by Jaye Ripley
“You just don’t want me to fuck her and chuck her, right?” I use his words against him out of frustration, and regret it immediately. “Sorry. That was out of line.”
“No. Me saying it in the first place was. I know you’re not that kind of guy. But you are in a successful band that’s about to move to Nashville.” He scrubs his hand down his face. “I guess here’s my warning. Don’t toy with her. If it’s gonna be a one-time thing,” he tilts his head so I can’t miss the warning in his eyes, “then be up front about it. Don’t dick around with her.”
My eyebrow cocks up at his last sentence, but my sarcastic response might get me knocked out. “So you’re saying it’s okay to pursue her? You’re sure?”
Trey chuckles as he puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m saying that I’m cool. You’re free to try. Hell, it might even be interesting to see what the outcome will be. You two together…but yeah. I’m not gonna stand in your way.” His fingers crush into my shoulder.
“Got it. Treat her like a lady.”
Trey stops punishing my body and laughs. The tension between us breaks. “Treat her anyway you want to try. Guarantee that you might be in over your head. At least she’s given you a head start.” He turns and starts walking back to his office.
“A head start? What do you mean?”
“Mel’s usually our head bartender on the other side of the club.”
A rocker chick? That explains the fish-out-of-water feel her appearance radiates. Those tats on her arm, her fighter stance, that leather mini skirt that hugs her ass. That voice.
“So why’s she on this side of things tonight?” I ask.
At the door to the kitchen, Trey turns back toward me. I can’t see his face in the dark, but the light from behind the door bathes his shadow.
“Because she asked to be.”
Damn.
3
Mel
“No way. Who let the Dominatrix of Darkness on our side?” Tamsin’s voice cuts through the low level of music pumping through the sound system like fingers down a chalkboard.
Before I can get out a “Fuck You” or even a middle finger, Bethany jumps to my defense. “Trey said we needed some extra help with the VIP section tonight since it’s Tailgate Down’s final show before they move to Nashville.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. She’s getting the VIP section tonight? What the hell, Sean!” Tamsin puts down her tray of table stuff she’d been setting out and places her hands on her hips like a crybaby.
Sean shrugs his muscled shoulders from behind the bar and keeps going through the night’s inventory with the bar back. He’s never one to get involved in what he deems as girl issues. Plus, as a fellow bartender, even though he services the country side of the club, I’d like to think he has my back. His silence speaks loud enough for me.
“She doesn’t even look right,” Tamsin continues whining toward Sean. When he doesn’t respond to her, she turns her venom on me. “Nice boots. You know, try as hard as you might, you’re not gonna win many tips if you knock any of the patrons down on this side of things.”
The fact that she has the ovaries to bring up the incident on the other side of the club where a new customer thought he could jump the bar and grab my ass actually impresses me. Kitten has claws! So what if I knocked out the customer with my own fist? What, a girl can’t defend herself? She needs a man to come rescue her? Fuck that.
“Hey, Tamsin. If you’ve got issues with me, why don’t you come over here and take them up with me up close and personal.” I keep playing Tetris moving the couch, tables, and chairs around to get a cozy but rich effect going. “Be careful, or I’ll break out my leather whip and mark you. We Doms know how to handle whiny babies.”
Bethany easily follows my lead and struts over to the VIP section, leaning over the backside of the leather couch. I grab her blonde pigtails and pull on them so her head bends back. The slap of my open palm against her ass echoes in the most satisfying way. Bethany adds an obscene sound of pleasure, so I spank her once more before helping her up.
Tamsin’s mouth drops open. When she realizes all of the guys are staring at Bethany and me, her eyes narrow into pissed-off slits.
“Oh, and Tam Tam,” I add, walking in her direction. “I intend to split my tips with the whole crew tonight. So don’t be thinking that you’re pocketing the extra tips you make when you let the guys do secret body shots off of you.” I run my finger lightly over her neck and down to her cleavage before she jerks away.
Once again, I’ve rendered Tamsin speechless. Unable to recover, she picks up her tray and heads to the other side of the club. I’m hoping Shane, my partner in crime on the “Rock” side of the R&R and Sean’s younger brother, gives her hell or helps her pull that stick out of her ass before she comes back. The rest of the guys whistle and holler for more. Bethany high-fives me.
Devin jumps behind the DJ booth. “We’ve gotta change up the music in honor of Mel being here. Way to shake things up from the start. A kick ass girl like her deserves a kick ass girl singing.”
One of my favorite songs of Pink blasts throughout the large room. No one can resist Pink. Ever. If Tamsin were here, I’d bet good money that the song might help break that frosty attitude she’s wrapped herself in. I sing along, quiet at first until I can’t help myself. The words describe me to a T. I am trouble, and everyone should know it. My voice flies as my heart pumps with life. When I finish, Bethany claps. Even Sean gives me a silent nod of approval from behind the bar.
It only takes a few tries and many moves of the furniture to get the feel of the VIP area right. Sean had conveyed Trey’s instructions about how it would be for friends and family, not high rollers. So I want it to feel as much like home might feel to any normal family. At least, it fits my dream of what that might feel like with only tables, chairs, and couches. With the VIP section set up and appropriately roped off, I let myself relax and enjoy the new environment.
Tamsin walks back in after the set up is almost finished. She readjusts tables here and there to look productive instead of hurt. When she walks past me, her shoulder bumps my arm.
Before my fist can connect with her, Devin announces from the DJ booth, “One more song for luck.” He winks at me, and I let Tamsin’s infraction go.
To maintain my cool girl cover, I sing along with the track as I help others finish. When it gets to the chorus, it’s not hard to let loose and rock the lyrics with my best impression of my favorite rocker girl using a saltshaker as my mic.
“You should sing for real,” says a low voice in my ear from right behind me.
The shaker drops out my hand, and white particles and glass scatter, creating a universe of chaos across the dark wood floor.
“Here. Let me help you.” The owner of the voice squats down beside me. One quick glance tells me exactly who it is. The stunning green eyes of Hunter Ford, lead singer and badass guitar player of Tailgate Down, stare back at me.
“Um, don’t. Cut… you… I mean, me…—,” I stammer, crouching down as best as I can in my damn red boots and leather skirt to pick up the larger pieces of glass. His eyes bore into mine, and all possibility of rational thought or complete sentences escape me.
“Oh, you and me is definitely something that should happen. But let’s get some of this glass up first.”
I nod. That’s it. That’s all I can muster. No quick retort. No sexy, flirtatious comeback. Just a nod. When Bethany brings over a dustpan and trashcan to us, she has to clear her throat twice before the fog of lust fades enough to take the items from her.
“Hey, Hunter. I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my roommate and best friend Mel here.” Her voice drips with amusement and schemes.
Hunter takes the dustpan from my immobile hands and starts doing what I should have already finished. “Hey, Bethany. S’good to see you’re on duty tonight. I know I’ll be well taken care of.” He dumps some of the glass and salt into the trash.
I look back and
forth between the two of them, still unable to form a coherent sentence.
“Actually, Mel will be taking care of the VIP section tonight. Aren’t. You. Mel.” Bethany stares at me funny, then motions her head for me to say something to Hunter. A mocking scoff from Tamsin standing somewhere behind us breaks me from my temporarily stunned existence.
“Oh, here. Let me finish that.” I reach out for the dustpan. Hunter’s finger brushes my hand as I take it from him, and chills break over my entire body. “Sorry. You don’t want to cut yourself before tonight’s show. I’d never forgive myself if you couldn’t play ‘Wind Blows West’ and that cool acoustic solo.”
Well, so much for my plans of seduction. I’m gushing like a moony fangirl. I manage a smile in his direction, but keep my eyes focused on the task just in case his hotness renders me stupid again.
“You know our work? I’m impressed. You’re not what I would expect from a fan.” His gravelly voice possesses more softness in it than I would have expected. It melts my insides.
“Oh, she’s got all your music downloaded. Even some of your old college stuff that was bootlegged onto YouTube,” adds a smiling Bethany.
“Shut up, Bee.” I swat at her legs with the damp rag she lent me to get the last of the mess cleaned up.
Hunter stands up as I finish cleaning, so when I swipe the rag across the floor in front of him, my head almost runs into his jean-clad crotch. My mouth opens as my brain attempts to calculate the size of the weapon he holsters in there. I lick my lips as the specific target I’d love for him to hit warms up at the thoughts that pop up in my head. With one zip, my mouth could be wrapped around him. It’s been a while since a man’s been worthy enough for me to even consider sucking him off.
Hunter’s deep laugh wakes me from my fantasy, and I look up at him. His eyes shine with more than amusement. “Now that’s a sight that I wouldn’t mind seeing every day of my life.”
Embarrassment’s for pussies, and I sure don’t play the demure innocent part well. “You could do that as long as you promised to give me A Week at the Beach and A Passionate Screw.”
Hunter’s eyes turn from playful to puzzled.
It feels better than good to regain my sense of self and a little control back. “Those are cocktails, darlin’. I’m usually a bartender on the other side of R&R.”
“And tonight, you’re working this side because you like my music?”
“I figured I would get you to sign something from your final small time concert so I could sell it on eBay when you guys become the next big country stars.” I stick my girls out at him. “What do you think? Will these do?”
Hunter’s eyes remain glued on my cleavage long after a polite second. When he returns my gaze and realizes how long he’d stared, his lips break into a smile. His intentional stubble almost hides the cute dimple on his left cheek that begs for me to kiss it. Hunter adjusts himself a bit before tipping his baseball cap at me like a true gentleman.
Mission accomplished. I turn to sashay away, and Hunter’s hand catches my arm. “Tell me. Do you drink those girly drinks?”
“Hell no.”
“What do you drink?”
Turning to look over my shoulder at him, I give him one small piece of information about myself. “Bourbon.”
A look of respect flashes in his eyes. “On the rocks? With a twist? With ginger ale?”
“Nope. Neat.”
Hunter’s eyebrows rise in surprise. I chuckle before my parting shot. “I like things straight forward and naked.”
His genuine laugh as I walk away warms me from head to toe, and pools in between my thighs.
4
Hunter
Her. All I can think about is her. Her mouth crooking up at the corner as she sings the chorus. Her body all flesh and curves crouching down on the floor. Her ass wiggling as she wipes the floor with the rag. Her eyes daring me to make my move.
Holy Hell, her lips and her tongue. I seriously wouldn’t mind waking up to that every day. Who wouldn’t want the promise of something so tempting about to devour them?
“Earth to Hunter.”
EJ’s annoying tone cuts through my thoughts. He’s a mood killer for sure. “What, Wilder?”
He scoffs. “See, I told you. Hasn’t heard a word any of us has said for like the past fifteen minutes. It’s a girl.”
“It’s a song,” says Mac as he loads the heavy keyboard case with EJ’s help into the back of my truck. “He’s got that special gleam in his eye that he gets right before he nails down the lyrics and melody.”
The gulp of water I just drank shoots out of my mouth. Melody. Mel.
“Dude. Not cool.” EJ strips off his T-shirt soaked with my spit. “So Mac votes it’s a song that’s got Hunter’s panties in a twist. What about you guys? What do you think has our fearless lead singer so preoccupied?”
“How about I don’t give a shit because we’ve got more to load, so get your ass in gear. Man, tell me again why we’re loading our trucks like it was our first gig?” asks Hart as he carefully cushions and covers another piece of his drum kit. Levi hands him a blanket to help line more of the bed.
“Because the axel on our trailer got busted when you drove it through every single pothole you managed to find on that last trip.” Loading more equipment and securing it down with rope helps keep my mind focused right where it should be.
“I resent that,” retorts Hart. “I’m as good a driver as I am a drummer.”
“If you mean always a little too fast and off beat, then sure. You’re a good driver. And you can pay to fix the trailer.”
Sunglasses hide Hart's eyes, but the daggers shooting out of them are obvious. “Don’t fuck with me, Ford. If it weren’t for my drumming, your ass would be all over the place. I keep us all in line. I hit with precision.” He emphasizes the last word as he pushes his sunglasses up his nose with his middle finger.
Mac jumps in. “Okay, we’ll concede that you’re a great drummer who hits with precision if you’ll admit that you hit every damn pothole that caused the damage to our trailer with the same anal precision. Every. Last. One. And that, little boy, is why we’re loading up the trucks. So shut up.”
Mac brings the temporary peace as always. Not that we ever really fight. But when we need to get shit done, he somehow can put us all in our places and kick our asses until we do exactly what we need to do. And when all five of us work together? Magic. Took us years to get where we are, and hell yeah—we’re going to have many more to come thanks to the deal.
After more grunt work, an idea pops into my head. “Hey, do you guys remember that 18th birthday party we played in, what, like our second year? You know, the one where the mother swore her daughter could sing like Kelly Clarkson?”
Hart groans the loudest of all of us. “That girl couldn’t find the rhythm much less the tune if either one of them came up and slapped her in the face.”
“Worst. Show. Ever,” agrees EJ. “Wait, why are you bringing that up before tonight? You trying to jinx us, Ford?”
All eyes focus on me. A sip from the water bottle barely hides my nervousness in my new idea. “Um, no. I have an idea. More like a favor. To Trey. It’s a favor for Trey,” I lie.
“You’re kidding,” quips Mac. “Trey’s gonna get up and sing a Kelly song? Hell, I’m in just to see that.”
My head shakes long before I find my words. “No, not Trey exactly. Someone else. Don’t worry, they can definitely sing. And not a Kelly Clarkson song. I was thinking more like that song ‘Trouble’ that we adjusted for me to sing. How ‘bout we play it more like the original. It’s not that hard. I have faith in our musical talent.”
“Aw man, I’m with you, EJ. It’s definitely a girl.” Hart shakes his head at me. “And fuck you for making me agree with EJ,” he says to me.
Mac stops loading and looks at me. “You know we can handle it. Thanks for the heads up. But you sure you know what you’re doing?”
His question deserves some co
nsideration. Do I know what I’m doing? Not totally. Do I know if she’ll even agree to my idea? Not totally. Am I willing to risk screwing with my band just to try and win some points with her?
I’m asking a lot with this last minute request. But my gut tells me it’s a good idea. At least I hope it’s my gut and not my dick.
“You guys know I would never steer us in a direction that would hurt us. Definitely not now.”
Levi nods at me, as does Mac. The other two acquiesce quickly.
“We’ve got your back,” EJ says, his serious tone filled with less sarcasm.
Now all I have to do is convince her.
We load a few of the last pieces into the trucks, sweat dripping down our faces and soaking our shirts. Except EJ. He uses his shirt already soaked with some of my spit to wipe himself off.
He pulls an old T-shirt from the bottom of the truck cab, sniffs it, and puts it on before he points a finger at me. “My dad will have your ass if you scratch an inch of the paint on his new truck, asswipe. Have you properly padded everything?”
“It’s your fucking fault for bringing his brand new one. Why the hell didn’t you bring Ol’ Bessie? Remember how we loaded as much of our shit as possible into the back of that elderly truck?” I make one last knot on the rope, check if it’s secure, and jump down.
Mac and EJ laugh as they finish up, too. The smile plastered on Levi’s face tells me that even our quiet bassist remembers Bessie, the white Chevy with a blue stripe down each of its sides. The one girl we all shared back in the day.
“Bessie shook as if she had permanent palsy. It’s a wonder any of our instruments or equipment made it in one piece.” Mac takes a long sip from his water bottle.
“Or any of our furniture when we moved out of our parents’ homes,” adds EJ.
Mac rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whoever had the bright idea to room with Wild Man here should have had their head examined.”
I raise my hand. “You can call me crazy.”
