Dirty Duet (Found in Oblivion Book 3)

by Cari Quinn

  Groupie-in-training Lauren? Did not give half a fuck.

  She slid her arm through Ethan’s and turned toward him, grabbing his other arm as the song built to its ultimate drum solo conclusion. The bass throbbed through the floor, thousands of feet increasing the beat until the pulse echoed through her body. She swore she could feel it in every part of her.

  Ethan resisted at first as he always did, then gave her a careless grin and pulled her in front of him, dancing behind her with the requisite amount of space between their bodies. They did not grind, and that worked for her. Neither of them had problems with boundaries, but contact high and people making out a few feet in front of them could do some crazy things to a libido.

  That had to be why she slid away from Ethan and leaned forward into the next row, shaking her hair—oops, not her own, better be careful—as she gyrated her tits and her ass. It was just about having a good time with a million of your closest friends.

  Everybody did this, right? Probably. The ones who knew how to have fun anyway.

  She was just a late bloomer. In all the ways.

  Funny how the worst moment of your life could bring you to the doorstep of some of your happiest, but there she was. Dancing her butt off, laughing with her trying-to-be-stern best friend who was sort of dancing with her and sort of trying to keep her from total exposure. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he whipped off his own shirt and dropped it over her head.

  Warning Sign’s crazy keyboardist, West, slammed the keys and headbanged as if his spine and neck were detachable. He danced in place while he pounded the keys, tossing the crowd a crazy grin as he brought the song to its end and lifted his hand in the air. “Who’s ready to get naked?” he yelled, before launching into the beginning notes of their biggest hit so far, “All Night Long.”

  Score. Lauren grinned. See, she knew her stuff. It was as if she was a real fan. Which she basically was now.

  Paper or no paper.

  Lauren let out a little screech and sidled past Ethan, who snagged her wrist and lifted his brows. Some of the girls were crowding toward the end of the aisle, and she’d been headed that way too. Ethan shook his head and she pulled him with her the few feet that were open, waving her free arm over her head and circling her hips. This wasn’t a party song like the first one, more of a makeout jam, but she was still pretty amped from the last one so she couldn’t seem to rein in her movements. They were more frenetic than sexual—or so she thought—but when Ethan cupped her hips, she inched away from him, arms above her head, body still moving. Finding a space where she could groove on her own.

  “Y’all are all too fucking dressed. I’m too hot,” West yelled, jumping up on his piano bench and tugging up his white T-shirt.

  “Yes, you are!” Thousands of girls echoed back.

  He jumped off the bench, kicking it back a few feet. “Are you hot? C’mon, tell me, are you hot?” he shouted, running to the edge of the stage and cupping a hand over his ear.

  Lauren grinned at his antics—this guy was always a nut—and cheered her enthusiasm with everyone else.

  “Yes, you are. You’re all hot. What a goddamn gorgeous crowd. Tell you what.” West shot a glance over his shoulder at the obviously peeved lead singer, Molly, who had crossed her arms and was tapping her boot while the guitarists kept the music going for this extended interlude. “Let’s lose some of these layers. Winter is fucking over!” He reached behind his head and peeled off his shirt, giving the audience a glimpse of sweaty rippling abs before he let the shirt fly.

  Within seconds, it was in shreds as screaming girls scrambled to get a piece of him.

  Lauren smiled triumphantly. That little episode was so going in her project.

  Fan response on high. Artist uses engagement methods to make groupies react in way intended to build fan frenzy.

  As the shrieking reached fever pitch and West teetered on the edge of the stage, Lauren sucked in a breath.

  Artist is successful. Holy shit.

  “Now it’s your turn. Who’s going to get naked and party with me…all night long?”

  Lauren gasped as West seemed to fly into the crowd, held up by dozens of invisible hands. He outstretched his arms, surfing to the beat now coming back to vibrant life on stage. Molly gripped the microphone and began to sing, but she sounded closer to pissed off than turned on.

  Not that it mattered. Half naked West was being passed from fan to fan, his face alight with his grin. Lauren was so close to him she could practically touch him. Damn, he was coming right her way. How could this be happening? The radio station had come through in a big way on the tickets, but they were off to the side of the stage, not dead center.

  But it was as if he was aiming right for her.

  Her, the virginal dork who hadn’t even been to a rock concert until she was tossed out of college.

  Who was shaking her damn ass as if it was her job right now, because it almost kind of was.

  Lauren rocked her hips and pumped her arms, losing herself in the music as the intrinsic rhythm she’d rarely let surface sprung to the forefront. When the crowd’s screams built to a roar in her section, she did what a bunch of the girls clustered at the end of the aisle and spread out in front and behind them already had.

  She grabbed the placket of buttons on her shirt and ripped them open, letting out a war cry of relief as the breeze from a ton of moving bodies finally caressed her sweat-soaked skin. She tugged the shirt down her arms and whipped it over her head like a flag before tossing it behind her, only barely aware of Ethan catching it.

  Hell yes, she was getting naked, and she was going to enjoy every second.

  Chapter Two

  Security guys charged over from the side section. West Reynolds waved at them as he melted into the surge of people. Hands passed him along the middle section and over to the aisle. West knew if he ended up on the aisle, he’d be pulled down.

  No way was he getting hemmed in by Grouchy and Bitchy—his personal pet names for the humorless head of security and his lackey. That jackass had already gave him a side eye during soundcheck.

  Who the hell was that girl?

  West went into crab-mode to get the crowd to turn him. He reached out and the chunk of hair he lost was worth it. A girl—no, she was a woman, thank fuck—whipped off her bright green shirt as she sang every lyric.

  He swallowed down the groan at skin on display. It wasn’t an unusual thing at a show—hell, there were a dozen women right in the section who were wearing far less, but none of them quite so uninhibited. Beautiful women at shows tended to move around as little as possible so they could keep their hair and makeup intact.

  This girl?

  Not even close. Sweat gleamed on her neck and the valley of her truly awe-inspiring breasts. The guy next to her didn’t look at all pleased with her antics. Go on with your bad self, girl.

  With one last grin down at the brunette in front of him, he was handed across the front of the stage. Too bad, he’d like to look at her for a little longer. Even if it was only to take bets if the pretty pink straps of her bra contraption held in those puppies.

  He saluted her, then waved at the camera arm hovering over him as he let the crowd take him where they wanted. The scent of pot, sweat, and about nineteen different perfumes clawed at him as much as the fingers tearing at his skin.

  Just another day in his crazy life.

  A goddamn perfect crazy life.

  Minus a few scratches maybe.

  He put his arms out and laughed. Down three rows, over five, up two—he was a human Etch-A-Sketch.

  He glanced up at the stage and sure enough, he was on the big screen. Molly had climbed onto the drum riser trying to bring attention back onto her.

  No such luck.

  He’d pay for that, of course.

  But right then, he didn’t care. He was away from the hot lights of the stage and among the people. His very favorite place to be. Well, at least if there wasn’t a keyboard involved.
<
br />   He slapped hands, lost a few too many chunks of hair, and laughed the whole way across the arena.

  Shirts in every size known to man were pelted at him. Bras, no bras—his head whipped around at that one. The pretty Asian girl was pretty much just a pair of nipples, but tits were tits as far as he was concerned. He gave her a thumbs up, which scored a shriek.

  As he made his way back to the front stage, he rolled over onto his stomach and made exaggerated swim strokes. The crowd went wild.

  Fuck, was there anything more exhilarating?

  His side of the stage came into sight. Maybe he’d see the hot chick with the dark hair and holy shit boobage again. Did she lose her bra?

  Did her man drag her out of there?

  No, wait—there she was.

  No way he’d forget those tits anytime soon. Hot damn. They were still strapped in, but her arms were up and she was dancing to Mal’s pounding drum beat along with Michael and Elle’s dueling guitars.

  He hoped his tongue hadn’t rolled out like Wile E. Coyote. Just wow. He could admit he enjoyed the bountiful breasts of a babe, but she was seriously stacked. The pink strappy thing was almost the same color as her pale skin. But there was a distinct difference—and he was pretty sure the rosy half dollar-sized nipples showing through the fragile lace were going to make him a little crazy.

  The tip of his tongue buzzed in reaction. He’d love to work those tight little tips and see just how much darker they got.

  Okay, back up that thought. No need to get a boner while he was getting handed around.

  Michael rushed to the front of the stage and pointed at West with a shake of his head. West rolled onto his back once more, stretched his arms out wide, and gave him a shit-eating grin. He knew he was a crazy motherfucker, but Michael loved him for it. Back in the day, they’d done all sorts of insane pranks and antics, but now his best friend was settled down with one-point-eight-five kids. Michael’s wife was a month away from drop-kicking kid number two out of her body. Honestly, if West saw another sonogram picture he was going to decoupage copies all over the bus.

  Of course knowing Michael, he’d love it.

  Might be worth it to see what Malachi—Michael’s older brother and their drummer—would do. Living in close quarters for the last month had been anything but boring. He was pretty sure Mal was about eight seconds from torching the bus with everyone on it.

  His band, Warning Sign, was guest starring during the last leg of Brooklyn Dawn’s Heartless tour. The objective was to push interest for their next album. Though, honestly, he wasn’t sure how that was supposed to happen since they couldn’t even agree on a name for the damn thing.

  It was in for the first round of mixes, then the band would go in and see what the producer had put together. He was nervous and excited, all wrapped around a ball of energy. And seriously, he was running out of ways to get rid of it.

  Lila had warned him about crowd surfing twice this week. Too bad the fans were starting to expect it, and he definitely got off on the love in the crowd. The more he did it, the more they went wild for it. Hell, they were sharing YouTube, Snaps, and Instagram clips now more than ever. Maybe tomorrow night, he’d grab a phone and do one from his point of view.

  Maybe a GoPro?

  That would be fucking cool. He could borrow Denver’s bike helmet. Their insane bus driver had her mountain bike strapped to the front grill of the bus. She was forever disappearing once they were settled in for soundcheck. He didn’t even know where she went, only that she came back and knew every road like a storm chaser. In fact, she only trusted maps—not the GPS like everyone else on the planet. She was seriously impressive.

  Actually, kinda his hero.

  The entire tour had been one crazy stop after another. He couldn’t wait to see what the next four weeks would be like. Now, he just had to get through this show without getting thrown out of said awesome band.

  Between Molly and Lila, their manager, he was always in hot water.

  He came around again to the front and spotted the girl with the dark hair again. Man, her mouth and spectacular tits were going to star in a few fantasies tonight.

  “Would you like to rejoin us on stage, West?”

  His attention returned to the stage. Molly filled the main screen. She was sitting on Mal’s drum riser and the gypsy scarves that adorned her microphone stand fluttered around her thighs. She’d tipped down the mic and sat in front of Mal’s huge fan for maximum attention, of course. Her wild honey curls floated around her shoulders as if she was in a Lita Ford video.

  She looked calm, but he knew she was seething. If there was one thing their vocal princess hated, it was being upstaged.

  Michael swung his guitar around his back and reached for West.

  Play time was over. Time to finish up the set. He clasped Michael’s hand and monkeyed his way over the speakers lining the front of the stage.

  He turned around and blew kisses to the crowd. The house lights were up and bright so he could see for miles. So many faces. The majority of them had come for Brooklyn Dawn, but Warning Sign had converted their fair share. They were gaining a name for themselves and their own fans. As evidenced by the rainbow of bras that dotted the landscape now.

  He spotted his favorite brunette again. He didn’t even think, he jogged to the edge of the stage and down the stairs to the aisle. She’d been boxed in before, but the girls on her opposite side had dispersed. He ran down to her, and pulled her from the crowd of fans. Eyes wide, the girl gripped his hand and followed him. The fans murmured and shouted the closer the two of them got to the stage.

  West glanced back at her. She clutched his hand with both of hers, her smile wide and bright. Her eyes were the same gray-blue of the skies of Seattle.

  He didn’t have a clue what he was going to do with her, but good goddamn.

  He dragged her up the stairs with him and Michael swore as he ran back to the center of the stage to do damage control. Juliet had sidled up behind Molly and slapped her bass as she grinded against her.

  Girl-on-girl action always fueled the crowd.

  West took that window to lead the fan over to his piano and stood her to the far side. “Stay there, sweetheart. Or it’s both our asses.” He plucked a hair tie from the stand next his setup. It was littered with picks, two different tambourines, a cow bell, and a harmonica.

  He turned to her as he pulled his hair into a bun at the top of his head.

  “So that’s a man-bun.”

  West grinned. “That’s a man-bun.”

  She tilted her head, completely at ease with her half-naked self. She was wearing skintight black pants and crazy girl shoes that never quite made sense to him. Heel, but not a heel. Like Frankenstein and Wonder Woman had lost a bet.

  Hot though.

  But man, it was the bra thing that held his attention. She had endless curves and a long line of freckles dusting her shoulders and across her chest. He’d be really happy if he got to taste every one of them.

  “Know ‘Chopsticks’?” It was a longshot, but what the hell. He could cover for her as long as she made a good show of it.

  Her full red lips quirked up at the corners. “I should be able to handle it.”

  “Yeah? You sure?” He waved her over to the piano.

  “Fire away, Piano Man.”

  He grinned and pounded on the end of the keyboard. She counted across the keys and answered his easy melody.

  Molly flew across the stage. “Boring!”

  West looked up at her. “I’m playing here.”

  “Better song.”

  He quickened the pace of the song and moved down to the next octave. The girl followed him, then moved into the more difficult version of “Chopsticks”. He grinned and they went faster, her fingers going from stiff to the supple grace of someone who’d had a million lessons.

  His own knuckles throbbed from the memory of the smack of a ruler from his teacher, Miss Drummond.

  They raced over the keys
and she outplayed him on every turn until finally West slammed his hands down on the keys, changing it out from “Chopsticks” to “Bennie and the Jets”.

  She laughed and matched him key change for key change.

  She was all laughter and fun with lips that reminded him of hot, sweaty nights. She bumped him with her hip and slipped her arm under his to take over the middle of his upright piano.

  No one took over playing his piano, and yet he didn’t have the heart to push her away. Not when her fingers flew over the old, worn ivories. She shut her eyes as she reached the solo, playing as if she’d done it a dozen times before.

  Her hair slid around his chest and her breast pressed against his arm as she reached for a note. Full, soft, and firm—they were like every sin packaged in an innocent pink wrapper made to tease him.

  He looked down at her. She didn’t even notice how naked she was. She was into the song so completely that Mal couldn’t stop himself from slamming the skins in time to her pounding.

  West raced to keep up with her, but eventually, he just stood back and enjoyed the show. He turned to the crowd just to make sure he didn’t look like a slack-jawed ape. If he had to watch her tits bounce any longer, he was going to do something stupid like curve around behind her to show her just how she’d affected him.

  Instead he turned so his back was to hers and matched her speed on his electric keyboard. The crowd clapped, Mal kept the beat, and Molly finally capitulated and sang the words.

  Their singer was front and center of the stage with the entire crowd waving their arms.

  “Put a little rock on it?” he asked his new favorite pianist.

  She flicked a look over her shoulder and slammed harder. She cozied up against West’s back and rolled her head against his shoulders. She sang along with Molly. Her voice was messy and imperfect, but full of passion.

  So much so that he couldn’t help but follow along.

  The song finally ended and she swung around with a huge grin and hugged him. All that lace and vibrating excitement against his bare chest.

  Fuck.

  “What’s your name?” he asked. Damn, he hoped he didn’t sound as broken and out of breath as he felt. She yelled something, but he couldn’t hear her over the screaming fans and his monitors. He flipped one side out of his ear as he bent to her. “What?”