by Leah Collins
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Whiskey Creek Press
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Copyright ©2006 by WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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BACKSTAGE PASS
by
Leah Collins
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Published by
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
Whiskey Creek Press
PO Box 51052
Casper, WY 82605-1052
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Copyright ©
2006 by Laurie Bradach
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN 1-59374-665-2
Credits
Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston
Editor: Louise Bohmer
Printed in the United States of America
WHAT THEY ARE SAYING ABOUT
BACKSTAGE PASS
"A realistic love story with intensely passionate sex ... Ms. Collins delivered a sharp and subtly sweet writing style that kept her characters alive and engaging. The chemistry between Nora and Alan was simmering from the first page."
Just Erotic Romance Reviews
Reviewer: Sin St. Luke
Rating: 4 Stars
Heat level: H
Dedication
Thanks to Ed and Eileen for their undying support
Chapter 1
Shouldering two guitar cases with a small amp wedged beneath his arm, Alan Price levered open the back door of the squalid club with his right foot, balanced his loads, cocked an elbow inside the frame, and pushed. The screen opened fast on loose hinges to a long, dim hallway, where a glaring light beckoned from the rear.
"The boss could use some help, if you bastards would kindly shoot your wads and be done with it,” Alan called out, as he jostled his way inside.
Guttural curses issued from three of the band members who stood braced against the dingy wall as if set for the firing squad. Below, in almost perfect synchronization, were three ladies on their knees performing a gratuitous service.
Alan stumbled over the ankles of the first girl, who recoiled with a yelp. “Sorry, Miss, I didn't notice your feet."
"It's Melody,” she said crossly. “Did you forget?"
"Uh, no, of course not ... Melody.” She must have been the one who greeted him with a pleasant hand job when he'd arrived. He hadn't looked too closely.
The boys shifted on anxious feet, but none appeared close to coming. Their slack expressions were set in mild pleasure; they acknowledged Alan as best they could under the circumstances.
"Teeth, babe, careful with those teeth.” A satisfied sigh completed the request. The level of debauchery on the club circuit never failed to amuse Alan. Fresh out of their teens, those three young musicians couldn't have scored with a female if they'd worked in tandem before they hooked up with Wanderlust.
Alan wove his way carefully between the pairs of ankles until he reached the end of the hall. “Hurry it up, you guys; your girlfriends are on their way in!"
The last was a joke intended to throw the groupies into turmoil. The sounds of wet suction increased, and a few chuckles from the guys turned to groans as Alan stepped out under the glaring lights.
Rob was already busy on stage, arranging his drums and hardware, setting up mike stands. He saw Alan and bowed in mock worship. “Did you meet the welcoming committee?” He gestured toward the hallway.
"I got a real friendly handshake earlier.” Alan laughed. “Cold fingers, though!"
"Ah, well, it's nice to be appreciated,” Rob said.
"Let's hope Triumph Records appreciates us half as much in St. Louis next Saturday."
"So if we win this Battle of the Bands contest, we get a recording contract—is that the deal?” Rob asked.
"Triumph's producers have been going around to clubs and listening anonymously. Last week we got picked, but they still have to find another band from our area to compete against us ... let's hope it's some chick group.” Alan shaded his eyes and looked across the bar room. “Why are you setting up alone? Where's Nora?"
"She's around, but I haven't seen her lately."
Alan nodded and took out his guitar, easing it upright in its stand. Rob handed him a cord. Alan plugged it in, and a wave of bass reverberated from the amp. Rob lowered the volume.
"You and the missus have any plans for the evening?” Alan asked. Pushing thirty, Rob was considered the old man of the group, and was the only married one among them.
"Jenny's coming by later to grab some dinner—you have plans?"
Alan cast him a look as if he had just been asked the dumbest question on earth. Rob grinned and amended his query immediately. “Sorry! What I should ask is, how many do you have planned for tonight?"
"Well, I'm feeling pretty strong, Rob. If their pitch is good, I'll likely connect.” Alan took a swing with an imaginary baseball bat. “Maybe for a double."
Rob burst out laughing as the rest of the band came staggering onto the stage, tucking and zipping, exchanging lewd comparisons of their respective ladies’ oral skills.
"Damn it, you guys have got to start getting off quicker!” Alan feigned anger. “Rob and I are almost finished lugging the heavy stuff. Now hustle your spent balls outside and get the rest of the instruments!” Alan and Rob grinned as the three turned and sped off stage.
"Love those fledglings,” Rob said. As an experienced musician, it was his duty to put the young, aspiring players through some good-natured hazing. The three new musicians would remain “fledglings” until they proved themselves worthy of full band status.
"Those boys are damned good players and even better entertainment.” Alan laughed, then turned serious. “Are you sure Nora's here? I expected to see her by now."
Rob paused to scan the room. He pointed toward the corner. “I see her. I think that's her in the far booth.” Alan followed Rob's finger to a brown alcove table strung with a single naked bulb. A cascade of red hair splashed across the front of a man's flannel shirt was all that was visible.
"She's with someone?” Alan was incredulous.
"Fifteen minutes and you're on,” the bartender bellowed, catching Alan's eye and tapping the face of his watch. An instant cheer erupted from the Friday night crowd as they swarmed forward with sloshing drinks to surround the stage.
Alan slid on his guitar and patted his shirt for a pick. He couldn't find one and kept probing, his eyes now glued to the corner booth where his closest friend, Nora Barton, was happily ensconced on the lap of a sleazy-looking musician. Alan didn't know him, but the two looked pretty cozy.
The guy tossed back his head and laughed at something Nora had whispered, then quickly returned to the business of nuzzling her neck. She squirmed in undisguised delight, winding her arms around his shoulders. Alan thought he saw Nora's hips shift closer to the guy's groin.
Rob nudged his arm, and handed him a guita
r pick. Alan frowned. “Nora's really making a fool of herself. Do you see how she's hanging on that guy?"
"Good for her! It's about time she had some fun,” Rob said. “Odd choice, though. That's Derek Devlin she's with—you know him, don't you? Of Derek Devlin Revue? His band's close to going big time. No wonder Nora finds him attractive."
"Do you think she does?” Alan nodded toward the booth. “Find him attractive, I mean?"
"I think five more minutes of whatever he's doing could inspire even our tone-deaf little Nora to start singing!” Rob laughed and went on with the set up, rearranging the tangle of cords Alan had dropped at their feet.
"What's it to you anyway? You want to see Nora happy, don't you?"
When Alan grunted his response, Rob looked suspicious. “It would be a very bad idea for you to get involved with Nora, especially since she manages all of Wanderlust's paperwork and bookings. Friends and fucking do not mix."
"Me—involved? Hardly,” Alan scoffed.
Alan Price was the undisputed king of the one-night stand, legendary in these parts for his flagrant and frequent sexual encounters. Alan had a band, bands had groupies, and he'd had them all. So many times, he'd lost count. When his eyes cut back to the booth, Derek had Nora pressed to the wall and Alan couldn't see what their hands were doing.
"That's it."
Alan jerked the plug and let his guitar dangle as he stormed from the stage and plunged into the crowd. The band wasn't due to start for a few minutes yet, but the fans were fully liquored in anticipation. They shouted their enthusiasm as the tall, blonde guitarist cut among them.
Groupies began to cling to Alan's golden arms like barnacles on a ship, grabbing hold of any scrap of flesh or fabric they could, as he navigated toward the side booth.
Peeking from above Derek's shoulder, Nora's eyes widened as she saw him coming. She tapped the broad back that covered her several times but to no avail, until Alan caught Derek by the elbow and hauled him out backward, sending the bevy of hangers-on whirling in all directions.
"What the hell's your problem?” Derek roared, stumbling from the booth to face down the intruder. Nora scrambled out behind, hands flailing to keep peace.
"It's okay—it's just Alan. He obviously has no idea what he's doing.” She gave Alan a murderous look and motioned him away.
Derek's eyes did a quick appraisal of Alan, pausing on the expensive guitar perched between them. “Well, Alan, I came to check out your band. Seems like we play the same venues."
Venues? Alan smirked at the overblown word. Tonight was just another small jerkwater club in a series of them. Though Derek Devlin Revue—known to fans as DDR, for short—was more showy and established than Wanderlust, Alan knew he and Derek were just front men in local bar bands, both trying desperately to get that one magic gig that would lead to stardom.
At least that's what Alan thought he wanted. Times like this, he wasn't so sure it was worth it. He turned his attention to Nora.
"We could use some help setting up, if you're not too busy.” Alan tried to keep his voice level and dispassionate and thought he'd succeeded. But like a seasoned fighter, Derek was quick to realize his advantage. He raised an eyebrow and gave Alan a smug grin. He'd sensed his opponent's weakness, and that was Nora.
"If you could just give us another fifteen minutes, I'd be much obliged,” Derek drawled, pointedly tugging the leg of his jeans. Alan followed the gesture to the creases of the tumescent erection Derek was boasting. Alan glanced up sharply, but Nora's smile caught him, innocent and hopeful. She wanted to stay.
"Sorry, Nora needs to come along now. We've only got ten minutes before sound check ... and we have to go over some new songs.” With that, Alan latched onto her arm to lead her away. Nora didn't balk, but huffed in resignation instead. Derek watched her depart through narrowed eyes, as another girl—one of Alan's castoffs—quickly settled into the vacant place at his side.
Weaving through the crowd, Nora peered over her shoulder. “Damn you, Alan, I really like him, and now look—one of your band bangers has moved right in."
"I'm sorry, honey, I really do need your help. That guy isn't worth your attention anyway. Let the club hoppers have him, that's all he deserves."
"All he deserves? What about what I deserve?” The petite Nora fixed him a hard look. A constellation of gold stars flared in her eyes; her mouth quivered in restrained violence.
Why hadn't he ever noticed how green her eyes were, or how full her lips were before tonight? Alan nursed that unbidden, sentimental thought as Nora's pale complexion deepened in hue from ivory to rose. A very angry rose.
"I could have helped you with the new playlist after the show—anytime but now,” she wailed. “We live next door to each other, for goodness sake! But I've been drooling over Derek for months, and tonight was my big chance to finally be with him."
"You've been interested in that guy for months?” Alan was stupefied. How could something like that have escaped his attention? He and Nora saw each other every single day and she'd never said a word.
"Oh, Alan, you're too occupied with your groupies to take notice of my life or desires."
"Desires?” he said weakly. “I thought ... well I assumed you were too busy with the band and schoolwork to find time for a relationship."
"Bingo. I've been so busy, I've forgotten there's more to life than just work. There's only two months left before school starts. If I don't get a romance kindled, it'll be another year alone for me.” Finding a small table, Nora issued a dramatic sigh and slumped into the nearest chair.
"Nora, listen, that's crazy talk. No one rushes into a relationship because it fits into their time frame."
"Just watch me. Graduate school is going to be different, harder. I want someone to be there for me ... Damn it, Alan, I've worked hard and I deserve to get something I want for a change."
"And Derek Devlin is what you want? Wouldn't you like to shop around, see if you can do better than bargain basement?"
Her eyes shot daggers through his skull. “Derek can give me what I want—he's said as much. And I want to be like all the other girls in this room. I want love; I want a sex life."
"You want to be like them? You want...” Alan couldn't bring himself to stammer out the rest.
"I can't talk to you when you get like this!” Nora was fuming with anger. “Sometimes I don't know why I bother to try. It's obvious you never listen to a word I say! If you did, you'd know how much I want Derek. And tonight, I might've blown it—I didn't move fast enough. I needed more time, I wasn't sure how to react...” She stopped suddenly, mid-rant. Her hesitation became thoughtful. “I didn't know what I was doing and I lost out."
"And you're better off if that's the case,” Alan assured her, ignoring the frantic hand signals from Rob that it was time to start. “Derek Devlin is a shark; he's only after one thing. I know his type."
"I'll bet you do.” Inexplicably, her eyes seemed to trail over Alan's body, lingering an inordinate amount of time on his jeans. Or was he just imagining it? Alan felt like the evening had spun out of control and he had to yank air from his tightening solar plexus just to ask Nora if she wanted something to drink.
"Soda's fine, but I'll order from the waitress myself."
Alan stood near her table, awkward, not sure if she had just issued a dismissal, or was being thoughtful since it was past time for Wanderlust to start playing.
"Aren't you supposed to be on now?” Nora looked annoyed.
"Uh, I guess we are at that."
Alan shook his head as he crossed the small dance floor and strode on stage. At the sight of Wanderlust's lead guitarist, the crowd erupted—especially the females. As many as could possibly fit, wedged themselves front and center. Most looked familiar, a few were new faces, but all wanted the same thing—to be the one singled out by him. Their yearning shot a flame up Alan's spine, searing him from head to toe. He started to play, easing into a long, sensual solo.
Beyond a doubt, this
was Alan's favorite part of the evening: the moments he gazed over the audience before making a certain eye contact, before selecting a partner. He scanned the eager faces, all made-up carefully, exotically, each vying for him with the highest heels, tightest jeans, and deepest cleavage possible.
It was a rush of sheer power and excitement, fraught with the wild possibility that anything might happen to him on a night like this. His libido kicked into high gear, his fingers burned across the strings. Anything might happen.
What Alan did not expect to happen was to find his eyes drawn intractably back to Nora.
Away from the action, she sat alone and brooding, looking as glum as the rest of the crowd was inflamed. He had spoiled Nora's night. Alan knew that, but for reasons he didn't want to analyze at the moment, he didn't care. He was just glad he'd gotten to her before that bastard Derek. The realization startled him. Since when did he feel so possessive of his friend?
Banishing the notion from his mind, Alan forced his brain back to the matter at hand. He had to pick a girl, and he strove now to make his choice. Which one did he want for the night? Not the blonde; too fluffy and insubstantial. Not the dusky beauty; she looked too intense, not like Nora at all. No, it didn't matter that they weren't like Nora. Or did it?
"Damn it, Alan.” Rob hissed in his ear. “You just dropped a line. Mind your music, would you please?"
"Oh, fuck me.” The microphone caught Alan's curse and the crowd went wild, clapping and cheering his confusion. He rolled his eyes plaintively, seeking solace where he knew he could always find it. Only this time, Nora met his look with an obstinate stare.
He was not going to get out of this one so easily. Three years of putting up with his obnoxious behavior seemed to have finally taken its toll on Nora. He knew her as well as he knew himself. It was payback time; he could see it in her eyes.
There was nothing left to do but forget about sex and concentrate on patching things up with Nora. He played the rest of the forty-minute set without incident and without choosing a partner. During the break, he went over to her table and sat without speaking.
