Dedicated to Ada Marie, a lover of all things Clay/Jet of Feverish, a lovely woman undergoing the most trying time of her life, and she has shown that she is brave and strong. May she continue to find strength to fight…and win!
Chapter One
Brandon Bennett stepped off the long black band bus, the one that had the words Kyle Summers emblazoned in white down both sides for all the world to see. As soon as he tried to suck down a breath of air, he felt his throat and lungs struggle for a brief moment. He’d never been to Las Vegas in July before, and the heat was palpable—in fact, it was so far removed from anything he was used to that he figured his body was afraid of the air burning his internals. It almost felt like he was trying to force hot coals down his throat.
“Get a move on, little drummer boy. You’re holding up the works.” Jake Mills, the sexy bassist female fans drooled over, patted Brandon on the back, urging him forward and out of the way.
He wanted to ask why the hell it was so damned hot. He knew the temperature was in the triple digits but still… “This heat’s crazy, man.”
“Yeah, but it cools off a little at night.” Brandon shrugged while Jake draped his arm over the young drummer’s shoulders. Jake tilted his head forward, encouraging Brandon’s eyes to land upon two women across the lot. They appeared to be part of the festival, helping unload boxes off a truck. Yes, the sun wasn’t blazing down on them from overhead, but it was still plenty light out and far hotter than Brandon was used to.
“We’re not in hell, are we?”
Jake laughed. “Young lad, look at those lovely ladies. They’re wearing shorts that are barely there. I think if I was closer up, I’d be able to see the curve of their asses meeting their thighs. And those bikini tops. Ah. Colorado women wear tank tops in this weather and we get all excited. But look at that, will ya?”
Brandon grinned. “True.”
“We might get some fans taking those dainty things off and tossing them onstage tomorrow night. Think you could play without missing a beat if you got a glance at those pretties?” Brandon furrowed his brow and bit his bottom lip. He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to see their breasts offstage naked or clothed, thanks to the bright lights shining down on them during the show. If they’d been one of the day bands, they probably could have seen just fine with the sun lighting the show, but stage lights changed everything. Jake squeezed Brandon’s shoulder. “I like that, too.” Brandon followed the tilt of Jake’s head to see that his friend was pointing out a shirtless male—a tattooed roadie helping another band unload their equipment for the festival beginning the next day.
Unlike his friend, Brandon only had eyes for the opposite sex. And he loved the thought of a lot of the women out here all but naked—but then he felt the sweat forming underneath his blonde bangs and realized his body’s reaction to the environment might not be attractive to some members of the fairer sex.
“What? Are we spending all night here on the sidelines or are we gonna check shit out before the fans arrive?” Kyle, the woman he played for—lead singer and guitarist of the amazing heavy metal band young Brandon had had the fortune of getting chosen to be a part of—stayed on the last step of the bus and wedged her face between Jake and Brandon’s heads. “Ah…should’ve known.”
Jake turned his head and kissed Kyle on the cheek. “We love to look at the menu, but you know our hearts belong to you.”
“Ha. Just get your asses out of the way. We’ve got people eager to experience the wall of heat out here.”
Brandon snickered before moving out farther past the bus. Jake was kidding, of course, but Brandon had gotten the feeling that maybe something sexy had passed between him and the boss lady before this most recent album—but Jake swung both ways and Kyle had been pining over a bassist in another famous band, so a permanent relationship was out of the question.
They had what Brandon compared to “first world problems.” They could whine and complain about how shitty their love lives were—but at least, unlike him, they had love lives to complain about. Sure, Brandon was now nineteen, closing in on twenty, but he still felt like an awkward kid. Back at home, he’d been part of an online gaming club and had been the unfortunate recipient of a face covered in acne—and even that might have been okay had he not been so sheltered. He’d grown almost a foot in the past three years, though, and Kyle often called him a basketball player. He was tall and lean—and the zits were gone. Thanks to the facial hair, he’d look in the mirror sometimes and wonder how the hell he’d changed into a full grown man.
A man. Ha.
In spite of all his experiences—mainly with a semi-successful midlist rock band—over the past two years, Brandon Bennett still felt like a kid. Yes, he was, on paper, an adult. He’d been on his own since leaving the house he’d grown up in, complete with a nonconventional job as a drummer. He was old enough to vote, smoke, get married—almost old enough to drink and smoke pot legally (in his home state of Colorado, at any rate). At least that was what he told himself, even though he had more than a year to go to be completely legal. But he now had bills that he had to pay, a job to report to, and could enter into contracts. He’d done as much when he’d purchased his first car—a gorgeous, sleek, crazy expensive black Corvette. He even sent money home to mom and dad as rent, even though they hadn’t expected it—but he wanted to, because other than the car, his phone, and a credit card he used on the road, he had no bills. Bills meant responsibility. Bills meant he was an adult…right? But he had one little secret that kept him feeling like a boy, rather than the man he’d grown into.
Yes, man. He was, after all, six foot three and just over two hundred pounds. He wasn’t a giant baby.
But…he was a virgin.
Holy crap. That was embarrassing to admit, even to himself. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to, and it wasn’t that he hadn’t ever kissed a girl. He just hadn’t had many chances.
He didn’t talk much about his life before the band with Kyle and Jake. In fact, those two sometimes acted like they had to protect Brandon. It was almost like they were an extension of the parents he’d left behind in Fountain, Colorado. Something he’d never told them was that he’d been homeschooled and graduated high school by the age of fifteen, so when he attended college, he was way too young for the women there. Sure, the women on campus thought he was “cute” and even flirted with him—a lot, probably because he was an oddity—but they’d never considered him as a boyfriend, a lover…or a date.
Brandon had just graduated college at the age of eighteen with a bachelor’s degree in computer programming with a minor in graphics design when he’d been contemplating what to do with his life. Sure, as a young teen, he’d thought he wanted to design and program videogames, but as he got older, he knew his interests didn’t lie there, even if he had the aptitude for it. He wasn’t sure about playing in a band his whole life, either, but he was making decent money and seeing the world for free—and sleeping late most days. Life was good and he was having fun. He’d been fortunate growing up because his well-meaning parents, in addition to caring about his education, also wanted him and his sister to be well-rounded, and so music instruction was part of the mix. Brandon had taken to drums like a baby takes to his mama’s breast, and he beat on them every day. It was like water or air—without them, he’d die.
So when he’d seen the ad to audition for Kyle’s band after graduation, he knew he had to try—and the rest was history. Short history, yes, but he believed it was mere prologue.
Brandon could play the piano and cello, too—not needed by the band as yet—but what he liked about drums was that he could take out his frustrations on them. Unfortunately, it wasn’t helping with the sexual frustration anymore.
And those sexy girls in bikini tops and cutoffs, little ass cheeks peeking out every time they bent over, reminded him that the drums weren’t going to cut it much longer. This kid had to get laid sometime soon—or his drum kit probably wouldn’t survive.
* * *
Hanging on the bus and in the huge VIP food tent was different. Usually, they were in a hotel by this time of night if they weren’t onstage or on the moving bus traveling to another venue. Everything felt odd and new…and exciting. Even though Brandon had been with Kyle’s band for over a year, he’d never played a festival—and he was looking forward to playing Get Rocked Vegas. And even though his band played the first night, they were going to stay through the entire weekend so they could watch all the bands they knew and loved and also to watch upcoming hard hitters they hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.
But shit. It was so damn hot here, Brandon was going to need to shower several times a day. The only saving grace was that it felt dry. It wasn’t like when they played in places like San Antonio or Miami: in those spots, there was no cooling off, no feeling dry—just sticky, muggy soppiness.
There was nothing sexy about that.
He jumped in the tiny shower in the bus—reserved for when they absolutely had to use it—and stood under the cool water for two minutes. When he got out, he felt fresh. After slathering on deodorant and dabbing a little cologne on his neck, he felt ready to explore the festival.
Unfortunately, one minute out and he was already boiling again.
No one was on the bus right now, instead checking out the location, and he intended to do the same. It was dark now, though, and even though crews were busy performing last-minute tasks, nothing exciting seemed to be going on. But he still wanted to explore, and so he spent the better part of half an hour roaming the area, checking out the stages and imagining that space filled with thousands of people.
When he let himself think about the past year, it blew his mind. From college graduation to job with a famous musician—and yet, in the profession where getting laid was almost as important as the music, his predicament was almost hilarious. The biggest problem, he thought, was that Kyle and Jake had wanted to protect him—more from the drug scene than anything else, but their watchful eyes were much like a chastity belt.
As he made his way back to the buses, he realized that those two were nowhere around. He hadn’t even seen Mollie, their raven-haired manager who liked to keep a tight rein on everything and everyone. If this kept up, maybe he’d have a chance…but he’d have to find a willing female first.
“There you are, Brandon.” Ah, but they weren’t far off and they had missed him. Still, he’d been alone for thirty minutes.
Kyle, the blonde-haired rocker he considered his boss, smiled at him as he got closer. “We wondered where you were.”
“I had my phone on me.”
“Yeah. I would have texted you if you hadn’t gotten here in the next few minutes. Jake and I decided to grab a bite to eat with Last Five Seconds.”
Okay, now things were starting to feel surreal. He knew LFS was at the festival, and he’d planned to watch them, because they were in his list of top ten bands on the planet. There hadn’t been an album of theirs he hadn’t loved, and their music and lyrics spoke to him on the level that most bands couldn’t touch. To spend even a minute with them would be a dream.
Kyle snapped her fingers in front of Brandon’s face. “Hey, did I lose you?” Brandon started laughing. Yes, she had. “You wanna come with?”
“Of course. Are you kidding me?”
“That’s what I thought. Come on, little drummer boy.”
Now if they’d start thinking of him as a man instead of a boy…but he’d have to start thinking of himself that way, too.
Chapter Two
Never let it be said that all tour buses are the same. Brandon found that out quickly. When he’d first signed the contract to be part of Kyle’s band, he hadn’t realized at the time what all was involved, but he learned fairly soon that after composing music and recording it, promotion and touring came next. And Kyle had regaled him with tales about her first tour with the Vagabonds, the all-girl band where she’d gotten her start, telling him about how they’d toured the U.S. in a minivan meant for soccer moms, not a rock band. He didn’t understand exactly how that had worked and figured she was exaggerating the details, but it made him grateful that the band she was fronting now traveled in style. The bus itself looked from the outside almost like an oversized limousine—sleek and shiny and hard to see inside—but inside, while cramped, were accommodations for up to half a dozen people.
Brandon wasn’t one to complain. Even though living conditions were tight, he liked the people he worked with and he loved playing with the band. Mollie also usually had things for them to do during their downtime, so there was no boredom—and he was seeing the world, one monument and busy downtown at a time. She didn’t give them time to feel cooped up or stressed out.
But stepping up on the LFS bus might change everything. When Brandon walked inside and looked around, he almost forgot they were on a bus. Compared to Kyle’s tour bus, the LFS one was roomy and felt luxurious.
There was no doubt these guys had money—lots of it.
The two bands had been touring together for a while now, but Brandon had never had the pleasure of hanging in their bus. The area just inside the door was a living room area. Yes, it actually was snug, too, but it was spacious when Brandon remembered where he’d come from. Kyle wasn’t going to give him time to think about it, though. Instead, she wanted to make him feel at home. She put her arm around his shoulders and started talking through the chatter. “Hey. Hey!” The room of people shifted their focus to Kyle—not hard, because the tiny blonde powerhouse was energetic and hard to ignore. “Last Five Seconds, thank you for inviting us to party with you tonight…but Jake and I have made it our mission to protect this guy from the seedier things that can happen on the road—and I need your help with that.”
He was sure that the deep red his cheeks had no doubt become clashed with his blonde hair and blue eyes. God. How could he make Kyle and Jake stop treating him like a kid?
Brian, the bassist for LFS—a guy with long brown hair and ink from stem to stern—looked bad ass, but his sense of humor was as big as Texas. “Jesus, Kyle. You’re a fucking rock band, not Daisy’s Daycare. I’m pretty sure half the reason he even signed up to be part of your band was ‘cause he heard of all the shit you did in your band as a teenager.” Brandon had been ready to turn and bolt out the door seconds earlier, but now Brian had him intrigued. The older guy held up his beer and gave Brandon a chin nod. “Am I right?”
Brandon grinned. No, that hadn’t been why he’d joined Kyle’s band, but at this point, she didn’t need to know that. And he was going to run through the giant door Brian just opened for him. “Let me just say I think I could drink your entire fridge of beer and then run outside and go to any one of the other bands here and smoke a bowl with them, then hang with a couple of fans smoking meth, and then have an orgy in that VIP tent out there…” He looked at Kyle, just to make sure what he was saying was having an effect.
It was. He could tell because she looked speechless.
“And I’d still be more innocent than the Vagabonds on their first tour.”
Brian started laughing. “I’m pretty sure you’re right, m’boy.”
Boy? So, even though Brian was defending him, even he looked at Brandon as a child. That shit had to end right now.
He didn’t have a chance to speak, though, because Kyle said to Brian, “Hey, we weren’t that bad.” She got all serious when she looked at Brandon, though. “I probably seem like a controlling bitch, and I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I’m hoping to help you avoid our mistakes, bud. My old drummer? My best friend?” Oh, not again. Brandon had heard this story a dozen times before. “She’s in and out of rehab because she did all kinds of shit and didn’t know how to deal with it. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
Whew. Kyle’s speech had turned out to be mercifully short. “I get that, Kyle, but you guys were what? Sixteen? Seventeen? Maybe you don’t know it…but I’m twenty. And I’m pretty sure the drinking age in Vegas is eighteen.”
The look on Kyle’s face was priceless—shock mostly but maybe even a hint of amusement. “It is? Why didn’t I know that?”
Everyone else was murmuring and Brandon was waiting for someone to call his bluff. He’d heard a while back that Nevada was getting ready to pull the drinking age down—not for the hard stuff but at least for drinks with a lower proof—but he honestly had no idea if they’d done it or not. In fact, he was pretty sure they hadn’t—but Kyle’s footing was already wobbly, and he wasn’t going to take it back. For the first time ever, he felt like he had the upper hand. “Because you’re already old enough to drink everywhere—so, of course, you don’t give a shit.” And he wasn’t going to remind her that his twentieth birthday was still a couple of months off.
“Hmm.” She shrugged. “Okay, fine. I’ll stop playing mother hen. But no hard stuff—and don’t go overboard. It might be legal for you to drink, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get a hangover. And I need you playing your ass off tomorrow night. This is gonna be one of our biggest, loudest crowds ever—and they’re surrounded by some of the greatest bands in the country. We need to be at our best.”
“Of course.” Brandon couldn’t remember playing a single show where he hadn’t given it his all—but, as Kyle had said herself, she’d had some bad experiences with her old band, like members so wasted they couldn’t stand on the stage, much less perform. The difference with Brandon was that he looked upon this like a job—a fun job, but a job nonetheless. So he gave it his best every time, and he showed up ready to work, whether it was for a performance or a practice.
And Kyle knew that, which was why she patted him on the back before saying, “All right. Guess I’m preaching to the choir. Then let’s celebrate!”
Clay, the crazy guitarist for LFS, stood and said, “It’s about time we act like a rock band. If you’ve got ‘em, drink ‘em!”
But the lean guy on the couch next to Clay—the man Brandon knew as Dane but the fans knew as Silver, drummer for their band—titled his head back, inviting Brandon to sit in the small space on the other side of him. Brandon smiled, feeling like that was the kind of mentoring he wanted—being invited to hang with the drummer of a band with several solid albums who’d toured the world more than once. Dane had taken Brandon under his wing before, showing him cool tricks to do with his drumsticks and different techniques to try on his kit, but they’d never partied together before.
Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set Page 117
