by Tia Siren
I didn’t answer the question.
If I had, I would have told him that I only fucked smoking hot, famous bitches. I might take a blow job or a hand job from a hot chick like Faleen, who was one of the most beautiful women on the planet but sadly un-famous.
Sometimes I thought about making her famous just so I could fuck her. Could she be famous for giving me morning wake-up head? I wondered. But there were no loopholes when it came to the fuck list. Cain Bohannon’s famous cock only went into equally famous pussy.
End of story. Period.
“We’re here,” Drew announced as the limo pulled up to the curb in front of the Rusty Nail. The sidewalk all up and down the block was packed with people waiting to get inside. They’d probably have a long wait, because I was sure the club had been packed full for hours. That was one thing about these battles of the bads—I mean, bands: They usually brought the millennials out in droves. And the millennials, as annoying as they could be, were my bread and butter.
Drew looked at me and flexed his perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Ready to be entertained?”
“Remind me to fire everyone in talent acquisition on Monday,” I said with a sigh. I waited for the driver to open the door. Then I took a deep breath and forced myself out of the car.
CHAPTER FIVE: Olivia
“There he is,” Mona said as we stood at the bar waiting for the bartender to fill our customers’ drink orders. Her usually apathetic tone suddenly had a panicky ring to it.
I turned to find her pointing at a proverbial tall, dark, and handsome man who was following Rusty to the VIP table on the upper level. A tall blond man with an effeminate air followed close behind. I had seen Cain Bohannon’s pictures online, but they did not do the real thing justice.
He looked like a Greek god striding through the crowd, which parted to let him pass. He was wearing a dark designer suit that fit him like a glove and crisp white shirt that contrasted with his dark skin and jet black hair. He exuded poise and confidence and sex appeal. He walked with his shoulders back and his chin up, like he was king of the world. I almost expected him to extend his hands to the crowd so they could kiss his rings as he passed them by.
“You’re up,” Sherry said, bumping me with her elbow. Sherry had agreed to let me take BEG’s table in exchange for whatever tips they left. She reached for the tray of drinks the bartender had ready for my regular table. “I’ll take this order to your table. You get up there and see what he’d like.” She grinned at Mona and then back at me. “Stick out those big boobs and shake that bubble butt, honey. I hear he likes that.”
“Hey, speaking of big boobs,” Mona said, reaching behind the bar to pull out a pair of scissors. “Hold still.” Before I even knew what she was doing, she tugged the collar of my T-shirt away from my neck and used the scissors to cut a slit down the center of the shirt, from the collar to just below my breasts, exposing the front of the black lacy bra I’d packed my round cleavage into.
“What the fuck, Mona?” I asked in horror.
“Just hold still,” she said, doing two more cuts. I was horrified as I felt the cold metal of the flat side of the scissors slide over my skin.
She took a step back to survey her handiwork. I looked down to see that she had cut a large V from the front of my T-shirt so my cleavage and a good portion of my breasts would show.
She then tucked up the tail of the shirt and knotted it under my breasts so the T-shirt now looked like a homemade halter top. Thank god my tummy was toned (more from not eating than exercising), or else I would have been totally embarrassed.
I was already wearing a black leather miniskirt and thigh-high boots. When I caught her eyeing the miniskirt with the scissors still in hand, I took a step back.
“That’s enough, Vera Wang,” I said, holding out my hands.
“Much better,” Mona said with a satisfied sigh.
“Totally,” Sherry agreed, taking my tray of drinks and handing me an empty one. “Now get up there and take his order.”
* * *
Cain Bohannon was sitting at the VIP table with the blond guy who had followed him in and three other men who I assumed were also from BEG. I kept an eye on them as I made it up the steps to the upper level. I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, and then strode over to the table with as much cleavage and confidence as I could muster.
“Good evening,” I said formally, standing with the big round tray clutched to my breasts. I glanced down and remembered that I was supposed to be sexy. Or was it slutty? I couldn’t remember. Anyway, I lowered the tray so my big boobs would show and asked what I could bring them to drink.
As the others ordered, Cain Bohannon sat with his head down, focusing on his cell phone. He didn’t look up until Blondie bumped him with his elbow and asked what he wanted to drink.
Suddenly, it was like the world had been thrown into slow motion, like a scene from a cheesy romance movie. Cain Bohannon’s beautiful brown eyes slowly drifted up my body, starting at the leather miniskirt, then up my belly, then up, around, and over my big boobs, finally reaching my face.
I sighed.
Or I think I did.
Or maybe I had been holding my breath and had to let it go.
I didn’t remember. I just knew that the moment his eyes met mine, my knees gave a little shake.
Like I said, cheesy romance bullshit. Go figure.
He blinked at me a couple of times and his lips curled into a slow smile. His eyes burned into me. I could feel the heat coming from them, like little lasers that were burning me up from the inside, making my nipples hard and my lady parts damp.
“I’ll have a Grey Goose, straight up,” he said. He tucked his phone inside his jacket and leaned toward me. His eyes bounced from my tits to my eyes. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Liv,” I gushed like a silly schoolgirl. I almost curtsied. For fuck’s sake. Who curtseyed anymore? I cleared my throat and gave my head a little tilt. “I mean, Olivia Poole. My friends call me Liv. Or Olivia. Whatever.”
The little voice inside my head was going ballistic, screaming, Christ, girl, will you just shut the fuck up?
“Nice to meet you, Liv,” he said, holding out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Cain. This is Drew. And these are…” He frowned at the others sitting with them, as if he had no idea who they were. “The rest of the group.”
“Um, hi,” I said, bobbing my head at the group while shaking his hand. His fingers closed around my hand and held on for a minute. A little tingle crept up my arm. I had a lump in my throat that refused to go down. He smiled again and let his fingers drift away from mine…sad. His teeth were perfect, white. How lucky they were to be so close to his lips… Shit!
The blond guy named Drew leaned in to interrupt our little flirting session. His timing sucked.
He said, “So, Liv, be honest with us.”
He gestured toward the stage below. The first act was getting ready to start. It was a band called the Dead Dudes who mainly played covers of Iggy Pop songs. They were zero competition for the Flakes. I mean, Iggy Pop was like a hundred years old and never even had a hit song. Nobody gave a shit about Iggy Pop. What the heck were these losers thinking?
Drew asked, “Are any of these bands any good?”
I narrowed my eyes, mocking deep thought, and tapped a finger to my chin. I noticed Cain had not taken his eyes off me. I could feel his eyes scanning my body like one of those machines at the airport.
“Most of them are shit,” I said with a shrug. “But there is a group called the Flakes that I think you’ll really like.”
“The Flakes,” Cain said. “Why do you think we’ll like them?”
“Well, they’re an all-girl group and they play all original songs,” I said slowly, with a serious frown, like I was explaining the fucking theory of relativity to a dog. “And they’re singer is really, really talented. And hot. I mean, you know, hot in a rock and roll sort of way. I’m not like a lesbian or anyt
hing…” Shit.
“She’s really, really talented?” Cain mocked, giving me that smile again. I finally felt the lump slide down my throat. I resisted the urge to lick my lips while our eyes were honed in on each other.
“Yes, really, really, really talented,” I said, throwing in another “really” and playfully bouncing a little on the balls of my feet. My boobs bounced, which made the other three guys glance at each other. Cain didn’t take his eyes off mine.
“What’s the singer’s name?” Drew asked, cutting the others a hard look. I got the feeling he was number two on the pecking order, with Cain being the solid number one.
“Her name?” I blinked at him and licked my lips.
“Yes. Do you know the singer’s name?” Drew asked.
Rusty suddenly appeared from behind me, saving me from embarrassing myself further. He gave me a “what the fuck are you doing in this section” frown.
He rubbed his hands together and said, “Okay, Cain, we’re about to start. Liv, are you taking their drink order? I thought this was Sherry’s section.”
“Um, we sort of swapped,” I said, leaning in to speak quietly in his ear. “So I could, you know, schmooze a little.”
Rusty glanced down at my mutilated T-shirt and frowned for a moment. Then he made an “aha” face and smiled. “All right then. Get their drinks and let’s get this show on the road.”
“Yes, sir. Right away,” I said, forcing a smile.
I looked at Cain and this time curtsied for real.
I fucking curtsied.
I’d never curtsied in my entire life.
The little voice inside my head was laughing its ass off.
I quickly walked away so Cain wouldn’t see how red I had turned.
My one chance to schmooze Cain Bohannon, CEO of BEG and Mr. Fuck List himself, and I freakin’ curtseyed. I could only hope my performance onstage would be more impressive than my waitressing.
As soon as I dropped off their drink order at the bar, I rushed into the bathroom and puked my guts out. The night was not starting out as smoothly as I had planned.
CHAPTER SIX: Cain
“Please tell me it’s almost over,” I said, leaning my elbows on the table and burying my face in my hands. I’d downed six old fashions and decided that no amount of alcohol was going to make this night any better. The only saving grace was our waitress, Liv, the blond beauty with tits out to there and an ass up to here.
I leaned in to Drew and whined. “Jesus Christ, man, this is sooo fucking painful.” I glared at the three talent acquisition idiots who had set up the battle of the really, really bads. They had the fearful look of men lined up for execution. I snarled at them.
“Let me hear you guys say, ‘Do you want fries with that?’ Come on, motherfuckers, say it.”
In unison, they said it.
“Good,” I said, waving at them like they were a bad smell. “Practice that, because tomorrow that’ll be your fucking job.”
Over the last two hours, we had heard ten of the worst bands on the planet. I had lost interest after the third band, a death metal trio that called themselves Satan’s Bitches. I wished I could say they were the worst of the worst, but they weren’t. Not even close. By the time the tenth band was through, I was ready to drive railroad spikes into my ears because it would be far less painful than sitting through another band.
Like I said, the only reason I hung around as long as I did was the smoking-hot waitress with the big tits and big ass that I would have loved to have sunk my teeth into.
Olivia Poole—Liv, to me and her other close friends—was a gorgeous blond with big blue eyes and plump lips and a fucking smile that made my balls tingle. Too bad she wasn’t famous. I would have her riding the magic pony in the back of my car.
Still, a blow job in Rusty’s office would not be something I would turn down. Maybe I’d suggest that to her after the show.
The talent guys huddled together in a tight ball on the other side of the table and tried to pretend they were no longer there.
Drew had consumed twice the number of drinks I had, but he was somehow holding it together better than any of us. If anything, he just grew a little more flamboyant when he drank. He spoke with his hands, sweeping them through the air like Mr. Miyagi from that old Karate Kid movie.
He bumped me with his elbow and nodded at the stage below. The stage lights were off between acts, but I could make out dark figures getting into place behind the microphones and drums.
“Okay, this is the band Olivia, the waitress, told us about. The all-girl group. The Flakes. At the very least, maybe they’ll be worth a blow job in the limo after the show.”
“It’s scary how much we think alike,” I said with a heavy sigh. I leaned forward in my chair with my elbows on my knees and waited for the stage lights to come up.
Rusty appeared at the mic under a spotlight. The crowd hooped and hollered at him.
“Okay, you bastards, calm down,” he said, waving his hands in the air. He had used a little card that contained a brief bio to introduce each group. He held the card with the Flakes’ intro up to the light and squinted at it.
“Our next group consists of three young ladies from right here in NYC. You’ve seen them here before on open mic nights. They’re gonna do an original song called…” He glanced over his shoulder at the lead singer, who was still in the shadows. “Is this right? Okay… They’re gonna do an original song called ‘Fuck Your List.’ Give it up for the Flakes!”
The stage lights came up to reveal a skinny goth girl who screamed heroin addict on drums and a chubby redhead with pierced everything on bass. My eyes locked onto the lead singer. I felt the breath catch in my chest. I smiled. The lead singer was Olivia, our waitress. She glanced up at me for a moment, our eyes locking, and then waited for the drummer to count them off.
“One, two, three, four…”
As the song started, a hard-driving punk beat that made the crowd go wild, I glanced over at Drew. He was looking back at me. Both our mouths were hanging open.
“We’ve been had,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Fuck Your List?” he cackled, his hands sweeping through the air. He had to shout so I could hear him over the song. “I think this song’s dedicated to you, Mr. Bohannon.”
I nodded in agreement and focused all of my attention on Olivia. She was really into it, singing and jumping up and down as she hammered out the chords on the cheap guitar strapped low at her hips. Her big tits bounced at her chest. She was practically screaming the words, like a young Courtney Love, but I could tell she had a good voice. I had an ear for music. I could spot a real singer from a mile away. Sadly, most of the singers on the charts today would sound like shit if their voices weren’t run through a harmonizer. Not Olivia Poole. This girl had a set of pipes inside those magnificent tits. I wanted to press my ear to her tits and hear more.
I licked my lips like a hungry wolf and grinned at the words booming from Olivia’s sweet lips. For a moment, I felt an odd sensation in my chest. Then I realized my cell was buzzing in my inside jacket pocket, making my hard nipple tingle.
Olivia was killing it onstage.
“YOU’RE GONNA BE PISSED…
BUT I DON’T WANNA BE KISSED…
SO FUCK YOUR LIST…
FUCK YOUR LIST!”
She had the crowd chanting along with her now.
“FUCK YOUR LIST! FUCK YOUR LIST!”
I tugged the phone out of my pocket and read the text message from Katie Berry, a BEG pop singer whose last album hit number one on the Billboard and bought me a new beach house in Malibu.
I smiled as I read the text. In town 1 night… Cum mark me off your list…
“I have to go,” I said, leaning into Drew so he could hear me over the pounding beat of the music. I nodded at the Flakes, specifically Olivia, who had the crowd eating out of her hand. “Give her my card and have her come in tomorrow to talk about recording a demo.”
“Wait, ther
e’s one more band,” Drew shouted, tugging at my sleeve. “Where the fuck are you going?”
“Got a fire that needs putting out,” I said, wiggling my phone at him. The talent monkeys were all looking at me with fear in their eyes. I leaned over the table and smiled.
“Don’t worry, boys, your jobs are safe for now,” I said. I leaned down to whisper in Drew’s ear. “You pick the winner. These idiots wouldn’t know a star if it fell out of the sky and hit them in the fucking head.”
“Do you want me to pick her?” Drew asked, his Botoxed forehead slick even though his eyes were frowning. I shook my head.
“Pick the best band,” I said. “Just give my card to her.”
CHAPTER SEVEN: Olivia
“Second fucking place? Seriously? Give me a motherfucking break!”
Mona had been raving for nearly two hours, ever since that mohawk motherfucker and his group of heavy metal assholes took the top prize at the battle of the bands. Turned out, the entire group had mohawks, all different colors. I guess that was their thing. They were lucky Mona didn’t hold them all down and take her scissors to them.
I was as shocked as she was, because I thought we’d killed it, but killing it with one song didn’t mean we had what it took to make it big in the long term. Who knew, maybe Cain Bohannon didn’t like the song I’d written about him. Maybe he had taken it as a personal insult or something. Fuck. Sometimes my brilliance got in the way of my common sense. Whatever.
Or maybe Cain hadn’t been involved in picking the winner. When I looked up after our set, he was already gone. So maybe Blondie and the other BEG guys just liked the mohawk motherfuckers the best and crowned them the winners. At least we got second place, which was five-hundred bucks to split three ways.
Mona tore off her ripped denim jacket the minute she kicked in the apartment door and threw her drumsticks across the room.
I held up my hands to try to calm her down. “Mona, it’s okay.”