"It's not our problem," Jake rants. "We're not the ones who made the bet so why should we have to suffer?"
"Dude," Savory replies, "that wiseguy is going to get paid. He doesn't give two shits who owes him the money. He'll get it, one way or another."
"But I don't have it!" Frank wails. "He's gonna kill meeeee!"
As much as I want to yell at Frank and beat him over the head with a frying pan, it's not going to solve our problem. I take a deep breath and switch gears.
"How much do you have, Frank?"
He can't even meet my eyes. "Four."
"Okay, four grand. That's well on the way to the full amount. Maybe if we all--"
Frank mumbles something I don't catch.
"What?"
"Not four grand. Four hundred."
The blood drains out of my face -- which might happen soon if we don't come up with Marco's money. I'm at a loss and look over at Drax. He's as shocked as the rest of us.
"How about you guys?" I ask, my voice catching in my throat.
I only have to look at their faces to know the answer.
They're working musicians, on the cusp of breaking out. And just last night, they not only canceled a very lucrative concert but they also lost their big-time manager. They don't have it.
"Drax," Frank says, casting a pleading look at him. "Maybe you could..."
"Don't even go there, Frank. You got yourself into this mess. We'll help you figure it out, but it ain't gonna be easy."
"So what are our options?" I ask.
Jake pipes up as he cracks his first beer of the morning. "We either pay up by noon tomorrow or he'll take the bus."
I gape. "But this bus has to be worth more than $50,000! That's not fair!"
The only sound is Frank sniffling. I know better anyway. The mob doesn't really take fairness into consideration when they come to collect.
"Okay, so we need to find the money. We could sell the bus. I'm sure there's someone in Vegas who will give us at least twenty for it, right?"
Drax shakes his head. I hate seeing him look so defeated. "That asshole has already put the word out to the dealers in town to not buy it. No way is anyone going to go against him. We might as well book our bus tickets back to the bay right now."
I want to cry. I was so proud of myself for getting their concert fee, but that check is a drop in the bucket of what Frank owes. This fun, spontaneous adventure is quickly turning into an ordeal. Drax is right; it's time to go home. Well, it was fun while it lasted.
Before I buy the tickets, I check my email, more out of habit than anything. What I see there depresses me even more. Five more replies from venues, all rejections. I'm about to send an email from some college to spam when I catch the subject line: Urgent reply to your query.
I wrack my brain as the email loads, trying to remember if I reached out to any colleges. Last night was a frenzy of contacting any and every venue in town I ran across. This must have been one.
I'm midway through the email when I realize I've been holding my breath. I scan the rest and let out gust of air. I want to cry again but this time from hope.
"You guys, we might not have to go home just yet." I read the email.
Ms. Raines,
Thank you for reaching out to us. As it happens, today is our annual Founders' Day Festival. The activities occur in the quad throughout the day, ending with a live concert. Unfortunately, the lead singer had to be rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night for an emergency appendectomy. He's expected to make a full recovery, but that leaves us without a band for our grand finale.
It's serendipitous that I was informed of the cancelation only moments before reading your timely email. I've researched Roadkill and believe our students will enjoy a concert by them. I'm afraid we will not be able to pay a fee, but you are welcome to sell as much merchandise as you can and keep all the profits.
Hopefully your team will see this as a win-win for both parties. Please contact me to coordinate as soon as possible.
Sincerely,
Alicia Woodward
Student Activity Liaison
Drax is standing next to me, trying to read over my shoulder. Normally I hate it when people do that but I'm too excited to care. "Can we make enough on merch to pay off Marco?"
He sits down next to me and takes over the laptop, checking out the school's population. He turns a lecherous grin on me.
"Depends. Did you happen to pack a corset?"
The school grounds are bustling when the band and I arrive to firm up the details and check out the set-up. There are tables with credit card companies offering free T-shirts and Frisbees, non-profits handing out STD pamphlets and colorful condoms, a raucous game of Frolf, and about 10,000 drunk college kids running around.
After signing a bare-bones contract and being vigorously informed that the students were off-limits for extracurricular activities, Mrs. Woodward leads us out of her office for a tour of campus.
"As you can see, our students enjoy blowing off steam during these types of events."
I spot a girl leaning into a fountain to 'blow off' her lunch and about a gallon of booze, her bestie holding back her hair. I was that girl in school, the hair holder. I catch her eye as we pass and give her a supportive 'I know your pain' smile. She shrugs and goes back to tending to her friend.
The stage is a simple three-foot riser, barely big enough to hold the band's instruments. I'm betting the guys haven't played such a low-tech concert for years.
"Old school," Drax says, nodding approvingly. "We got this. We'll just go bare bones."
"I'm pleased it will suit your needs," Mrs. Woodward says. She's an efficient middle-aged woman, dressed in a smart pantsuit. She's pleasant enough but has barely cracked a smile since we arrived. "I'll be leaving here in about an hour. You can set up whenever suits you, but the closer to eight the better. Goodness only knows what these animals will do to your equipment if you set up early."
I almost laugh at her joke but the expression on her face tells me that she's not joking at all. Her pert little nose wrinkles in disgust at a young couple drunkenly grinding on each other nearby. She really doesn't like these kids much.
Savory and Frank step away to investigate the tiny stage while Mrs. Woodward finishes with us.
"Your contact for the evening will be Shelby Paxton. Here's her cell in case you need to call. Have a good show."
I punch the number into my phone. When I glance up, Drax is frowning as the woman trundles away.
"Back in a sec," he says and jogs after her.
"Shit, what are the odds?" Jake laughs, already half-lit and it's only four.
"What? What are you talking about?"
He's shaking his spiked head and chuckling. "Shelby. Shit."
"Shelby? Who's Shelby?"
"Only Drax's last girlfriend. Wonder what she's doing out here in the desert."
My body turns icy as the words sink in. I can't stop from watching Drax as he speaks with Mrs. Woodward, no doubt asking about this Shelby woman. I'm dying to know more, and luckily Jake is just tipsy enough that he won't even know I'm grilling him.
"Huh," I say, feigning disinterest. "Oh, is this the one he dated for a few years?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Man, he was head over fucking heels for that little cutie. Hard to blame him. Smart, gorgeous, rich. Talk about the whole package. Best thing he ever had."
"Wow, she sounds cool. Why'd he dump her?"
Subtle. But Jake doesn't have a clue.
"Yeah, right. You don't dump a chick like that. Drax was the dumpee all the way."
My guts twist up into knots. "Oh yeah?"
"Dude sulked like a pussy for about six months after she kicked his ass to the curb. Fucked with our tour, too."
"So, um, why did she leave?" If Jake had chugged one beer less today, he might have caught the jealousy in my question.
He shrugs. "She couldn't handle the lifestyle. Drax was pretty wild back then."
Unlike now? I almost snort.
"I guess she didn't want to marry a rockstar."
Whu-whu-whu?!
"Whu?"
"Oh yeah, Drax totally proposed. Got down on one knee on stage at a concert and everything. Next day, she was gone."
The knots in my stomach turn into cold, hard cannon balls. I want to puke. Of course, no one would pay any attention in this crowd. All I can manage to do is clench my jaw and keep my mouth shut.
"Probably didn't help that he was wrecked at the time. I hear girls don't like it when you ask to marry 'em all drunk and shit. Whatever. I don't want to get married anyway."
Savory waves him over to the stage and he stumbles away, leaving me swaying in disbelief. Why am I so surprised? I hardly know anything about Drax, and it's not like I had any illusions about where this relationship was going. Fantasies, maybe. Illusions, no. This was a fling, pure and simple.
Then why does my heart feel like it's being wrenched apart?
"I am so not wearing this!" I exclaim from the dressing room.
"Come on, Lola, let me see."
"No way! It's obscene, Drax."
"I bet you look sexy as hell. And like we talked about, to move product, we need a hot chick selling it. Now come out."
I peek at my reflection again and flinch even harder than the first time. I'm stuffed into a blood-red satin corset that the sales girl had to lace up for me. The 'girls' are spilling out up top and my hips are bulging out down low. My bottom half is clad in skin-tight black leggings that have somehow defied the laws of physics by wrapping around my thighs and ass without shredding their seams.
The last thing I want is to have Drax witness the horror that is me in this get-up but I know he won't let me out of this store until he gets an eyeful.
I crack the door and peer out at him. He's leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed and bulging across his chest, and my heart starts thumping. Regardless of what has or will happen between us, I know deep in my tightly-bound gut that I will always have this reaction to him.
Always.
He gives me a wicked grin and a wink. "Strut your stuff, gorgeous."
I don't need the mirror to tell me I'm beet red with embarrassment but I swing the door wide and stand up straight. I don't really have any choice as the corset prevents me from slouching or, you know, breathing.
Drax's eyes bulge. Almost immediately I notice another part of him bulging. Maybe I don't look as grotesque as I think. Feeling a little boost of confidence, I make a slow turn until I'm facing him again and gasp. He's standing right in front of me!
His upper lip pulls back in a snarl. "I could devour you right now."
My entire body shudders at his growl. I can't help but sneak a peek over his shoulder. The lone sales girl is waiting on a woman who appears to be asking all sorts of questions. Good.
Meeting Drax's gaze, I let my own lips curl up into a wicked smile and hook a finger in the neckline of his T-shirt. I don't need to pull very hard for him to follow. Ah, like a lamb to the slaughter.
As I slip my arms around his neck, I kick the door closed with my foot. He already has me pressed up against the dressing room's mirror, one big hand under one of my thighs, guiding it around his waist.
Just before his lips are on me, he pauses. "I do believe I've been a bad influence on you, Miss Raines."
I want to spout off a snappy retort but the moment he kisses me, I can only think of getting more. I'm like an addict. I will never get enough. Which will only make it that much harder when whatever this is eventually -- inevitably -- ends. But for now, I'm just going with it.
The trouble with corsets is that they don't allow for quick disrobing, plus they're not known for their flexibility, both of which Drax discovers when he tries to get me naked.
"What the fuck?" he mutters as he fumbles with the complicated lacing in the back.
"Leave it," I say, batting his hands away and dropping my rump down on the room's tiny bench seat. There's no time to deal with this contraption before someone catches us, but there might just be time for something else.
Without ceremony, I deftly unhook the skull and crossbones belt buckle and have his pants around his ankles before he can so much as suck in a breath. What does it say about me that wetness pools in my skimpy thong at my discovery that he's going commando?
Of course it's not just that. I've been half-excited, half-terrified to see him for the first time since our first kiss. I mean, it has been a while, as Pepper would love to remind me. I almost want to giggle with joy at the beautiful specimen bobbing before my lips, but I'm pretty sure that Rule #1 in the Woman's Guide to Great BJs (if such a book even exists) is to not laugh the first time you see his junk.
Instead, I wrap my fingers around him, softly, and move my hand the full length of his shaft. I'm too entranced to look up at him, but I hear his quiet sigh. Encouraged, I slide the satiny soft tip across my billowing cleavage, tucking it between my breasts for a moment before letting it pop up to mouth-level.
Part of the thrill of this is the risk of getting caught, but as much as I want to take my time, to lick and explore every magnificent inch of him, I feel the need to hurry. Drax has a hand buried in my hair but he's not tugging, thank goodness. Taggart used to do that and I hated it.
Dipping my head, I open my lips to take him in when the sales girl knocks on the door. I jerk away from Drax but I notice he doesn't even flinch.
"How's it going in there?" Her voice is chipper as ever. She doesn't suspect a thing.
"Um, fine! Thanks!" I'm trying not to collapse into hysteria and Drax, as usual, is smirking.
"Great! I'll be right out here if you need anything else."
I think she's gone and I'm about to actually start when a hoarse whisper filters through the door jamb.
"For an extra Benjamin, I can get you a copy of the security footage from that room. The angle's good and I guarantee the lighting's flattering."
"Oh! No! The outfit will be fine," I cry as I push a laughing Drax away from me. It was one thing when I thought no one knew what we were doing, but this? Just...ew!
Before I can run screaming from the dressing room, Drax pulls me into his arms, those electric blue eyes boring into my very soul. "A for effort, Lola, but this isn't really you. We'll have plenty of time after the show. Now let's get out of here before you turn purple."
Word must have spread like wildfire that Roadkill would be playing tonight because, I swear, the crowd on the quad has swelled to double what it was before Drax took me on our little shopping spree. No way are they all students. The sheer mass of bodies gives me hope that we just might pull this off.
The boys are getting set up and I'm about to open our merchandise booth when a statuesque blonde in a pale blue, sleeveless, form-fitting dress strolls up to me.
"Are you Laura?" she asks, giving me a quick once-over before plastering a fake smile on her perfect face. This must be Drax's ex, the infamous Shelby.
Greaaaaaaat.
Suddenly I feel completely exposed. I will myself to wake up, praying this is just one of those dreams where you find yourself naked at school. No such luck. I'm wide awake and half-naked at school. I try to smile but what I really want to do is crawl under the merch table and hide for eternity.
"Lauren, actually." I shove a hand at her, regretting that I let Drax choose the black polish that adorns my nails. She probably thinks I have some kind of fungus. Or that I am some kind of fungus.
"Of course, my apologies."
The silence drags out between us. I don't know if she's toying with me or what but I refuse to be the first to speak.
"You must be Shelby."
Doh!
"That's right, and if there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask. You have my cell. Now if you'll excuse me..."
Before I can blink, she's making a beeline for Drax, whose tanned and tatted skin is shining with sweat from helping with the set-up. I can't tear my eyes away when Shelby f
lings herself into his arms, kicking up one designer shoe-clad foot as if she was in a movie and this was her long-lost love.
Maybe it is, the nasty whisper in my head says.
A tiny part of me is relieved that Drax merely looks surprised instead of overcome with joy. But a bigger part of me isn't at all happy with how his arms wrap around her trim waist, as if from muscle memory. Nope, not happy at all.
With one eye on the reunited couple, I unhook the velvet rope that's keeping the rabid college kids at bay. Before I can get behind the table, five drunk kids are pawing through the T-shirts, spilling whatever alcoholic drinks they have so cleverly disguised in their credit card-sponsored water bottles.
Oh, hell no.
"Back!" I shout. "All of you, behind the line! One at a time or none at all!"
"Sheesh, lady, get a grip," mumbles a scrawny kid who doesn't look old enough to even be in college, much less drunk as a skunk. My patience ran out about, oh, thirty seconds ago, and I want to go Pepper on his skinny ass. But as irritated as I am with the entire world, we need as much income as we can get tonight. I settle for the Lola version of Pepper.
"Back of the line, you little shit! Anyone else wanna fuck with me?" Everyone in line quickly shakes their heads as the kid grumbles his way to the back of the now-much-longer line.
This is so unlike me. Maybe Drax was right about being a bad influence. I know I'm only taking my aggravation out on them, but I don't really care. Besides, it probably gives me some kind of street cred to not only be dressed like the voluptuous bride of Frankenstein but also to treat them like crap. Kids these days...
By the time the music starts, I've sold out of medium men's T-shirts and panties with the band's name emblazoned across the crotch, most of which were bought by guys for their girlfriends. Classy bunch.
The handful of kids remaining in my line run to the mass of bodies jumping around in front of the stage. They want to see the start of the show but they'll be back for their souvenirs. Drax is bellowing into the microphone and my heart beats a little faster. I can't understand a word he's screaming, but I can't deny he has the crowd -- and me -- in the palm of his tattooed hand.
So I Married a Rockstar Page 8