Stricken Desire

by S. K. Logsdon

  Stricken Desire

  Book One

  S.K Logsdon

  Copyright © 2013 by S.K Logsdon

  All rights reserved. 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 written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  Editor: Heather Sowalla, Windy Hills Editing

  Cover art by: Marika Kraukle

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Visit my Author Pages

  You can find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/sklogsdon

  My website: http://sklogsdon.weebly.com

  And

  Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/sklogsdon

  Acknowledgements

  I wanted to give a special shout out to authors Samantha Towle and Michelle A. Valentine. Who inspired me to write this series.

  And thank my friend Goldie who has been full of inspiration and encouragement throughout my writing endeavors.

  If it wasn’t for her “The Raunchier the better” theory I might not have written these stories as colorful as they have become.

  This book is a work of fiction created by the author S.K Logsdon and is not associated with any real band, lives or stories.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter One

  Standing in the front row of this hot as hell outdoor venue in Las Vegas I think my skin is about to melt off. July in Vegas wearing a gray tweed jacket and matching pencil skirt embroidered with big pink roses what was I thinking? I should have probably went with less clothes but I wanted to appear half professional when I finally get the chance to introduce myself to the band. I’d finally stepped up in the world. Luck of the draw as I see it. Thanks to my very friendly, very male best friend Stacy. He works the music biz and is a road manager to Stricken an overnight rock phenomenon. With eight years’ total experience under his belt he was plucked specifically for this job four years ago once the band catapulted into stardom. But now it’s been too much to handle. With his mom sick deteriorating thanks to dementia he was forced to place her in the best nursing home money could buy. All because he’s been so busy that he hasn’t had the ability to take care of her himself. Not that she deserves it.

  That’s where I come in. I got a call three weeks ago to the day from Stacy. We’ve been long-distance best friends for most of our lives. Growing up in the same small rink-a-dink town in Indiana it was hard not to know everybody their brothers, cousins and uncles. Our entire school K-12 consisted of less than eight hundred kids. Stacy was five years ahead of me in school but my seventh grade year and his junior our destiny’s collided on the sports field. I was running the track that surrounded the football field. I was a long-distance runner for our school and was good, won a few championships locally and I even competed state wide a few times. And he was busy being the hottest football player in the district. From an early age Stacy was used to having girls dripping off his arms. It’s not like he could help it being six one, nearly two hundred pounds of all muscle with shaggy dirty blonde hair and piecing blue eyes. Sex is what most people could think of when looking at him. Including me.

  But that fated day was when our paths finally crossed. I was running, minding my own business my cd player attached to my hip in a special fanny pack I’d gotten for Christmas, jamming to N-sync the best boy band ever. I was going for endurance more than speed and I was oblivious to what was going on around me. Too busy focusing on the science test I had coming up the next day on the periodic table of elements. Those are some tricky buggers let me tell ya. I’m not exactly sure how it all happened but I was running, my new bright blue adidas pounding into the dirt when I was pummeled from behind. I hit the ground hard my entire body went down in a free-falling dive. And Stacy was the one who landed on top of me. Nearly all two hundred pounds of him and it felt like having my ass handed to me by a brick wall. Needless to say he was fine, not a damn scratch but I fractured my ankle and tore the shit out of my hands. There was no more track for me that year. I figured being a famous football player and all he’d just shrug it off and leave me to fend for myself. But instead Stacy felt terrible and scooped me up into his big arms and carried me to the nurses. Where my parents were called and I had to go to the hospital. Wore a cast around my ankle and foot for nearly a month. He sent me flowers and even visited me once I got home. Somehow we’ve been great friends ever since. I was his platonic date to prom his senior year and once he graduated he went off to college at UCLA to study music biz and play football.

  I’ve held his hand through not one but two divorces. No kids resulted in either of them. Thank god because with those money hungry bitches I am sure he’d be screwed even more than he already was. At least with the second he was smart enough to get a prenup. I’ve been through one major breakup and he was my rock through it all. Although I never dove too deep into any relationship. It’s never been my thing. I can’t get attached. I think it might be a defect in my DNA. Stacy’s agreed with me a few times on that one. He dates women like it’s an Olympic sport and I could care less. Thankfully I’ve never been into him and he’s never shown any interest in me except maybe when he’s super drunk and about to go home alone. Alcohol plus Stacy equals boobs, pussies and usually more than one of both. From what I hear from his dates if you’d call them that. He’s rockin in the sac.

  So now at the ripe old age of twenty four my best friend has called in a favor. I’m between jobs anyways thanks to my old boss who decided my position as PR manager for his small publishing company was no longer employable. All because I refused to sleep with him. I guess after working there for eight months and not opening my legs to a fifty-year-old, overweight, married man with four kids meant I couldn’t keep the best job I’ve landed since I graduated from NYU. Not that I’m bitter or anything. When I told Stacy he nearly croaked and offered to come to NY where I live to personally kick his ass. Which knowing Stacy he’d do it. That’s just the kind of man he is. Loyal to his friends and I’m the longest one he’s ever had and the only female. Well maybe not the longest, I think he might still talk to Kyle my old next door neighbor who played football too. But I don’t know.

  So when he asked me to come to Vegas to see Stricken’s play and take a job as his assistant I couldn’t resist. He needed some of the pressure off himself and the record labeled agreed to pay me only because they can’t afford to lose Stacy. So here I am standing in the front row sweating my ass off with a m
ob of sweaty men and women behind me.

  Stacy wanted me to get the full effect of the show so he forced me to take front and center. I could almost reach up and touch the stage if it weren’t for the big ass bodyguards dressed in all black standing in the way. Some punk rock band calling themselves Xtreme Sex just exited. They were the opening gig and to be honest I’d heard a lot better. Not sure how they decide who opens for the band but I can only hope my job entitles me to help in the scoping out new bands because they were seriously under par. Maybe not for some Podunk rock show back home but in the big leagues they sure as hell don’t belong.

  The fans roar as the roadies set up the stage for the main event. I can feel sweat dripping down the back of my neck. Thank god I wore my hair up tonight and waterproof mascara. No raccoon eyes for me. Stricken’s drummer enters first playing around with his bright purple set. Which just drives the crowd wilder and they all move forward to get a few inches closer. My body is pressed tightly up against the bars leaving imprints in my stomach. This is so not my scene. Drinking coffee and reading a book in bed are the real highlights of my life. Not having a woman’s sweaty breasts pressed against the back of my two hundred dollar suit. I am so going to kill Stacy for this. And I will make sure it will be a slow painful death. He deserves it for putting me through this. It’s so not sanitary.

  Next on stage enters the bands two guitarists. Well I think one’s a bass guitarist. Whatever that means. I am not into the music biz. I love music, all kinds of it actually. And I’ve listened to all of Stricken’s albums, only because Stacy mailed them to me prerelease. I even have one album they’ve signed the cover of, thanks to Stacy. I’d never ask for that. They’re good. I mean real good. Hard rock with a touch of soft into the mix. I can see why the women love them; each member is like sex on a stick. I turn my head to watch the crowd and that’s when Johnathan enters the stage in all his Grecian god glory. Stricken’s lead singer. Sex god and womanizer extraordinaire. I know all this because Stacy tells me not because I’m some media whore. I don’t do gossip and I sure as hell won’t buy a magazine with it. Books are the only thing I read and maybe the New York post if I want a change of pace. Which isn’t often.

  God Johnathan is hot though. He grabs the mic like he’s making love to it and belts out the first song to kick off the night. Women all around me are screaming his name and shirts start to come off in masses. I’ve never seen so many women’s boobs in my whole life. Big, little, old, young, tattooed. Oh god I think I might be sick! I covered my mouth and take in a deep breath. This is too much.

  “How’s it goin' Las Vegas?” he yells into the mic.

  A whole lot of ‘I love you Johnathan’, ‘Show us your cock’ and ‘Hell yeah’s’ are screamed in retort. I think I might go deaf by the end of the night. Too much flesh. God this life is so not for me. What was I thinking coming here? I do PR for publishing companies not managing and PR for rock stars. I am so going to kill Stacy.

  “I want to give a little shout out to my friends tonight. You know who you are.” He says again making love to the mic. Then jumps off into the next song. I can’t tear my eyes from the stage. They are mesmerizing. The atmosphere totally sucks but the playing is out of this world. They are even better in person. I looked over to the side of the stage and there stands Stacy his hands tucked into his ratty jean pockets talking to some tall blonde. She is defiantly his type. I think just about everyone Stacy’s dated or even just fucked has been a blonde. That’s probably why we’ve been friends for so long I do not in any way shape or form fit into the leggy blonde model classification. I’m five two at best. Not sure where my height or lack thereof comes from because my mom’s almost six foot and my dad’s six four. Sometimes I think I’m adopted. I have red hair and when I say red I don’t mean auburn. I mean red, red. It’s wavy and long, hits about the middle of my back dry and my butt when it’s wet. My skin is pale, I couldn’t tan even if I wanted to. Now that is something me mom and I both share and my dad used to be a red head like me but now he’s bald and his eyebrows are gray with age.

  Finally the show is over. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the music because I did. But needless to say the experience as a whole was I- need-to-take-a-cold-shower-and-sanitize-myself worthy. I have a feeling I will spend the next two days showering the sweat and female crotch smell out of hair. Yuck!

  “Hey Em!” I hear a familiar voice yell my name. I’m outside the venue after pushing through the hordes of crazy fans. I need to get to my rental car but it’s going to take hours to get out of this parking lot.

  I turn my head and I see Stacy alone running towards me.

  “What are you doing out here? I thought you wanted to meet the band?” he’s out of breath. Even panting my best friend is beautiful. Going on thirty and still looks like he’s twenty one. Lucky bastard.

  “After all of that I should fucking kill you.” I screech smacking him hard on the arm.

  “It wasn’t that bad was it?” A dirty little smirk washes across his sweaty face.

  “Was it that bad? Are you serious? You did this on purpose didn’t you?” I put my hand on my hip for effect.

  Laughing loudly he says “Well I know you need to loosen up a little so I thought a night in my world would help with that.”

  I roll my eyes and smack him again, harder this time.

  “Ouch Em, it can’t be that damn bad” he adds rubbing his reddened arm. Serves his ass right.

  “Well when you live in my world of books and coffee and T.V shows that don’t consist of naked woman, the smell of sweat, BO and rotten crotch. This is so not sanitary.” I say rubbing my hands on my skirt trying to cleanse the night away. But I can’t help but think about that nasty brunette behind me pressing her sweaty boobs against my back. Oh shit I think I might actually vomit. I cover my mouth and take a deep breath again.

  “I’m sorry Em I thought you might like the full experience.” He shrugs.

  “I forgive you. But don’t do this again without warning me. I know you’re lose and fancy-free. But I’m just not. I may not be a prude but there’s a fine line between being a prude and having to endure what I just did. Panties hitting the stage like a damn waterfall. One even landed by my foot because somebody couldn’t aim. After meeting the band I am so going to have to shower.”

  Wringing his arm around my neck to pull me into a hug, he plants a kiss on my forehead.

  “I promise. Come on I want you to meet the band. There’s an after party at one of the hottest clubs in the city and I want you to come with.” He looks me up and down and shakes his head with obvious disgust. “But not wearing that.”

  “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 castrations 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 coats 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 can 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 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 now.” 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. But 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 and takes 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 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 anything to me. 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 get the room. I have a bunk as does Duncan, 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!