Lyric

by Regina Frame

  "You're not going in?" I jerked in surprise and was met by the most beautiful blue eyes. They reminded me of the sky on a warm summer day. His blond hair looked messy, but in a sexy kind of way. The musky scent of his cologne tickled my nose and sent a surge of warmth all the way to my toes. My eyes traveled across his broad chest and down his tattooed arms. Holy shit, he was hot. He must be one of the roadies. I suddenly wanted to climb him like a tree.

  "I'm just waiting on my friend." I nodded toward the door, swallowing the huge lump in my throat.

  "So, why aren't you in there?"

  "It's not exactly my thing," I said, looking down at my phone, trying to ignore the sparks flying between us.

  "You don't like the band? Wait, let me guess, you're here for your friend." He cocked his head to the side, and a sexy smirk appeared on his too handsome face—blond hair falling over his right brow.

  "It's not that I don't like the band. I don't like rock stars, period. They're arrogant assholes who think they're God's gift to the universe," I replied. A guy with a headset and a clipboard walked past and gave a quick what's up nod, which blue eyes returned. His brows pinched together as if he were considering what I'd just said.

  "They kind of are, aren’t they?" He responded, sighed, and then laughed.

  He placed his hand on the doorknob and looked back at me over his shoulder. It was almost as if he wanted to say something and changed his mind.

  "You're going in?" I asked, cocking my brow this time.

  "Yeah. I guess I am. Wish me luck." He flashed me a sexy grin, before stepping inside, and letting the door close behind him.

  "Good luck with that," I mumbled to the wooden door, watching it close behind his muscular back.

  Thirty minutes later and one very excited friend, we were ushered to our assigned area near the front of the stage. We were in the middle of a sea of half-naked women. Some staggered, obviously already drunk. It was frickin’ hot in there, women were pushing and shoving to get closer to the stage, and the cover band hadn't even finished yet.

  "You should have gone in there with me. They are so unbelievably hot. I mean sex on a stick, even that Honor chick. She's beautiful. If I were a lesbian, I'd totally hit on her!" Jules giggled. "Did I show you the signatures?" She asked again for the tenth time, pulling down the low V of her t-shirt, to reveal the band’s autographs on her breasts.

  "Yes, Jules. I've seen them. You do know; those will wash off when you shower. Right?" Her smile dropped as if she'd just realized there was no Santa Claus or Easter bunny, but recovered just as quickly.

  "I'll have them tattooed on my skin!" My mouth dropped open, and I stared at her with sheer horror that she'd even consider inking their names on her skin, let alone her breasts. I couldn't imagine being intimate with someone, them sucking on my breast that bore another man's name. What the hell?

  "You're obviously not thinking straight right now because that's nuts! We'll talk about it tomorrow when your head isn't so screwed up."

  "Okay. You can talk, but I'm not promising I'll listen. I mean, after all, it's like when you sign your name on the bathroom wall. Jules wuz here! It's kind of a reminder that Levi Cross had his hands on my boobs! Wait, that didn't come out right. You know what I mean." She chewed her bottom lip, trying to come up with a better example than comparing herself to a dirty bathroom wall.

  "Yeah. I get it."

  Everyone around us screamed a high-pitched, ear-splitting scream, as the lights went down and the soft back glow of Dirty Affliction's purple guitar, lit up on the backdrop. The steady beat of a drum began, soon the sounds of a guitar and bass blended in, and the lights came up on the stage.

  There was a guy on the left side of the stage, playing guitar. He was covered in tattoos from his fingertips to his neck. He had a blue Mohawk and was wearing a pair of long, black denim shorts that stopped just below the knee, which revealed tattooed legs.

  There was a beautiful girl on the right side of the stage, playing bass. She had long, blond hair with pink streaks running through it. She was wearing a purple tank top and black skinny jeans. Her arms were also covered in tattoos.

  The drummer was at the back of the stage. He had dark hair, almost black. He lifted his tattooed arms, twirled his drumsticks between his fingers, and counted in time, just as the lead singer rose from a lift beneath the stage. Holy. Shit. It's him! It was blue eyes!

  "That's him! That's him!" Jules squealed and dug her fingers into my arm again. My heart rate sped up as I looked at him, I mean really looked at him up on that stage. His blond hair messier than before, probably from all the groupies running their fingers through it at the meet and greet. His muscles strained beneath his tight, white t-shirt with the band logo stretched across his broad chest. The colorful ink on his arms stood out underneath the stage lights like a beautiful painting on his skin. He was bigger than life and commanded the stage. I just thought it was hot in here before, but when he opened his mouth to sing and his beautiful voice floated through the crowd, a shiver ran down my spine all the way to my damp panties.

  "Hold what ya got LA, because we're gonna burn this mother fucker down! Damn, it's good to be home!" He growled into the microphone. The crowd exploded as he thrust his crotch toward the women in the front row. Hands shot up, groping, grabbing, touching anything, and every part of him, they could reach. Part of me was so turned on by wishing that I was close enough to touch him, but another part of me was disgusted just thinking about it.

  This was just one of the reasons my ex and me broke up. He started the whole groupie thing before the ink was dry on the contract. He, on the other hand, was perfectly okay with it. The proof was in the tabloids every time I went to the grocery store. New pictures, different women on the front pages grabbing some guys junk, just because they could.

  "I bet that Rock God could fuck you six-ways to Saturday," Jules shouted from beside me.

  "I believe the phrase is, 'Seven-ways to Sunday.'"

  "Nah . . . I'm pretty sure with him, you'd need a day of rest," she nodded. Now that I'd gotten a really, good look at him, I thought she was probably right, and even after the seventh day, you'd probably still have issues walking. Oh God, how I'd like to find out. I still hadn't told her that I met him backstage before the show. I thought I’d keep that tidbit for myself.

  After party

  Peyton

  The

  after party was at a very swanky hotel in downtown LA. It was known for catering to the who's, who in the entertainment industry. When we stepped inside, I was in awe at what I'd seen. It was what I imagined a party at the playboy mansion would be like. There were more half-naked women, walking around with trays filled with shot glasses containing some kind of blue, glowing drinks. Jules snatched a couple of them for us as one of the women weaved her way through the crowd.

  "Wow," Jules commented, as she grabbed my elbow and pulled me through the crowd, toward the bar across the room.

  "You can say that again." I answered, giggling nervously. I'd never in my life, been in a room with a famous person, but there must have been hundreds of them there. Not just musicians, but models, actors¸ and reality stars. "Is that Adam Levine?" My mouth dropped open, when I saw him walk through the crowd and head toward the bar on the far side of the room.

  "Where?"

  "There." I pointed across the room, where I could only see the back of his head now.

  "Come on. Let's go say hello. Maybe I can get another signature. I still have room on my right boob!"

  "Jules! Have a little respect and class. This is a label party, not some sleazy bar," I told her.

  "Peyton, You know I love you, right?"

  "Yes, and I love you too, but . . ."

  "No buts! You may choose to live under a rock, but not me. You can either walk over there with me or stay here and blend into the ugly wallpaper."

  I took a seat at the bar. "I'll wait here. Knock yourself out, but when he slaps a restraining order on your ass and you need bail
money, I'm going to pretend that I don't even know you." She rolled her eyes at me, hurried across the room, and disappeared into the crowd.

  "What can I get for you, sweetheart?" The guy behind the bar asked, flashing his bright smile, which revealed two adorable dimples. I gave him a warm smile of my own.

  "I’d like a Jack and Coke, please."

  "Make that two. Hold the Coke on one of those." My whole body flushed with heat and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, at the sound of his husky voice near my ear. A tattooed arm pressed against the bar, before he lowered himself onto the vacant stool next to me.

  "How'd you like the show?" His blue eyes danced with amusement. Damn. He just screamed sex!

  "It was okay." I said, trying to hide my smile. There's no way in hell that I'd ever admit that I’d just become a huge fan.

  "I see, you're just here for your friend, right?" He looked at the surrounding area and people around us. "Your invisible friend? Let me guess, you had imaginary friends when you were a child and it followed you into adult hood." He laughed. "You know, there are therapist for that sort of thing. I'm sure it's some kind of disorder, I just can't think of what it is at the moment." He grinned and I couldn't help but laugh.

  "I really am here with my friend and she just happens to have your name written on a very intimate area of her body," I responded with a smirk.

  "Well now, that could be any number of women in this room. You'd be surprised at the areas on the body we're asked to sign," he admitted, with no shame and a devilish smile on his too handsome face.

  "Why didn't you tell me who you were in the hallway earlier? I feel so stupid for not recognizing you. I thought you were just a fan about to enter the pits of hell in that room." I laughed and he scrunched up his nose.

  "It's kind of nice sometimes, to meet someone who doesn't recognize me. I could have stood in that crowded dark hallway and talked to you for hours about nothing. Don't get me wrong, I love . . . we love our fans, but sometimes they can get a bit crazy. Don’t even get me started on trying to walk down the street. I swear to God, that if I picked my nose right now, it'd be on social media within seconds!"

  "Ewe! I did not need that image in my brain. But, wait, let me get out my phone just in case," I laughed, and pointed my phone in his direction.

  "Peyton! That was not Adam Levine, but guess who it . . ." Jules froze mid-sentence when she recognized the sexy, tattooed man sitting next to me at the bar.

  "You're Levi Cross!" She stated, only in a high pitch voice, before placing her hand on his bicep. His blue eyes moved to her hand and then back up to her excited green ones. He smiled.

  "Yes, I am, and you are the friend, I take it." He looked at me and winked. I mouthed the word ‘sorry.’

  "Yes, I'm Peyton's friend, Jules. Not Julie, just Jules."

  "Well, just Jules. It's been awesome meeting you." He looked at her hand on his bicep again and she took the hint, dropping her hand to her side.

  "So . . . if that wasn't Adam Levine, who was it?" I asked, trying to pull her attention from Levi.

  "That's what I came over here to tell you. It was Marcus Little from 'Satan's Fire! And look . . ." She pulled down the neck of her shirt to reveal, sure enough, another name scrawled onto her right breast. Levi snorted from beside me, but Jules was too wasted to notice. "Anyway, he asked me to hang out with him, so I'm gonna do that. I just didn't want you to worry."

  "Are you sure that's such a good idea? You don't know these people, or the kinds of things they're into." I leaned in close, so that only she could hear. "Do you really want to hang out with Marcus, when Levi Cross is sitting right here? Isn't he the whole reason you wanted to be here?" She looked over to where Levi was twisting his glass of Jack on the bar top. "Nah . . . you can have him. Marcus is way more fun!" And, with that, she disappeared into the crowd.

  "Well, I can honestly say that I've never heard that one before," he responded, and quirked a brow.

  "What?" I asked.

  "That I'm no fun. That hurts you know? Right here." He placed a tattooed hand over his heart.

  "Don't pay any attention to my friend. She's drunk and besides, the whole reason she wanted to come tonight was you. After she won those tickets, she hasn't stopped talking about you for days. I'm sure she'll be back around shortly, so don't say I didn't warn you," I explained.

  "I’m not interested in your friend," he responded, and I flushed when he pinned me with those deep pools of blue.

  "Well . . . just tell her that you've got a girlfriend and she'll leave you alone. That's one thing about . . ." He placed his finger over my lips to silence me, and leaned a little closer into my space.

  "I'm interested in you, Peyton." A slow smile curled his lips, as he continued pin me with his gaze.

  I swallowed hard and said, "I don't date rock stars. Been there, and done that; didn’t work out well." I still had the scars to prove it.

  "You can't really compare us all to whoever the douche bag was that you dated. Some of us are good guys, you know." Something like hurt flashed in his eyes, and for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.

  "Like I said, I don't date people in the music industry." He watched me intently, as if he was rolling something over in his mind, and then he smiled, those blue eyes sparkling.

  "What about friends? Is there anything in your little rule book that says you can't be my friend?" A lock of blond hair fell onto his forehead and my fingers itched to reach out and brush it away.

  "What exactly would being your friend consist of? Because, if we were to do things as friends, I have a few rules of my own."

  "I see." He lifted two fingers to the bartender, a signal for two more drinks. When they were delivered, he said . . .

  "Why don't we go sit outside on the patio, so we can discuss the friend rules." He winked at me, and a tingle traveled down my spine.

  I didn't know if I was capable of being just a friend, but then I reminded myself of what happened in my last relationship. My stomach bunched into a painful knot. I definitely had to keep him in the friend zone.

  We grabbed our drinks from the counter and he wrapped his warm fingers around my elbow, leading me toward the back wall of windows. A tall blond, with big, blue eyes, and too much pink lip-gloss stopped us.

  "Levi, I've been looking everywhere for you." I tried to take a step back, but he only tightened his grip on my arm to keep me at his side.

  "I'm not very hard to find, Nina. What do you want?" His lips pulled into a tight line that told me, this was not a conversation, which I really wanted to hear.

  "Well, I haven't seen you since Vegas and I was really hoping to speak to you.”

  "We really don't have anything to talk about. We slept together for a while, but that's it," he declared.

  I, on the other hand, was feeling increasingly uncomfortable by the moment. We'd only known each other for a whole ten minutes. I didn't think that was enough time to declare someone your friend.

  She huffed at his response and straightened her spine. "Okay, then. Have it your way."

  She turned to walk away before Levi spoke again. "I'll give you two minutes and that's it,” he said, before turning to me.

  "Peyton, I need to speak with Nina. If you'll please wait for me at the bar, I'm sure this won't take long." He looked at me with uneasiness in his eyes. All I could do was nod. The moment the two of them walked away, I went in search of Jules. There was no way; I was hanging around for this. What the hell, was I thinking?

  I found Jules holed up in a corner of the room with Marcus Little. No wonder she abandoned me for him. He did look like Adam Levine, tattoos, and all. Her lips were at his ear and I had to clear my throat a couple of times to get her attention. She jumped to her feet and stood in front of me with worry on her face.

  "Peyton, is everything all right? Did something happen?"

  "No, no, it’s nothing like that. I'm not feeling well, so I just wanted to let you know that I'm headed home." She turned her
gaze back to Marcus, who looked to be stoned, by the glazed over expression on his face.

  "I can go with you." She was hesitantly letting me know that it wasn’t really okay, and what she actually wanted to do. And why should she go with me? This was more her speed than it was mine.

  "No, don't do that! You stay. I promise I'll be fine. I just need to go home and lie down. A little ibuprofen, and I'll be just fine. I swear." I gave her a weak smile.

  "If you're sure."

  "I'm sure. Go back to what you were doing." I lifted my hand toward where Marcus sat smiling up at Jules.

  She grinned at me and said, "If you insist." Jules giggled, lowered herself back onto his lap, and resumed their previous play. I pushed my way through the crowd and out to the street, where I jumped into a waiting taxi and headed for our apartment.

  Once inside, I removed my makeup and brushed my teeth, before putting on my favorite Blake Shelton t-shirt—one that I'd gotten on his last tour. I slid beneath the cool sheets and thought about how sexy Levi was. His lips were full and the perfect shade of pink. I wondered if they were as soft to touch as they looked. His blond hair was shiny, with just a little bit of curl to it and after the show, it was a complete mess, but that didn't stop me from wanting to run my fingers through it. My body felt wound tighter than a rubber band and needed some major relief.

  I ran my fingers over my already beaded nipples and lightly pinched them between my fingertips, sending a flood of heat straight to my already pulsing core. I reached into my nightstand drawer and pulled out my no fail boyfriend, B.O.B., twisting the base to turn him on. Nothing happened. Dead! Holy hell! This couldn’t be happening to me right now.

  I jumped out of bed, ran into the kitchen, and opened the junk drawer to find every size battery known to man, except the size I needed for B.O.B. I braced my hands on the counter and stared down into the drawer, hoping that somehow the double-A batteries would appear, when a knock sounded on the door. I looked at the clock on the microwave. It was after two in the morning. Jules must have been drunk off her ass and couldn't find her keys again. I opened the door expecting my friend, and came face to face with one, very, sexy rock god. His hands braced either side of the door.