by Cari Quinn
Nick picked up his guitar and turned to go, hoping like hell she took the hint and beat it.
Then he could beat it, without any witnesses.
“What if you don’t have to teach me?” Her voice, clear and resolute, stopped him cold. He hunched his shoulders, not prepared for the erotic feel of her arms winding around his torso from behind. Her palms flattened to his chest, and she kneaded his pecs like he was a damn loaf of bread. Rising, rising… “We don’t know each other very well yet, so I’m not sure I’d spread my legs for you anyway. Not until I see how you play. But you can put it in my mouth.” She nipped the cords of his neck with sharp teeth and he hissed. “Would you like that? I’d get just as wet if you were between my lips as if you were in me. Actually,” she breathed out a laugh that strummed through his entire body, “I’m wet right now.”
That was it. He’d passed the point of being smart about six questions ago. She said she didn’t have a boyfriend, and her word was good enough for him.
Besides, it wasn’t like he intended to take out a billboard to announce that he’d bent their hot little drummer over the coffee table and nailed her until she screamed.
“Is this your way of making up for lying to Gray about me?” Refusing to look back at her, he gripped her hands in one of his and held them tight against his chest. “Pity BJ now, then what, maybe you’ll make me a pie and send me to bed with a glass of warm milk?”
“The only way I’m sending you to bed is if I’m coming with you.” Her teeth found his earlobe, and she bit down hard enough to make him wince. And strain against the confine of his jeans. Frayed seams and Jazz Edwards were not a match in heaven made. “Can we please stop talking now?” Her tongue licked its way into his ear. “I’ve got something else for your lips.”
“Jesus Christ.” He finally glanced over his shoulder. Alcohol had never gotten him as drunk as just one glance into her sultry eyes. “If you need to call someone to let them know where you are, better do it now.”
That was her last chance to go home. Then he was taking a match to his Scout uniform.
Defiantly, she reached down and withdrew her cell from the bag at her hip. She made a show of turning it off, then tossed it in the general direction of the bushes. Guess she really did not want to be interrupted. “As you were saying?”
Swallowing hard, he looked down and laced his fingers through hers. His other hand fisted around his guitar. “I might bruise you for real this time. On purpose.”
“I might like it.” She squeezed his hand, and hell if he didn’t appreciate her trying to reassure him. Why this felt so huge, he didn’t understand. She was just a woman he barely knew.
Just a cog that fit really well already into a wheel he’d begun to believe might be irreparably broken.
“Bruise me, Nick,” she murmured when he didn’t speak. “Use me to forget. Just like I’ll use you.”
It really could be that simple. She wasn’t looking for him to call her tomorrow, and he wasn’t offering to be her man. He wasn’t fit to be anyone’s guy, not now.
But he could be for an hour, maybe two, and that would be enough.
Without saying anything further, he released her hands and stepped back to hook an arm around her waist, hauling her into his side. He brushed a kiss over her temple as they strode toward the basement entrance. “The minute I shut that door behind us, I want your skirt and panties off. Understand me?”
She shuddered. “Yes.”
“What’s off-limits?” When she didn’t respond, he jockeyed his guitar until he could seize her chin and yank her face closer to his. “Jasmine. What’s off-limits?”
Her gaze seared into his and left him smoking. “Nothing,” she whispered.
Chapter Six
Simon: Twice the Heat
Even knowing she’ll flay me alive, I follow the beacon of her flame
“Yo, Simon!” Trevor, the usual bartender, thunked a fresh drink on the bar.
Damn, he could get used to this. He didn’t even have to sweet talk anyone for it.
Simon settled between to the two blondes that had become his shadow. Three hours off stage and the adrenaline high was crashing into half a bottle of vodka. Usually the band was given little more than a clap on the back and a free beer from Trevor. Not tonight. Tonight there had been dozens of people willing to buy them a drink and Phil, the owner of the Rhino, was grinning like the Joker on a dose of laughing gas.
Nick had taken off directly after the show. During the rounds of hand-slapping backstage, Gray had made sure Jazz was tucked in beside him to discourage the rather disgusting amount of pussy that was being offered up to the guy. But their new guitarist didn’t seem to be comfortable with the attention. He’d hustled Jazz out of the club hours ago.
This was the dream. A phenomenal set, actual fans, beer and laughter with a side of pretty ladies. And no one wanted to share it with him. What was up with that?
Well, screw them. He didn’t need them to have a good time. Simon slung an arm around one of the two blondes that were looking for a little after-party action. The scent of shampoo and hairspray was cut with a light flowery scent.
God, nothing smelled quite as good as a woman.
Especially when it was a naked woman with her thighs hugging his ears.
He’d always enjoyed chicks. From the age of fourteen he’d been fascinated by their smell, their taste and their softness. He’d craved connection of any kind and learned early on that women were drawn to him for some reason. Some wanted to save him, some just wanted to sleep with him, and he was all right with that. In a world that was as disposable as a Solo cup, he held on to any softness that was offered.
Life before the band had been filled with stale beer and honing the ability to dodge a drunken fist thanks to a father that couldn’t get past the loss of his wife. A vague memory of Chanel perfume and blue eyes were all he could recall of his mother.
He still got the stale beer thanks to the basement apartment Deacon had fallen into a few years ago, but he had enough women around to combat the gym locker life. To be honest, he didn’t care about any of that. He’d lived with far less.
Now he had a family.
And now the battered dreams he’d stubbornly held onto were so goddamn close. If he could just get everyone to see how close.
“Yo, Pretty Boy!”
Simon blinked back in and shot a glance in the direction of Deak’s voice. “Yeah?”
“Phil wants to see us.”
Simon dropped his arm from the girl’s shoulder. Sara? Stacy? He couldn’t remember. “Gotta go check in with the owner, ladies.”
Fan-like black lashes fluttered. “Aww. You’re coming back, right?”
“Of course. I’ve got nothing but plans for you two.” He leaned down, brushing his lips over her cotton candy pink-slicked lips. The girl went up on her toes and showed him just how talented her tongue was. He groaned into her mouth, dragging her against his chest and straining erection. Her friend, not to be outdone, slid her hand around him from the back and tucked the tips of her fingers into his jeans.
“You have no idea what kind of plans we have for you,” the other girl said into his ear.
Simon swallowed down a long, slow groan and broke the kiss.
Things were definitely looking up. He didn’t need the rest of the band to party the night away. “I can’t wait to hear all the strategies you two come up with.”
The blank look in the eyes of the stacked blonde dimmed some of his interest, but he was too horny to let his brain ruin the party that would be waiting for him. He just needed to take care of a little business first.
Untangling himself, he left them both with a playful kiss and rumbling laugh. Deacon stood at the end of the bar with his arms crossed over his massive chest.
Simon swiped a hand over his stubbled neck. “Don’t bust my balls, man.”
“No busting here.”
“Really? Then what’s with the I-gotta-kick-some-ass face?”
<
br /> “Because I might need to do just that. Everyone’s gone and Phil’s looking to book us for additional dates. He was impressed.”
Simon pushed his overlong bangs out of his face and the room tilted slightly. “Well, screw ‘em. We can schedule it.”
“Christ, how drunk are you?”
“I’m not drunk.”
Deacon’s eyebrows snapped down.
Simon aimed a finger between Deak’s brows and pushed him back a step. “See, not drunk. I can touch your nose.”
Deacon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Let me do the talking.”
The boy needed to get laid and have a beer. He was strung way too tight. Simon bowed and waved his arm for Deacon to go ahead. “After you, coherent-manager-type-person who doesn’t know how to have a good time.”
“Bite me.”
Simon smirked at his back, but followed dutifully. He knew they’d be in a world of hurt if Deacon didn’t take care of the scheduling and keeping them all in line. But one of these days he was going to get the shithead to enjoy a night. Maybe he could give up one of the blondes. The stacked one was just Deak’s type. He was a little too wasted to take care of two ladies tonight anyway.
If anyone needed some time between a woman’s thighs, it was Deak. He was way too locked into relationships. Deacon didn’t know how to have a one night stand, or even a fling. He had relationships and clingy, bitchy girlfriends that did nothing but complain about the apartment and their crazy-ass schedule.
Within a moment’s notice, they would pack up the van and drive six hours to do a show. They couldn’t afford to be picky. And that was one of the reasons they’d been at the Rhino for years.
Deak knocked on Phil’s door and they got an immediate response. “Come in, come in.”
Simon pushed his hands into his hair and pulled at the roots to get a slice of clarity before walking across the threshold into Phil’s office. Two huge rusted file cabinets were crammed into the back corner and posters covered every scrap of wall. A huge wooden desk scarred with knife marks, stickers and burn marks dominated the space.
Papers were piled on every available surface. A heavy ashtray held down the tallest stack and a fat cigar coughed out a vile stench that stuck to the back of Simon’s throat. Cigarettes he could handle, but cigars were disgusting.
Phil shuffled a pile of records and CD cases off one of the chairs and dumped it on the Jenga-like situation that was his desk. “Sit down.”
Simon shrugged and dropped into a chair. Deacon sat in the other, but his long frame didn’t quite fit in the space. His damn legs didn’t fit anywhere.
“You guys were awesome tonight.”
Deacon leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “Thanks.”
“So awesome I want to sign you up for the next three weekends.”
Simon’s eyebrows shot up. “Three weekends in a row?” No shit. He knew they’d been good tonight, but not that good.
“My only issue is Nick.”
Simon stood, hoping desperately Phil didn’t see him sway. “What about Nick?”
Phil laced his fingers over his bony chest. “What was up with his disappearing act?”
“He—”
“It was part of the show,” Simon said over Deacon.
Deacon’s mouth shut with a click of teeth.
“Really? Looked like a meltdown to me.”
“Nah.” Simon forced his sluggish brain to focus. “Didn’t you see the people eat it up? They love that shit. Infighting and drama. Like we’re their very own episode of the Real World.”
Deacon shot him a look but caught on. “Yeah. We added a few new band members and thought some stage dramatics would be cool.”
“Well, it’s not.”
Deacon’s Adam’s apple bobbed hard. “Right.”
Simon wandered to the back wall and picked at the corner of a local punk rock band’s poster. “I don’t know. We certainly had the crowd screaming. I think we even brought in some customers tonight, Phil.”
Phil clamped his teeth around his cigar and puffed.
Damn, did he think he was some entertainment mogul? The shitbag ran one of the bottom tier clubs on the Strip. He had a receding hairline and a damn ponytail. The Rhino may have been a decent club in the eighties, but now it was scraping to get by just like all the artists who played there.
Phil put the cigar back in the ashtray, steepled his fingertips together and finally spoke. “Maybe. But I’ve seen a good night from just about every band that’s come in here. You guys have been working the opening act circuit for two years. There’s a reason for that. Even when you get the stage to yourselves, you never own it. Tonight was the first time you showed real promise.”
“Then why have you been asking us back?” Deacon asked before Simon could snarl a comment.
“Because you’re almost there. You’re good enough for an opening act and occasionally, when the timing’s right, a headliner.”
Good enough.
Anger thrashed around in Simon’s chest, just dying to come out in a rush of vile words and swinging fists. The corner of the poster he’d been toying with tore and he curled his fingers into his palm before turning very slowly and very deliberately until the wall hugged his back. He folded his arms, tucking his fists under his biceps.
Good enough.
What Phil meant was they were one level above sucking dick.
And he knew it.
The strangling, gnashing anger was dying to get out.
Deacon laid a hand on his shoulder then stood beside him along the wall. Christ, Simon didn’t even see him move while the haze of fury drowned out all sense.
No. He wasn’t going to scream and mess this up. Phil Turner may deserve a fist or two into his stupid bony face, but it wasn’t going to be tonight. Because all he’d done was speak the truth.
Simon had known it for a while. No amount of vodka and willing females were going to change that singular fact. He and Nick had been so far away from each other lyrically they might as well have been in separate bands. They had a second chance here.
“We want a headlining night next Saturday with a marketing blast. None of this last minute crap where we’re just filling a slot because someone else dropped out. This is all about us.” Simon was satisfied that Phil was listening when he lifted and then dropped his cigar back into the ashtray. “We want a poster and an announcement in the trades.”
“What he means is—” Deacon tried to break in.
“No, we deserve a shot. And if we rock that stage again, we get a twenty percent cut from the liquor sales.”
“Fuck you.”
Deacon held up a hand. Simon jerked the belt loop at his side and Deacon looked down at him. They needed to play this out. Even Deak had to know that. It was time to take their career by the balls even if the short and curlies got tweaked a little. Groveling hadn’t worked. Waiting hadn’t worked.
This was their chance.
Deacon looked at Phil. “If we boost sales significantly, we get seven percent. If we sell out this place, you give us fifteen percent of the bar take.”
Phil smirked.
Simon laughed. Deacon was ever the dreamer, but he liked it. Seven percent was standard for most of the small acts on this part of the Strip. Win-win.
“Deal.”
Phil knew he was getting a deal. Deacon dug his phone out of his pocket and clicked open a program. He flicked through a few pages and the tell-tale swoosh of an email being sent made Simon shake his head. Ever the organized soul.
“Did you just do what I think you did?”
Deacon shrugged. “Check your email, Phil.”
Phil frowned and tapped his system to life. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s a simple contract.”
“Son of a goddamn bitch.”
Simon slapped Deak’s back and pulled him in for a hard hug. “I fuckin’ love you, man.” Deacon thumped his back twice and Simon coughed. “Easy there.”
“Sorry.”<
br />
Simon took a quick breath. Christ, Deacon could pack a punch without even trying. They both stepped forward and signed the one page contract twice. Deacon tucked one into his pocket. “We’re looking forward to working with you, Phil.”
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here.”
Simon waited until they were through the door and out into the main bar where the music would muffle their voices. “I can’t believe that worked.”
Deacon scrubbed his hands over his face. “What were you thinking? Nick would have our ass if we lost this gig.”
Simon sighed. Deacon was as cool as a gangbanger with a jacket full of lead when he was in the moment, but when all was said and done, Deacon could and would lose his nerves in the nearest bathroom stall. Simon wasn’t sure what went on in that head of his, but he worried far too much. “We took a chance. We had to, man. Even you and your weak ass stomach have to know that.”
Deak slicked off a layer of sweat on his brow. “I can’t believe you demanded all of that.”
“I can’t believe you made it work and pulled a contract out of your ass.”
Deacon shrugged. “I’ve been researching contracts and put a few on my phone just in case. I can’t believe I actually got to use one.”
“Freaking iPhone to the rescue. Man, we need to do a shot.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Don’t pussy out. Besides, a shot of whiskey will settle your stomach.”
“Yeah, right.”
Simon nodded to the bartender. “It is now officially time to party.”
“What do you call the last three hours?”
Simon waggled his eyebrows and motioned for the girls to come over. “Foreplay. Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Simon placed one foot in front of the other along the edge of the dropoff. Laughter and the whipping sea breeze buffered his blurry senses. Somehow they’d wandered in from the walking path and onto the monolithic skatepark on the fringes of Venice Beach.
The sky was inky dark with just a sliver of moon to highlight the cresting waves. This was his favorite part of the day. The last few hours before dawn crawled across the water. Everything settled down, including his overactive brain.