by Salsbury, JB
“Would you please stop looking at me like that? It makes me uncomfortable.” She has her legs folded in front of her, arms wrapped around her shins, and her chin resting on her knees.
“I like looking at you.” I spread my arms out behind me, resting them on the tiled lip of the tub. “You’ve never had a boyfriend?”
Her face, already red from the warm water, turns even redder. “Does that really surprise you?”
“Yes.” Fuck yes. I mean, sure, she doesn’t stand out in a crowd like most women I’m used to, but any schmuck who takes a minute to look beyond her guy clothes and under her hat would see how hot she is. Not to mention her other qualities, like how she eats what she wants, laughs at herself, doesn’t break down and cry whenever she gets offended or something hurts her feelings. She doesn’t apologize for being different and isn’t afraid to tell someone like me to go fuck myself.
“I’ve never been around people my age.” She runs her hand over the bubbles, watching them pop against her palm. “Every now and then some guy would hit on me, but growing up with Elite was like having sixty older brothers. They’d always shut down quick whoever was trying.”
“Except Peter.” I flex my hand to keep from making a fist.
“He was my first kiss,” she says, staring at the water two feet in front of her. “That’s all.”
“When?”
“Um…” She laughs awkwardly. “A few months ago?”
“Damn,” I say, grinning. “From novice to expert in just a few months.”
“Ha! I’m far from an expert.”
“I’m a pretty good judge when it comes to kissing and you’re—”
“Okay. That’s enough.” She drops under the water, her head disappearing beneath the surface. She pops up seconds later, hair slicked away from her very red face and wiping water from her eyes. “Can we please change the subject?”
With flushed, wet skin and nothing to hide behind, she finally looks her age. Eighteen and dangerously attractive.
“What’s your real name?”
“It doesn’t matter. No one calls me by my name except my mom and I haven’t lived with her since I was eight, haven’t seen her in years.” She chews her lip.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, it’s just…” She shakes her head and grabs a slice of pizza, tilting her head back to take a full bite. “It’s stupid,” she says with a mouthful of pepperoni.
“Tell me.” I’m surprised when I realize I want to know what she’s about to say. Again, something fairly uncommon when I talk to women.
She swallows and eyes her slice for the next perfect bite. “I sometimes wonder if I’d been raised by her, maybe I’d be more… normal.”
“Normal is boring.” I grab a slice of pizza too. “You’re different though, that’s true.” I take a full-mouthed bite of pizza and chew.
“You know the day you caught me between buses to rub glitter on me?”
“How could I forget?” I wink at her, remembering her body pressed to mine and how much my dick approved.
“No one asked me about what we were doing.”
“That’s good, right? No fun explaining how the talent popped a hard-on in his boxer shorts while rubbing all up on you.”
“Do you have to be so graphic?”
I pretend to think that through. “Yes. Maybe no one asked because no one saw us.” Besides Ashleigh, I add in my head.
She shakes her head. “Everyone treats me like one of the guys. Paul’s the only one who has ever looked at me like I’m a woman.”
“Not the only one,” I say.
She snorts adorably and tosses her uneaten crust onto the tray.
* * *
Around midnight, once we’re thoroughly pruned and full, we call it a night. I walk Tommy back to her hotel room without even a hug good night.
A night with a wet and chatty Tommy cost me fifteen minutes in the shower, fantasizing about her thighs around my waist in the hot tub. I woke up this morning hard as a rock and had to relieve myself again before going to a local radio station for interviews.
We’re in the SUV on the way to the venue for tonight’s sound check and I’m glaring at Ryder as he talks in an embarrassingly high voice and wiggles a stuffed animal in the face of his infant daughter.
“Tell Daddy what you want. You can do it. Bear. Bear. Say it, Katie. Say bear.”
“Bro, since we’ve been in the car, she’s vomited breast milk and made sounds in her diaper that rival my uncle Sigmond. I think it’s safe to assume that’s the extent of her ability right now.”
His wife, Jade, clearly the smartest of the three, nods in agreement.
“Last night I swear I heard Katie say ‘bear.’” He folds back over the baby in her car seat. “Talk to Daddy. What do you want?”
“She burped, Ry.” Jade rubs his back soothingly. “That’s what you heard.”
“Now that I believe.” I scroll through my IG feed, bored and killing time until we get to the venue.
“So nice to know we have a child development expert with us,” Ryder says sarcastically to me over his shoulder. “What do you know?”
I know pineapple will never taste the same if not sampled from Tommy’s lips.
That’s what I know.
I also know that I’ve got to stop thinking about the woman. She’s distracting in the best possible way. I just wish I could figure out why.
The SUV drops Ryder, Jade, baby Katie, and me at the back of Madison Square Garden, and I can’t wait to get the fuck out of the vehicle. Between Ryder’s embarrassing baby-talk and equally ball-shriveling sweet-talk to his wife, I’m the ultimate third wheel. The wives and kids fly back to LA tomorrow, and I don’t know what I hate more: my friends being the ultimate buzzkills by locking themselves away in the world of wedded bliss with their women and kids, or them pouting and depressed when they leave.
Security props open the door and I’m met by one of our assistants, Helen, who shows me to the dressing room where Jesse, Bethany, Ben, Ash, and Elliot are waiting.
Helen scrolls through the itinerary for the night. “Sound check at four, then you can grab dinner. We’ll bring you guys to the VIP meet and greet at six o’clock sharp.”
“Got it.” I take a seat on the couch next to Bethany and Elliot.
“Did everything turn out okay last night?” Helen asks with her nose to her phone.
I feel eyes on me, specifically female eyes. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Cool.” Helen barely spares me a glance before rushing out of the room, probably to do the next thing on her to-do list.
“What did you do last night?” Bethany says, one brow a little higher than the other.
I pretend we’re discussing the weather. “Nothing really.”
“Nothing?” Ashleigh pipes in. “But Helen just said—”
“I hung out with a friend.” There. No big deal. I don’t have to tell them I hung out with a friend I like to kiss.
“Oh yeah? Someone in the city?” Jesse says absently while texting.
“Yeah.” We hung out in the city.
“What did you guys do?” Ben asks.
I stare at Ben, feeling my eyes widen. I can’t lie to him. God gifted His boy with some soul powers or something because he can always tell when I’m lying. “Grabbed some food.”
“New York has the best food.” Ashleigh props her elbows on her thighs, leaning in. “Where did you guys go?”
“You guys CIA?” Am I sweating? I run a hand through my hair.
“Dad and Ashleigh took me to Rainforest Café!” Elliot chimes in from her position on the floor with a coloring book. Her inquisitive brown eyes come to mine. “Did you go there?”
Great. Now they got the kid involved too. She asks more questions in a day than she takes breath. “No.”
“Oh, did you go to Chelsea?” Bethany says.
“No—”
Jade pops her head up from Katie’s diaper change. “I love the food in Chelsea!”<
br />
“I didn’t go to—”
“Have you been to Sunset Park?” Ashleigh asks. “We had the best dumplings—”
“I was with a girl, all right!”
The entire room goes silent, and all eyes are on me—except for Elliot, who’s scribbling away in her coloring book.
I say, “Helen hooked up a little private dinner type situation for me last night, that’s all. Shit. Nosey motherfuck—”
“That’s a bad word,” Elliot says without taking her eyes off the page.
“Why did you lie?” Bethany says, grinning.
“I didn’t lie. I mean, I did but I—is it hot in here?”
Ashleigh falls back in her chair with a big shit-eating grin.
Where the hell did the term shit-eating grin come from anyway? I can’t imagine anyone would smile after eating shit. I had a butt plug in my mouth. I would know.
“You had a date with Tommy.” Ashleigh seems real fucking proud of herself.
“No, first of all, it wasn’t a date. It was hot tubbing and some food.”
“Hot tubbing and food.” Jesse chuckles. “He’s right, that’s not a date, that’s the opening scene of a porno.”
“Fuck off—”
“That’s a bad word too,” Elliot says, her crayon still scribbling on the page.
“Create your own story if you want. The truth is I was bored, Tommy was available, so we ate and sat in the hot tub. That’s it. Nothing happened.” Almost nothing.
Jesse’s checking his hair out in the mirror. “The great Ethan Crow finally falls.”
“I did not!”
Jesse acts as if he can’t hear me and continues to talk to his reflection. “Wings. Clipped.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Caged.”
“That’s a lie! You’re all just pissed because you’re stuck with the same…” I spot Elliot on the floor. She doesn’t seem to be listening, but I know better. “Cut of steak for the rest of your lives. I still get to pick off the menu.”
“But you’re not all that interested in seeing the menu anymore are you, Ethan?” Ashleigh’s knowing smirk is aimed at me. “You already have it memorized, you’ve tried everything a dozen times, but you come back time and time again, craving that same piece of meat, am I right?”
I glare at the mind-reading blonde. “Sorry, I missed that. I don’t speak bullshit.”
“Ha!” She points at my face. “So predictable.”
“Yeah, well, you’re ugly.”
She winks.
“Are you sure you two aren’t brother and sister?” Jade says, handing a sleeping Katie to Bethany.
Ashleigh stands, her perfect body wrapped in tight leather. “If we are, he’s the afterbirth.”
“So funny I forgot to laugh,” I mumble because my comeback sucks, but dammit to shit, the woman is frustratingly accurate.
I am sick of the menu.
I do have it memorized, and I have tried everything a dozen times.
I want Tommy.
But Tom isn’t the type of woman I can play with.
I don’t think I’m capable of anything else.
Chapter Eleven
Ethan
The meet and greet is a snazzy affair in a private room just off of the VIP entrance. The space is filled with dark purple velvet couches and blood-red upholstered walls, crystal chandeliers and staff wearing shirts and ties. One hundred lucky fans are led up to the band for a chat and a photo against a Jesse Lee tour backdrop.
“Ladies.” I greet identical twins wearing the same fluorescent pink mini dresses and heels that stilt their legs. They both smile wide through thick, glossed lips. “Well aren’t you two a walking fantasy.”
They giggle and come in for a hug, one under each arm. “We love your music.”
They mean Jesse. No one ever compliments the sick-ass bass lines I write. But it’s all the same to me.
“Can we get a picture?”
“Of course.” I help maneuver the women around to face the camera. “You ready—whoa!” I jump when one of the twins grabs a healthy handful of my ass. “Firm grip.”
The other twin puts her hand dangerously close to my dick, both pressing their boobs into my ribs. The camera flashes.
I release them both and pull out my Sharpie. “You want me to sign anything?”
They both stick their tits in my direction. I sign my name just above Jesse’s and Ryder’s. Ben only signs backs and forearms.
“Enjoy the show.”
They stand there, lingering. “What are you doing after the show?”
“We’re packing up and heading straight for Pittsburgh.”
“We could ride to Pittsburgh,” one twin says, her eyes flashing with a promise of pleasure.
Yes, please. The two words balance on the tip of my tongue as I imagine a wild night with the twins. They smell like self-tanner and hairspray, not natural like a forest after it rains. I doubt they're wearing anything under those dresses. There’d be nothing to unwrap, no tentative kissing or hesitant hands. They’d be drunk on the excitement of hooking up with a rock star rather than intoxicated by my kiss. They would require zero work on my part, their only goal to pleasure me until I passed out, nearly sexed to death. And these aren’t the kind of girls I could grab a pizza and a beer with. They’d gag at the thought of ingesting calories.
I step in close. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m afraid that won’t work out, not tonight.”
They pout in unison.
“If you change your mind.” Twin one shoves something in my pocket, most likely her phone number.
“You’ll be the first to know.”
They walk away arm in arm, asses swinging.
I kick myself, feeling like I’ve missed out on an opportunity, but like Ashleigh said, I’ve grown tired of the menu. Fuck, that’s depressing.
Another few dozen fans move through the line, some who love music, others who just seem thirsty.
“If you’re looking for some company after the sho—”
“That’s sweet of you to offer,” I say to the beautiful brunette in fishnets and combat boots. “But we’re back on the road right after the show.”
After she walks away, Ryder leans in. “How many propositions have you gotten tonight?”
“Too many.” I sigh. And none of them are the one I’m most interested in. Why do I even have a dick? I’m a disgrace. I should have it removed. I don’t deserve to wield it.
The room eventually thins as we get closer to show time. Helen announces ten more minutes and we do our best to meet every fan still waiting in line.
“Enjoy the show,” I say to a sweet girl who can’t be older than fourteen. She was shaking so hard when I signed the back of her T-shirt I could hardly keep the marker steady.
“My turn, boys!” A gorgeous older woman struts up the red carpet laid out for fans. When I say “older,” I mean she’s not the usual tween to twenty-five we see at these types of things. “I’m honored to finally meet the great Jesse Lee.”
She offers her hand knuckles up like the queen. Her snakeskin pants hug her long legs and round ass. A black leather corset and fuck-me heels complete her sex kitten look. Her hair is bright blond and big as fuck. She’s going for late twenties, but having made an investment with her neighborhood plastic surgeon, her puffed up lips and smooth forehead give away her forty-something age.
Jesse grins, clearly loving the attention, and pulls the woman in for a hug. She slides up against him, and by the way she moves, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s purring.
“Can I get a photo?” How she manages to make the question sound like a sexual proposition, I don’t know. She looks at Ryder, Ben, and me. “With the whole band?”
We squeeze in close. She holds two fingers to her mouth and sticks her tongue between them before the flash clicks. This chick wants to party. I look her up and down, lingering a moment on her full DD-sized tits. Yeah, I’d do her.
“I’m so gla
d I was able to catch you guys in New York,” she says. “Scored a VIP pass from my daughter.”
“Is your daughter with you?” Ben says, looking around. “Would she like a photo?”
The woman waves off Ben. “No, she’s not a fan of your music.” She gazes around the room. “She was supposed to meet me—oh! There she is!” She waves her arm above her head, making her billion tiny bracelets jingle. “Taylor! Over here!”
I turn, expecting to see an eager young fan making her way toward us. My jaw hits the floor when I see a familiar baseball hat moving through the dwindling crowd.
“Look, Tay!” She wraps her arms around Jesse’s middle and rubs her tits on his bicep. “I got to meet Jesse.”
Tommy looks at me, a quick glance that communicates some kind of apology as well as humiliation. “I told you to wait for me at the door.”
“I did, but you were taking forever and I didn’t want to miss my opportunity to meet the band.” She releases Jesse, who looks about as surprised as I am. “We should party after the show!” Her eyes devour us one after the other. “I’ll bring the powdered goods.”
“Mom!” Tommy gives a discreet shake of her head. “Jesse’s sober.”
She waves off her daughter. “Oh please, that’s what they all say.” She leans in and whispers, “This isn’t my first rodeo. Are you familiar with the song ‘Backstage Blind Date’ by Taylor Oakley?” She winks and points at herself. “He wrote that about me. I was his muse.”
“All right, Mom.” There’s an inflection in Tommy’s voice that reminds me of the way Ben and Ash speak to Elliot when they’re trying to convince her to eat her vegetables. “Jesse and the guys need to get going.”
“We do,” I butt in. “But if your mom wants to come hang out backstage with us…”
Tommy glares at me. “That’s not necessary, she has a great seat—”
“I’d love to,” Tom’s mom squeals and hooks her arms around mine.
She smells like expensive perfume—fake, formulated, nothing like her daughter. As a matter of fact, I see very little of Tommy in this woman.
