by Emme Rollins
“You’re the ones with all the answers,” muttered Roger. “You should know.” He sat on the sofa, running his fingers through his hair.
My phone buzzed, and I glanced at the message. “Cars are waiting to take Roger to show.” It was from Lauren.
Ally appeared behind me. “We need to get him dressed,” she whispered.
“I’m not extending the tour. I gotta see my kid.”
The taller man said, “Something can be arranged, Mr. Stevenson, but you really should—”
“Get out! I don’t need this shit before I perform! Get the fuck out!”
I sprang to action, approaching the LiveGate execs. “Look, can we talk about this another time?” I skillfully ushered them towards the door. “Send me the revised schedule, and I’ll look it over.”
“Excuse me,” said one of the men. “But who are you?”
“I’m Lauren Web’s new assistant.” I gave him my hand. “Brandi Morrison.” He shook it limply. I handed him a business card. “Email me the information, and I’ll go over it. I’m sure something can be arranged.” We were in the hallway now, the door having shut behind us.
“Well, I’m glad someone’s in charge.”
“It’s all in hand.” I was in full business mode. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. We’re late for the concert.”
“Thank you, Ms. Morrison.”
I reached for the door. “No problem. Goodnight.” Once in the suite, Ally had managed to get Roger dressed, but he looked angry, his eyes blazing.
“I’ll go over the schedule,” I said. “Maybe something can be worked out.”
“I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“No, of course not.”
“I need some fucking tea. My throat will kill me, if I don’t gargle.” He glanced around. “Fuck! Where’s my phone?”
Lauren had entered the room. “They’re waiting. We gotta go now.”
“Fuck!” Ally struggled to get his shoes on. “Fuck this shit!”
“Can you gargle in the limo?” I asked.
“I’m going to fucking have to, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are.” I gazed at him dispassionately. “Are we ready to go?”
Lauren held open the door. “It’s now or never.” She grinned mischievously.
An enormous smile spread across my face. I was about to see Ax Stevenson perform from only a few feet away. Excitement raced through me, and my senses were on overdrive, but I was more than ready for this. Another dream was about to come true. I would not regret sleeping with this man, nor would his sour mood dampen my spirits. Surly behavior was par for the course, true to rock star form.
Roger moved by me, noticing my expression, which gave him pause. “You’re awfully happy,” he grumbled.
“I get to see you on stage. I might be an employee, Mr. Stevenson, but I’m a fan first and foremost.”
A multitude of emotions passed over his features: recognition, regret, astonishment, admiration, and something else. His eyes lingered on my mouth. “I’ll be seeing you later,” he murmured huskily, striding towards the door. “Let’s do this!”
I stood rooted to the spot, tingling all over. I’d never in my life had such an intense reaction to anyone. In my twenty-three years of being on this planet, I could only remember one time when I had experienced such a rush. I’d been out on the playground in fourth grade, where Tommy Benson and Rodney Fellows had chased me around, grabbing me, tossing me to the ground. It had been so unexpected, so wildly exciting. Even at that young age, I had appreciated the fact that males found females fascinating. I hadn’t minded that they had thrust their hands into my panties and felt my pussy. The encounter had only lasted seconds, but it had left me buzzing in naughty places, blushing, and feeling wanted and desired. Those boys followed me around from that day on, but they never had another opportunity to touch me again, which was a shame.
Roger, with his devil may care smile and roguish demeanor, reminded me of those days, of being young and free and completely liberated. As I headed for the door, I shivered with the thrill of what the evening would bring. I would embrace it all…and then some.
Chapter Five
The venue in Phoenix was outdoors, yet, as the sun had gone down, the heat of the day gradually became bearable. The dryness of the air was like sitting in a sauna. Lauren and Ally and I were in a limo, as Roger had gone ahead without us, with Denise in tow, which was irritating. I wasn’t exactly sure what he saw in her, but for appearances sakes, she looked like a rock star’s girlfriend, so at least she had that going for her, if absolutely nothing else.
Being a part of the tour, we were allowed the back entrance, which bypassed traffic, although most of the concertgoers had already arrived, as they were listening to the opening band. I could feel the energy from the thousands of people who had gathered, seeing an assortment of ages, from teens to adults, to even older people, who had dressed casually, the younger ones wearing bikini tops and cut-off shorts.
There were several semi trucks parked, idling, along with official tour buses and other vehicles. The roadies had arrived the night before, unloading the equipment and setting up the sound and lighting. They worked most of the day, up until the opening band, where things were then tweaked to perfection before Trash took to the stage. It was a tireless job, incredibly long hours, tedious, and low paying, but that was the life of a roadie, and most didn’t mind, as they were young and in it for the thrill.
Trash was preparing to get on stage; the roar of the crowd echoed off the hallway, as we hurried to the dressing rooms, passing people who wore official-looking badges with picture I.D.’s. Lauren, Ally, and I had something similar hanging from our necks, but our access was unrestricted, because we were with the band, after all. This idea thrilled me to no end; my senses were on high alert, my tummy flipping over with excitement.
“They’re almost on!” Lauren glanced at her phone. “Woot! Here we go!”
There seemed to be a maze of hallways, then a checkpoint, which we breezed through, heading for the dressing rooms, but they were empty, the band having taken the elevator up, getting ready to make their entrance. We rushed towards the stairs, not bothering with the elevator, because it was crowded with record company execs and their entourages. Bursting through the door, we were in another hallway, the thunder of the crowd resonating with whistles, screams, clapping hands, and stomping feet. It was organized bedlam at its best, and the night had only just begun.
Security stopped us, but, seeing our passes, they let us through, and we neared the edge of the stage, where dozens of people loitered, some with headphones on, others making last minute lighting changes. The band consisted of Todd Braxton on drums, Ricky Rocker on base, and Steven Bale on lead guitar, but Ax played guitar as well, and there were a trio of background singers, wearing black dresses, waiting for their cue. I could just see Roger, who was having a conversation with his road manager, and it looked tense. Within moments, the crowd erupted into pandemonium, the band was seconds away from appearing, and, when they were announced, the screams of thousands of women suddenly filled my ears, high-pitched and volatile.
Roger strolled onto the stage holding his guitar, smiling, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Wearing tight, torn jeans and a black t-shirt, which had been a last minute change, he shouted, “Are you ready to rock tonight?” The response was instantaneous, the screams were shrill and ear splitting, but it was music to everyone’s ears, considering that Trash had only been ten minutes late. Now they were ready to set the venue on fire, which is exactly what happened when the first notes of Born Wild began to play, the drummer laying down the beat, rhythmic and bold. This had been their first hit, and it had started the insanity. A fan favorite, it was the perfect opener to what would be the beginning of a string of familiar and awesome songs.
Ally and Lauren and I decided to let loose, ordering drinks and dancing, getting into the spirit of things, indulging in the party. Our work for the day was done. We had ea
ch played an integral part in the successful evening, along with hundreds of other people whose job it was to see the band on stage and performing. I loved the excitement; I loved being so close to the action, only fifteen feet away from Roger, who strode from one end of the stage to the other, sometimes reaching out and touching fans. It was his ability to engage the public that had made him into the huge star he was today; his sex appeal, his rawness, it all came across, and the women loved it. It was what had made me a fan as well, that and the music.
All looks and no talent wasn’t something that I valued, and, if he had been only a hot guy in torn jeans, that would not have been enough. Fortunately, I loved his music; I loved the songs he had written. As Kill me, Bitch began, I got goose bumps up and down my arms, knowing that this song was the most popular piece of music in the world right now. It played on nearly every rock station from coast to coast. It had hit number one on the top 40 charts in both rock and pop, and it was about to send thousands of women into a climax of screams, as several pairs of underwear suddenly found their way onto the stage.
The song was about Roger’s breakup with his wife, and it was filled with the passion of his anger; the lyrics were a cry of pain, the broken heart of someone who had been blindsided and hurt by love. I started to sing right along with Ally and Lauren, who were now jumping up and down, just as excited as the teen girls in the front row.
You kill me, bitch
You said we’d be together
Lying, thieving, bitch
We had a moment; sparks seemed to fly
But he caught your eye
Now kill me, bitch
Kill, kill, kill me, bitch
When I see your face, I remember
The way you were in my eyes
Until you let him in
Lying, thieving, bitch
You took my heart in your hands
Now kill me, bitch
Kill, kill, kill, me, bitch
When you wake up alone
Don’t call me, don’t text
I’ve got no love for you
Lying, thieving, bitch
He’s got your heart in his hands
Now kill me, bitch, Kill, kill, kill, me bitch
“That was awesome!” shouted Ally. “God, they eat that shit up. Look at ‘em.”
There were women who were trying to rush the stage, tearing off, racing towards Roger, who grinned and sidestepped them, while burly security guards swooped in, taking them away. Several inflatable beach balls had been blown up; the audience knocked them into the air, bouncing them from person to person. The sharp, tangy aroma of marijuana filled my senses along with the alcoholic beverages I had drunk. Chemicals were rushing through my bloodstream, and nothing had ever felt so good. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Denise talking to one of the sound people; her smile was flirty, but she looked unsteady on her feet.
Ally and I danced, bumping and grinding, laughing and smiling, while a new song began. Roger neared, grasping one of the guitars, slinging it over his shoulder and winking at me. I felt like a giddy child, over-excited and nearly out of control, and I didn’t want the night to end, loving the way my tummy quivered whenever Roger looked at me. It hardly mattered that I didn’t fit the stereotype of what a rock-loving chick looked like. I danced and shook my ass with the best of them, my cleavage bouncing with the movement of my hips. I’d be sore tomorrow…but it was worth it.
It was a madhouse backstage after the show. There had been an encore, as expected, and then the members of Trash and their entourage were escorted to waiting limos, but the vehicles were actually decoys. Roger and Ally and I were shepherded onto a tour bus, while Denise arrived a moment later, bleary-eyed and unaware. Someone had to carry her onto the bus, leaving her on the sofa.
“Where’s my fucking phone?” she mumbled.
The other band members vacated the premises in vans and cars, while the limos began a procession towards the gates, where hundreds of screaming fans waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ax Stevenson. Little did they know that the limos were empty. The tour bus took a different route, heading towards a rear exit.
Lauren texted me. “See you in Texas.”
We had a thousand miles until we reached our destination; the Petty Thieves Tour opted to use both private jets and tour buses. This leg of the trip would be on wheels, which suited me fine. I was fond of road trips. Someone had brought my things, the one piece of luggage I had. The logistics had been arranged with near military precision. I was exhausted, yet exhilarated and high, having bummed some cannabis off a roadie earlier.
“I’m hitting the shower,” said Roger. He disappeared down a tiny hallway leading to a bedroom, bath combo.
Ally and I sat at a table; she had a laptop open. “That kicked ass.” Her expression was buoyant. “It’s always such a rush watching them live. Almost makes up for all the other bullshit.”
“I thought he’d have a ton of girls with him.” My impression had been of a hard partying, sex maniac rocker. Where was the party? Where were the women?
“What do we look like? Chump change?” she laughed.
Denise had passed out, her arm hanging over the edge of the sofa. “I’m just surprised we’re with him.” An ever-increasing amount of anticipation coursed through my veins. What exactly did the night hold in store for me? I couldn’t wait to find out.
“He’s not the slut you think he is.”
I leaned nearer, wanting to hear what she had to say. “Yeah?”
“He, well,” she gazed at me, “he was with you today, so maybe he’s slipping, but he’s usually a one-girl guy. She’s been stoned for a month now.” She pointed at Denise. “He’s gotta let her go, seriously. She needs a detox center, not a tour bus.”
“That’s too bad.” Denise’s condition was troublesome, but it really wasn’t my problem, nor did I particularly care.
“I’m just glad she didn’t get him back to his old habits. I was really worried about that. She’s bringing in the drug dealers, and that shit’s not cool.”
“What old habits?” I had heard the rumors: the meltdown in Georgia, the stint in rehab, and the bad publicity.
“Shit went down a couple of months ago. We didn't even think there would be a tour. Clair started seeing Lenny Steel, and Roger found out. He went ape-shit. It was bad. I’ve never seen anyone so angry. So she takes the kid and leaves him, and he just lost it. He was high and drunk for three months. Then there was that night in Georgia.” She shook her head. “He fucked up a hotel room before overdosing. He almost died.”
That had made headlines for weeks. “He seems a lot better.”
“Sharon got him into rehab, but it was rough. He broke out of the facility and followed Clair to London. Then he beat the living shit outta Lenny.” She sat back in the chair. “He’s lucky he didn’t go to prison. Lenny refused to press charges.”
“Then he went back to rehab.”
“Yep. He’s been off coke ever since, but he still drinks, but not so bad.”
“Are you talking about me?” Roger appeared with wet hair and a towel wrapped around an impossibly toned midriff.
“Um…” I murmured. We had been caught gossiping. “Not really.”
“Bullshit,” he laughed, glancing at Denise. “Looks like she’s cooked.”
I got to my feet, trying my best to appear as professional as possible. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Stevenson. It won’t happen again.”
His grin was disarming. “I need to have a word with you, Ms. Morrison. Could you step into my office, please?”
He meant his bedroom, which sent my pulses racing and my adrenaline levels soaring. “Sure.”
Chapter Six
The tour bus was really a converted semi truck, equipped with every amenity imaginable and a few that had yet to be invented. The floor was marble, the countertops were granite, and recessed lighting cast a muted glow over the white lacquered furniture. Roger’s bedroom was modernly decorated with beige draperies, a
tan bedspread, and a built-in, king-sized bed with plush pillows. It took up the entire space. There were drawers and cabinets hidden in the walls along with a sound system that played smooth jazz, which was surprising. For a hard rocker with a slightly seedy reputation, he seemed to enjoy a certain amount of elegance.
“Nice.”
I eyed myself in a wall full of mirrors, having a moment of doubt. This room had probably entertained the most amazing-looking naked women on the planet: super models, starlets, and groupies, to name a few, and here I was, big-boned, buxom, and about as far from a size zero as you could get.
His arms went around me. “It is nice.”
I turned, gazing at him. “I think…we should probably keep this professional. This is only my first day on the job, and I’ve…um…already broken some rules.” Oh, my God! That was an understatement. If I were a religious woman, I’d need to spend the next week in confession.
He grinned. “Yeah, but you had help.”
“I was warned about you, but this is ridiculous. Did you sleep with Sharon’s last assistant?”
His features revealed disgust. “I’m easy, darlin’, but not that easy. No.” His laughter was disarming. The towel around his waist dropped to the carpeted floor. “Oops.”
I remembered the feel of his cock all too well. It was a magnificent organ, long and thick and…I had to stop thinking like this. “Uh, okay. What was it you wanted to talk about?”
“We both know talking isn’t really on the agenda. You’re way too overdressed for this.” Heat flared in his look.
It was an effort not to glance at his cock. “I…really shouldn’t—”
“Shush,” he soothed. “I’ve been thinking about what you look like naked for two hours now. I’m gonna go crazy, if I can’t see for myself. I have a feeling the reality is going to eclipse the fantasy.”
“You were thinking about me during the show?” I tried not to be flattered, but…oh, wow!