That made Brandon feel like an adult…like he belonged.
“Have a seat, bud.” The guy wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Brandon didn’t blame him. Even though the bus had air conditioning, the heat had permeated the small space, and that many bodies made for slight discomfort. Enough booze, though, and no one there seemed to mind.
Brian brought a bottle of beer to Brandon, holding the neck towards him, the cap already removed. “Since it’s legal here, you might as well get started.” Brian’s white teeth flashed with a huge grin and he winked—because he probably knew Brandon had been telling tales…and he wasn’t about to call his bluff.
“Thanks, dude.” Brandon wasn’t about to disappoint, so he put the cool bottle to his lips. Just the fact that it was nice and cold was good reason to swallow it down. He wasn’t going to mention it, but he’d only ever had beer once or twice before. He let the cool liquid flow over his tongue and down his throat, and it wasn’t until he swallowed that he tasted it. He’d forgotten about the strange taste of the stuff—not bitter but definitely not sweet. Not sour, either—that was the stuff of fermentation, a flavor Brandon was just beginning to appreciate. He’d remembered his dad saying years ago that alcohol was an acquired taste—and Brandon wouldn’t be completely adult until he’d developed it.
Which meant it was time to let the drinking commence.
Another solid gulp.
“Good stuff, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s when you’ll know your band has made it, man—when you stop buying the cheap shit that tastes like you could run your Harley on it.” He held out the bottle again, tapping Brandon’s, and said, “Cheers.” Then Brian sat on a chair across the room.
In seconds, Brandon’s bottle was almost empty and he still felt fine. He wanted to tell Kyle he had no problems holding his liquor, but she’d see it for herself soon enough. Dane ran his hand through his short brown hair and said, “Hot enough for ya?”
“I’ll get used to it.”
“Shit. I don’t think I can. The only saving grace will be the fans they got blowing on me anyway.”
Brandon nodded. He knew that, during some of the hottest places they played, he was usually the coolest band member—and that was because he too had three huge fans pointing straight at him from different angles, cooling his sweat and keeping his body temperature down, while his bandmates had to cool themselves off by running around the stage. “Yeah, that’ll definitely help.”
“Then I’ll have other fans blowing me after the show—but those ones’ll heat me up.” Dane winked and laughed, and when Brandon got the joke, he nearly spat out the mouthful of beer in his mouth.
But he realized then that he had an opportunity. “Can I ask you a question? You know…man to man?” He never would have even taken the chance had he not trusted Dane, having chatted the guy a few times before.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Do you…have a problem picking up girls?”
Dane’s brown eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead. “In school, yeah. You have to be prepared to be rejected four times out of five…but, as a rock star, you have your pick. It’s still bullshit. I mean, you know, most of ‘em want to be with the singer or the guitarist, but the ones who love drummers?” Dane downed his last swig of beer before slamming the bottle on the small table next to the couch. “Sweetest pussy ever.” He stood and walked the few steps to the fridge to fetch more beer.
Brandon wanted to ask him how—how did he get these girls?—but he knew that Kyle and crew had effectively put up a protective shell around him, and everyone, from the bus driver to the roadies, kept him safe.
He didn’t want to be safe. He wanted to feel the touch of a woman.
No. Women. He wanted to have some fun experiences before settling down. And, right then and there, he decided that getting laid in Vegas was Brandon’s main goal. So when Dane handed Brandon another bottle of beer and asked, “What about you, man? Any problems?” Brandon had a ready answer.
“Nope. Sweetest pussy ever.”
Dane laughed and slapped him on the upper arm. “That’s the spirit. Now let’s empty that fridge.”
Chapter Three
If someone had shoved wads of gauze in Brandon’s mouth chased with sprinkles of sand, it wouldn’t have felt nearly as dry or pasty as it did now. But that didn’t change the fact that his eyelids felt like they were lined in lead, and he could no more open them than he could move. In fact, if he hadn’t known better, he might have thought one of the guys on the bus had slipped him some roofies.
But he did know better. He knew in the haze that he’d had way too much beer. In fact, he’d drunk so many, he lost count.
Oh, and pot. Yeah, pot wasn’t legal everywhere in the states, but that didn’t mean people weren’t carrying it. Or smoking it.
Rock stars, that was.
And so he’d indulged. Anything the members of Last Five Seconds threw at him, he took. Now, on that floor, his thoughts drifted in and out, but he remembered beer, chased by lime-flavored shots of tequila, followed by several tokes of weed. He couldn’t remember placing his face on the floor of the living room area in the LFS bus, but here his face rested—along with the rest of his lanky body.
Most of the din had died down by now. He had a memory of Kyle trying to wake him up to get him back to their bus, but Clay had told her not to worry. They’d keep her drummer safe.
Now, though, in the wee hours of the morning, Brandon felt like he had most definitely overindulged—and he couldn’t open his eyes, nor could he stir. All he could do was lie there and hope he could fall back asleep till the sun was up.
“I’m going to bed, Clay.”
“Be right there, babe.”
Brandon recognized the voices of the LFS guitarist and his girlfriend, and he could even feel her quiet footsteps on the floor of the bus as she walked near him before heading toward the back. Brandon couldn’t tell how many people were still in the room but, based on how quiet it had grown, he imagined there were few left.
“I like Kyle’s band. I’m glad they joined us.” It took Brandon a second, but he finally recognized Brian’s voice.
“Yeah. Me, too.” Clay. That was Clay again. “She’s a hell of a guitarist. Imagine what she’ll be like by the time she’s my age.”
“You mean when she’s ancient?” Laughter. “She’s fucking hot, too. Wouldn’t mind asking her out.”
“Don’t touch, man. She’s been dating the bassist from Death Crunch for a while. You wouldn’t have a chance.”
“What? I’m chopped liver?”
“Nah. You’d be rebound boy. And trust me from experience—there are some relationships you don’t dare even try to get in between.”
“Le sigh.” Brandon could hear Clay chuckle at Brian, but the man wasn’t done talking. “Still…I’d love a girlfriend like Kyle. She’s not just hot, but she’s an amazing musician. Seems a little rough around the edges sometimes, but I like that, too.”
“You just got it bad, man. And you, sir, are also on the rebound. Someone like Kyle would be a good idea—get you away from the stupid models. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t. Let’s see how well you think when some hottie stands in front of you in a bra and panties and shakes her moneymaker till your tongue touches the floor.”
The guys were laughing when the door opened. Brandon heard the sound but also felt a gust of hot air, along with voices and feet clomping on the floor. He was still too numb and paralyzed, but he suspected his head was going to be hurting badly when he got up.
“Aw, c’mon, Sammy!” Brandon recognized the nasally voice that belonged to the lead singer’s clingy girlfriend, a woman named Debbie.
Sam, the lead singer, spoke so loudly, it felt like Brandon could feel it rather than hear it. “Dammit, Debbie, not again.”
“I bet Clay would do it. Or Brian.”
“Um, no. As in fuck, no.”
Clay said, “What the h
ell are you guys going on about?”
Sam said, “Debbie’s desperate for some three-way action. Now, man, you know I love you, but I don’t wanna suck your dick—and I don’t wanna see my girlfriend sucking your dick. You understand…”
Brian’s laughter filled the room, but Brandon could still hear Debbie talking. “That’s not what I mean, Sam, and you know it.” When Brian stopped laughing, Debbie said, “Have either of you guys ever had a threesome?”
“Oh, God.”
Brian said, “Clay practically invented them.”
“Shut the fuck up, man. I have a girlfriend now.”
More laughter. “Sorry, Sam’s right. You’re a nice girl, Debbie, but no threesomes among friends.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Okay, look, Brian—when you and Cookie were dating, would you have done a three-way if she’d asked?”
“With one of her hot model friends? Yeah, probably…”
“And what about you, Clay? Do you and Emily—”
“Enough, Debbie. Sorry, guys. She’s—”
“Knock it off, Sam. I know you want another girl with us because that’s what you want. That’s what you always want. Isn’t that what all guys want?”
“No.”
Even baked, Brandon could hear the circular logic—or, rather, lack of logic in Debbie’s words. He would have started laughing had his face not melted into the floor—and had he not felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. But here were three super-famous rock stars, and the lead singer’s girlfriend was trying to invite another woman into the mix. And Brandon…well, he would have been happy to have just one woman. One. God…it was going to happen over this weekend, no matter what. It had to.
Soon enough, Brandon passed out again. The last thing he could remember was Debbie storming down the hall crying, and Clay saying his girlfriend had been waiting long enough.
Now, sometime later, he could move, though.
As he sat up, his brain recorded all the aches he’d acquired from being splayed on the unforgiving floor for far too long—stiff legs, a sore shoulder, one ear that felt like it was bent out of shape and numb, a crusty cheek.
Shit.
Kyle and Jake were gonna kill him.
The worst part was his head. It felt like a bee had stung him smack in the top and dumped its poison inside, making the entire ball swell up like a balloon.
He heard a groan and then realized it was coming out of his throat. He was finally sitting up all the way and he gingerly brought his knees up so he could fold his arms over them and then rest his forehead on the makeshift table he’d make with his body. It was then when he felt his phone, pressed up against his butt through the back right pocket, buzz.
It was probably a text from Kyle or, worse yet, Mollie, asking where the hell he was.
But as he lifted his phone, he saw that it was only five-thirty in the morning. That alone would explain why he felt so shitty. Surely, another few hours, spent in a soft bed this time, would help him feel loads better.
He rubbed his eyes so he could read the text.
Hey, cutie. I know where you are.
He blinked. Who the hell was this? He looked at the number, but it wasn’t familiar at all. The text wasn’t from someone in his contacts. If his head hadn’t been throbbing so badly, he might have been able to ponder it more, but for now sleep was a priority. He stumbled out of the bus into the steamy morning, glad it wasn’t Hades hot yet, and searched for his band’s bus. For now, that damn black bus was home, and his tiny bed awaited him.
Chapter Four
Ten-thirty AM. That was more like it. Brandon stretched as well as he could in the confines of his bunk, and though he wasn’t positive, he was pretty sure his head felt a thousand times better. He took a deep breath, realizing he felt sticky again from the heat surrounding him, but as he slid out of his bed and onto the floor in the hallway of the bus, he felt his skin cool with the air blowing around the interior.
Yeah…his head felt sluggish and thick but not like it had been squeezed in a vice. He made his way to the facilities, and after several minutes under a lukewarm shower, he felt almost human.
Definitely good enough to play the drums tonight and, he hoped, a little wiser than the night before. He wouldn’t tell her, but he knew now that Kyle was right. Partying seemed fun but the morning after was not. And he knew he hadn’t even done half the shit he could have. If he’d felt that crappy after beer and pot and a little tequila, who knew how the hell he’d feel after harder stuff?
Not even worth it.
And then, recalling how bad he’d felt earlier, he remembered the odd text he’d received. He went back to his bunk and fished out his phone. He looked at it again and then was sure it hadn’t been meant for him. There was no one he knew who would call him cutie and the second part of the text? Just bizarre.
Kyle walked in the side door of the bus and spied him down the hall. “Hey. I’d say we were going for a bite of breakfast, but it’s more like brunch. The bands start playing soon and we don’t want to miss shit, do we?”
Brandon hadn’t given it much thought, but he was hungry. “Let me throw a shirt on.” A t-shirt. But then he grabbed a black tank top. And, for the first time since joining Kyle’s band, he was wishing he owned something white—because the unforgiving Vegas sun was going to heat up his black shirt in no time flat.
Little did he know, the heat he sensed was just beginning.
* * *
Brandon wanted to go to McDonald’s, but Mollie had insisted upon something a little healthier. Their manager had wanted a salad and said it wouldn’t hurt any of them to get something lighter than their usual fare.
They wound up finding Chinese, and Mollie balked a little, but once she stepped inside the temperature-regulated restaurant, she took a cleansing breath and smiled. After they’d placed their orders, Jake said, “We lost you, man. Last I knew, you were chugging beer number four with our Last Five Seconds friends. Where’d you go?”
Brandon couldn’t even answer as he saw Mollie raise a thin eyebrow. Jeez. Brandon was thinking even his mom had never made his balls shrivel like their icy manager did on a regular basis. At least he wasn’t pondering the heat at the moment. He managed a weak smile but couldn’t think of what to say before Mollie beat him to the punch.
“What the hell was going on last night? Can I not leave you out of my sight for two minutes without you pretending you’re a rock star?”
“It was just a little beer, Mollie.”
Jake parroted the words he’d heard Brandon say the night before. “Yeah, and it’s legal here nowadays.”
Mollie turned her wrath on their bassist. “Oh, really? And what do you know about Nevada law, Jake?”
“Well…” Jake picked up his phone. “I’ll Google it.”
Mollie’s nostrils flared. “Whoever told you it’s legal for Brandon to drink beer in Vegas was full of shit, Jake. And you, of all people, should know that.” Brandon had been glad for the respite from her ire but knew she wasn’t done with him yet. “How do you feel?”
Okay, so that wasn’t so bad. “All right, I guess.”
“No nausea or anything?” Brandon shook his head. Mollie took a moment, regaining her composure, and then added, “I guess we’re okay then.”
“No permanent damage to our little drummer boy?” Jake was teasing, but Brandon wasn’t in the mood for it.
“I’m fine, okay. I’ll be fine.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “Okay, gotcha.” He turned his head to Kyle. “Are we doing anything different tonight? Adding anything super cool, considering this is a little different?”
Kyle shook her head. “I just want to make sure we can make it through the set without heat stroke.” She looked at Mollie. “Whose fucking idea was this shit anyway? I thought Texas was bad this time of year, but this is batshit.”
“Don’t start with me, Kyle. You guys haven’t done a festival yet. You’re going to have eyes and ears on yo
u who’ve never given you the time of day before. Trust me—yes, touring with Last Five Seconds has been helpful, but you have no idea what a festival will do for you. So I’m sorry if your highness is a tad uncomfortable. It’s one night. Deal with it.”
“Shit, Mollie. Am I not allowed to bitch a little anymore?”
“Sorry.” Their manager sighed. “I think the heat’s getting to me, too. Let’s just get through tonight, okay?”
All four of them nodded. This was a big deal—they all knew it—and it was going to be good.
They just had to survive the heat.
* * *
“What do you mean I can’t do a sound check? What the hell are we supposed to do?”
Brandon was officially freaking out. If they couldn’t do a sound check, how the hell were they going to know everything was good to go?
“Look at me, Brandon.” Mollie grabbed him about the shoulders, pulling his attention away from Kyle, who was just getting irritated with him. “Our stuff doesn’t get set up until right before you go on. That’s the way festivals work. It’s not like big shows where our stuff is set up behind the scenes. We literally cannot set up until just before our show. There are three bands on that stage before ours—and you’ve seen the stages. But don’t worry. The roadies will do a quick—but solid—sound check, and we won’t go on till everything’s right. And, if something’s wrong, the fans will wait. They might not understand exactly, but they’ll wait.”
Brandon muttered, “Or they’ll go to the other stage.”
Kyle snapped. “Knock it off, Brandon. We have fans here—and we’re gonna get more. But don’t eat yourself up with all this negativity. It’s not good.”
Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set Page 118