“What’s wrong with this?” I sweep my hand down the side of my skirt suit. I think it’s appropriate. Guess not.
“First off, you’re not an accountant. You’re a PR slash co-road manager to a very famous rock band. You can’t dress like that anymore unless you want to get made fun of and stand out like a sore thumb,” he scolds.
“Then what am I supposed to wear?” I frown. I can’t look that bad. “If you tell me fishnet stockings and crop tops, I am going to hit you in the balls. Then castration is next on the list.”
He laughs again, tugging me in closer as we walk, my arm wrapped around his lower back, headed to the infamous Stricken tour bus.
“I’ll help you pick some clothes out. But before we go in, I need you to at least take out that damn bun and that coat’s gotta go. This way you’ll look more like a hot miniature teacher instead of an accountant.” He winks and I pinch him hard on the side. He has no fat on his body so it’s just skin I grab onto. He doesn’t even flinch. What a bastard!
“I may be a miniature woman. As you call me. But at least I have some fashion sense. What is up with those jeans? Were they meant to look like a hobo wore them for a year and then sold them to you?” I smile big, with lots of teeth. Two can play at this game.
“I’ll have you know, I bought these jeans just like this.”
“Well you overpaid. I could go to the goodwill, buy a pair for a dollar and run them over with my truck a few times and they’d still be more stylish then those.” I smirk seriously.
He pinches me on the neck and I squeal loud. Drawing attention to us walking in the back of the outdoor amphitheater where the bus is parked.
Chapter Two
The bus is huge and black with silver accents. I can’t help but be in awe of it.
“Now, do it,” Stacy says, pointing to my outfit. I roll my eyes again and stick out my tongue, making sure he can see my expression.
I take off the coat and he takes point and tugs my hair out from its rather sexy chignon. Guess he doesn’t think it was sexy, but I do. Oh well. My red hair falls in soft waves over my shoulders.
“Is this better?” I whine running my fingers through my hair. It’s damp with sweat.
“Much,” he smiles, taking my hand and inside the bus we go.
The place looks even bigger inside than it does outside. The first thing I see is a huge wrap around red leather couch. The kitchen is sizable for a bus and it’s all state of the art stainless and black. I’m utterly jealous. Can lights illuminate us from the ceiling and a giant flat screen TV is plastered on the wall. Walking further in Stacy has yet to say a word. We walk between a row of six bunks. Three on each side with red curtains for privacy and then in the back is a sizable bedroom and bath. Total luxury.
“So who sleeps here?” I ask, pointing into the modern bedroom.
“Johnathan does. He’s the lead singer so he gets the room. I have a bunk as does Deacon, Price and Keith. You, Miss Emily Bronwyn, will be sleeping in the bunk just below me,” he explains, pointing to the middle bunk on my right. A bunk, oh joy!
I can hear a bunch of rowdy noise coming into the bus, deep voices; one speaking over the next. But I can’t see anyone, Stacy’s standing right in my line of sight. Grabbing my hand again he pulls me in tow into the living room, where all four band members stand and two rather slutty women in skintight clothes and breasts about to fall out of their glittery tops. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at them.
“Hey Stacy, we weren’t disturbing you and your guest, were we?” The man I recognize as the drummer asks with a wink.
Stacy chokes like he’s got something caught in his throat. Man, is the thought of sleeping with me so terrible? I let go of his hand. He’s offended me. Some best friend he is!
“No guys, this is Emily. My new co-road manager.”
“Assistant.” I chime in.
“You hired a chick to work with us?” Johnathan, the lead singer, asks him. I swear it’s like I’m not even in the damn room right now. Fucking men.
“Yes. I did. I told you guys that, if you would have listened to me. I’ve known Em nearly my whole life, and she will be helping me wrangle the four of you.” He points to them one-by-one.
Johnathan chuckles and I’m insulted again. Jesus, can this introduction get any worse?
“She’s just a kid. Look at her, how could she help?” he looks me up and down like I’m the worst thing he’s ever laid eyes on. “Does she even know the first thing about being our manager? Or Co-manager? Whatever the fuck,” Johnathan says, his tone sticky with acid.
Man, he is a dick. What did I ever do to him? I’ve just met the damn guy and he already thinks I am too young and inexperienced. Fuck that. Fuck him! Not literally.
“I’m twenty four for your information and I am standing right here. If you have something to ask me, you can talk to my face. It would be most appreciated. And yes I have some experience. I graduated NYU with a bachelors in Public Relations. I think I can handle it,” I sass.
Man, I’m being a total bitch. But I refuse to be treated like some half ass woman because I’m short, look young and have a vagina.
“Oh she told you,” the one guitarist chuckles. Then the entire band laughs and Stacy looks at me like I just hit him in the face with a book. I shrug. He should know me well enough to know I will not be treated less than I deserve. Hello, that’s why I stay single. Men are just a cluster fuck waiting to happen. Damn, I have a trucker’s mouth. Well my dad is a trucker so I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“Listen, Short Stack,” Johnathan says, taking a step towards me. Standing nearly toe-to-toe. Hot damn, he’s tall and, well, I’m short. But he’s got to be taller than my dad—maybe six five or maybe he just appears that way because his body is so built.
“What?” I add, placing my hand on my hip. Yep, that’s right, I’m a badass. A short one but I can hang in the big leagues. Bring it on you big misogynistic ass-wipe. I can’t help but crack a crude smirk.
“If you come and stay here, living on a bus with a bunch of dudes, you’ve got to get one thing straight. We have cocks. We fuck hot chicks, drink, fuck some more and we’re loud and sloppy. If you can’t handle it, I suggest you hop the next flight back to wherever it is you came from and go back to your little sweet life with puppy dogs and cracker jacks.”
Stacy and the rest of the band are watching this whole damn thing play out. I am half tempted to cry because he is being so mean. But I suck it up. I’m so down with this. If he wants to be a dick I will show him I can take it. I’m no weak woman. Bring it on!
I take another step forward. I can smell him. He smells so damn good, like cigarettes, spicy cologne and sweat. What a heady combo. Yum. Oh no! I better stop that right now. I hate this prick! Remember that Em!
“Listen,” I blurt firmly with an attitude and poke him in the chest, hard with my finger. Oh my god! It’s like this man is made of rock. Not rock and roll but the sedimentary kind. “I don’t care who or what you fuck. I’m not here to play mommy. I’m here to do my job. Which frankly, I know I can do and I WILL be good at. Just because I don’t have a penis doesn’t mean I can’t do this. Be as loud and party as hard as you want. That’s your MO, not mine. Now get the fuck out of my way so I can go get my luggage and join your sorry ass on this bus.” I push him again and he doesn’t move, so I slide out beside him and out the bus door I go. I am so pissed I think I could spit. On him would be even better.
Stacy comes running out of the bus behind me.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he demands just as he grabs my arm and pulls me against him. I looked up into his lovely blue eyes. He’s blazing mad.
“You’re shitting me right? You let him talk to me that way and expect me to bend over and take it up the ass?” I push him away and follow the path out to the parking lot.
I snatch up my bag out of the back of the car and roll it back to the bus where Stacy is outside waiting for me.
“I’m sorry,” he says and sounds like he means it.
“For what part?” I sass, letting go of my bag and crossing my arms over my chest.
“All of it. Johnathan might be right; you’re not cut out for this lifestyle. I have been so desperate to find someone to help so I can go see my mom, that I didn’t think about what you’d have to deal with here.” He gestures with his head toward the bus. Blonde hair falls into his face. And he pushes it back, tucking a few strands behind his ears.
“I maybe a book reading, coffee drinking, quiet gal most of the time, Stacy. But I can do this. Johnathan doesn’t scare me. I can handle a dickhead. I spent months with a boss trying to fuck me. I think I can handle four rock stars and my best friend. I’m here as much for you as I am for myself. I have to prove to myself that I accomplish something this challenging. Stop worrying about me and just let me do my damn job. Just promise to keep me from sweaty boobs pressing against my back is all I ask.” I chuckle and give him my sympathetic smile.
I know Stacy has been going through a lot with his mom’s diagnosis and it’s progressing rapidly. The last time we spoke on the phone, he was terrified that he wouldn’t be able to see her again before she forgot about him. I don’t know what I would do in his position; it’s a real hard one. His mom was abusive or that’s what I would call it. She calls it parenting. I call bullshit. But she’s all he’s ever had. I was lucky enough to have a mom and dad my whole life. Pretty awesome ones at that.
Going into the bus, I take a shower in the standup stall. The black and white bathroom is stuffed with tons of male products. Whoever thought men don’t use as much products as women are full of shit. Hair gel, a blow-dryer, deodorant, colognes. A bunch of nudy magazines are tucked into the chrome wall magazine holder along with a few sports illustrated and game informer. Not to forget the icing on the cake that’s sitting on the floor in front of the vanity. It’s a huge box of condoms and when I say huge, I don’t mean like a twenty pack. I’m talking a Costco size box of Trojans. If they screw that much, maybe they should do a commercial for Trojan. Hum….I might have to look into that.
I only wish I knew more about men and why they do the things they do. They are weird creatures. I grew up with me and my mom, with my dad out on the road a lot. It was all flowers, makeup, manicures, chick flicks, cooking and books. I never learned about sports or cars or anything manly. Except from Stacy who schooled me more about sex and football than I’d never need to know.
Standing with a towel wrapped around me, the door to the bathroom flies open.
“What the hell!” I yell, and look who it is, it’s the drummer all ready to go out for the night.
“Sorry,” he smiles, totally checking me out. I instinctively pull my towel tighter around my body.
“It’s okay.” No it’s not, but I want to be polite to him. Thankfully he didn’t get a full show. A towel doesn’t matter. Does it?
“Hey D, you get em man?” I hear somebody ask. I think its Price.
“Yeah I’m getting them. The lady we’re living with is in here. Give me sex. I mean sec.” He naughtily laughs, eyeing me. “I need those.” He points to the box of condoms.
I blush fifty shades of red and turn to the side for him to retrieve them.
“Thanks,” he says, exiting the bath with a giant handful of the Trojans. “I got em. Let’s hit it.” He says to someone other than me.
I get ready to step out of the bath, towel fully intact and he comes back and pops his head in.
“You coming tonight Bella?” he asks.
I nod. “But I’m Emily.”
“I know that. But you are beautiful.” He runs his eyes up and down me again, licks his lips and ducks out again. Thank the lord. My hearts beating fifty miles an hour. Close quarters with rockers is going to be harder than I thought.
Chapter Three
Pulling up outside Club 9 with Stacy and our bodyguard chauffer James, who looks like a beefier vision of Taylor Lautner. The outside of the club is packed with groupies, the same sleazy sluts that were at the concert. Yuck. But I know I have to get used to seeing this. It isn’t going to be the first or last time I am stuck viewing boobs and pussies from a distance. As long as they don’t touch me I’m going to be okay. Or I hope.
Stacy grabs my hand and escorts me from the black tinted window Mercedes. I love riding in style. But I love driving my truck even more. I have a black 80’s version suburban I ride around in back home in Indiana. Well it’s my dad’s now that I don’t live at home but I still love it and I refuse to let him sell it. So it sits in our barn collecting dust.
Pushing through the mass of people, James leads the way and gently nudges anyone in our path. I might have to buy him a fruit basket one of these days.
“You look very nice,” Stacy compliments once we get inside.
I’m glad he finally approves of my outfit. I went a little out of my comfort zone and threw on a pair of faded jeans that hug rather tightly against my big butt and a fitted pink t-shirt which now gives a full view of my arm tattoo. Yes, nobody would have guessed little, short, straight-laced Em would have a tattoo. But I do; I have four, actually. My right arm is half sleeved down to my elbow with flowers and a few other intricate details. All done in full color. I sat over thirty hours for that one. I have a small cupcake on the top of my left foot, a tramp stamp on my lower back that I got when I was eighteen. And a small butterfly on my left hipbone that burned so bad when I got it done that I’ll never ever get another tattoo on my stomach area again. It hurts like hell.
The club is to capacity. It’s huge, wall-to-wall with people. The floor is like black lacquer and the ceiling is industrial and full of colorful lights. The bar wraps around the entire east wall and it’s black too. Music’s loud and pumping out a mix of modern jams. I spot Johnathan instantly only because that’s where most of the women are flocking to. I can’t blame them. He’s easily six five, built like a brick shit house, tattoos sleeve his arms and I’m sure other places too. His hair is dark brown and spiked into a short faux hawk. He’s got big lips and green eyes similar to mine. Dreamy as all get out. And what do you know, we have our own little group of sexy women headed our way. Yep, Stacy’s smokin’ too.
“Go get some tail,” I lean over, uttering into his ear and smacking him hard on the ass.
“I’m not leaving you in here. I learned my lesson.”
“Screw that. I told you, Stacy, I’m going to have to learn to get down with the party scene. I’ve never done much of it before. But I’ll do it. Now do what you do best and fuck some hot chicks.” I smile.
“You’re the best.” He leans down, kisses my cheek and heads off toward the hoard of women headed straight for us. Cutting them off once he reaches them, by wrapping his arms around their necks. Tilting his head back he glances over his shoulder to me and mouths ‘thank you.’ I wave him off and flash him a big over-the-top smile.
“So you and Stacy really don’t fuck, do you?” I hear a voice say next to my ear. I turn and find one of the guitarists of the band talking to me.
“No we don’t. Never have and never will.”
“Names Keith,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake.
“Emily.” I shake it quick and firm.
“Nice to meet you Emily.” He smiles.
Man, his mouth is perfect too. His hair is blonde, lighter than Stacy’s and it’s straight and spiked. His arms are also cloaked in tattoos and so is his neck. Total rock star persona radiates from him. But I’ve never heard Stacy say that he’s a womanizing dick, like Johnathan. I’m sure he screws a lot of women. But at least he hasn’t insulted me. Brownie points for him.
“You too,” I shyly smirk, looking up at him.
“I love your ink.” He brushes the back of his hand over my tattoo. Goose bumps rise all over my body, head to toe. I haven’t been touched-touched by a man in probably a year. My one and only serious boyfriend ended nearly two years ago and I’ve only ever had sex with him. We dated
for a little over eight months and when I found him kissing another woman in a coffee shop on my way to work I broke up with him. He begged me to stay and said he was sorry. But I dumped Chris and ever since then I’ve been single. I’ve dated a few times here or there. Been set up a couple of times on blind dates. My mom insists I date at least twice a year. So I do for her sake. I’ve kissed a lot of frogs in my life but I’ve never gotten oral or given it. Chris was straight laced and vanilla. We had sex maybe ten times while we were together because we didn’t start until six months in. He was afraid to pop my cherry. Which hurt like a son of a bitch. But after that I loved to have sex. Although, ever since I caught him with that other woman, I can’t say that I’ve been excited to allow somebody back into my bed or my heart. Stacy’s only been the man in my life, next to my dad. I like it that way. He’s strong and he doesn’t try to fuck me. Plus he knows I’ve only ever slept with one man and doesn’t try to pressure me to sleep with others. Our friendship works great. I support his horniness and he supports my lack thereof.
“Thanks,” I say to Keith.
“Want to get a drink?” the blonde guitarist asks.
“Sure.” I gesture with my hand for him to lead the way.
Placing his hand on the back of my elbow, he escorts me through the mass of people filling the entire club. I can’t see Stacy anywhere and Johnathan rock star misogynist extraordinaire hasn’t moved. Except now he’s got a big boobed bottled blonde on his lap and his hand is up her plaid skirt. I want to yack!
“So what’ll it be?” Our tall brunette bartender asks.
“I’ll have a bud and she’ll have?” Keith looks to me.
“A fuzzy navel double on the schnapps and a shot of tequila with a lemon and some salt,” I rattle off. Keith looks at me like I have two heads.
“What?” I shrug.
I know what I want. Sue me.
“Make that six tequila shots and all the rest.” He orders, smiling at the beautiful woman. “Oh and put it on Johnathan Strikers tab.” He adds and turns to wink at me. And I can’t help but giggle like a giddy schoolgirl. My hand delicately covering my mouth.
Stricken Rock Series: Complete Box Set Page 2
