, still full of sleep. Oh, I like post-nap Z far too much. He’s in for a hell of a lot more wake-up calls, next time in person. I’ll kick his door down and drop a check for the damages on the manager’s desk.
Running a hand through my hair and tugging at the ends, I reply, “So fucking sure, sunshine. Take your cock out and stroke it for me right now.”
Z hooks a thumb in his waistband. “You ever been edged before, Hails?”
My brows furrow. “What?”
Z flips the camera to his grinning face. “Enjoy your show.”
And then he hangs up on me.
I can’t help but let out a sharp laugh that echoes in the space. My dick is still hard, straining against the tight fabric of my black pants. I pace until I get myself calmed back down enough to exit the dressing room, knowing I’ll be all worked up again come time for soundcheck.
Punishment is coming, Z, I text back.
Z and I write a few solid songs together during the late evenings and early mornings we’re on the road. When Malek and Griff start whining about being lonely, we all play collectively. I know Z enjoys it, regardless of how quickly he vanishes into his shell when we’re done. Like, slowly, we’re all providing the mortar to his cracked foundation.
Hope continues to blossom in my chest that he might actually consider taking Liam’s spot at the end of the tour. I know Malek and Griff want that, too, from their little glances back and forth when they hear him tear through riffs.
And the nights we stay in a hotel? Z and I secretly end up in the same room, though we haven’t engaged in any illicit behavior since the bathroom floor incident. He’s doubled down on his iron walls, but I’m patient. I’ll win him over with overpriced DoorDash, shitty movies, and flirty texts.
This little sliver of normalcy has become something I live for when work requires us to go all the time. I honestly don’t know how Liam has the energy to work out. We do enough cardio on stage.
Z and I are watching some low-budget horror movie calledSwamp Apeas the bus rolls into Dallas, too exhausted from playing back-to-back shows to engage in any activity that involves excessive movement or brain activity.
Liam took a phone call and bailed out in his Pantera at the last gas station. I shouldn’t be surprised. We’re finally in our hometown. He’s probably got another hook-up or two waiting for him. That’s how Liam’s been since middle school. He was three years older than everyone else, having been held back a couple of times in elementary school due to some trouble with reading. Though I know the real reason was because of his home life interfering with his focus.
The first time I asked him if he’d ever consider giving a long-term relationship a try, he told me he’s never witnessed what a healthy relationship looks like.
While Liam fills the hole inside of him with meaningless sex, I’ve avoided it entirely. But I can’t lie and say I’m not a bit jealous that Liam has some connections here. Other than the occasional conversation with Stasi, I don’t really communicate with anyone outside the band.
I messaged Stasi about meeting up for dinner or lunch or whatever she has time for while we’re in town, but she left me on read, which makes me wonder if she’s ignoring me because of our parents or because she actually doesn’t want to see me. Or maybe I’m just being annoying and she’s busy with college, like she told me.
Peeking over at Z on the couch, I can’t help but want to corrupt him. I’ve never seen a rockstar or metalhead without a piercing or tattoo. Z has none that I’ve seen, and I’ve searched over every inch of his skin.
My gaze lingers on the delicate shape of his ear beneath inky curls of hair. I drink in his flawless moonlit skin, his perfect fucking profile, and the smooth column of his neck.
He’s ethereal. He reminds me of Kaname Kuran from Vampire Knight, a manga my sister used to read. Hell, I even got sucked in, trying to mold my image after the characters when I believed that’s what girls liked.
Who knew I’d be more interested in what guys liked? Or is it just Z that does it for me? It doesn’t really matter because he’s the only one that matters.
Shit, am I smitten already? Liam always teased me for falling hard and fast. Nothing I can do to stop it at this point, except figure out how to keep Z in my life for good.
Spurred on by a wild thought, I Google the nearest piercing parlor when we pull into the back of the hotel parking lot. Malek leans over my shoulder on his way to grab another beer. I shove at his head, but he comes right back like a rubber band.
“Creeper,” I accuse him.
“Are we getting a tattoo?” he asks excitedly.
Griff perks up from his sketchpad at the small table. “Fuck yeah!”
