by Eden Summers
Secret Confessions: Backstage
Josh
Eden Summers
www.escapepublishing.com.au
Secret Confessions: Backstage
Josh
Eden Summers
An All-Access pass to Sex, Love, and Rock’N’Roll. Because what happens on tour doesn’t always stay on tour…
From Australia to the world…
Chicago. The last stop of their wildly successful US tour sees Australia’s biggest rock band The Screaming Tuesdays in sultry, summertime Chicago to play two sold-out shows. But the stage is not where the action is, and no one knows what goes on behind the scenes…
There are implied benefits to the security manager role, but Josh has been on the job a long time, and fangirls willing to do whatever it takes to get backstage just don’t do it for him anymore. Except tonight. And that one brunette. She probably wants nothing more than to bang a drummer, but Josh can’t seem to find it in himself to care. He’s going to take whatever it is that she offers, for as long as she’s offering, and he’s not going to let his pride get in the way…
Secret Confessions: Backstage
Reading order
1. Chase—K.M. Golland
2. Josh—Eden Summers
3. Yanis—Lexxie Couper
4. Theo—Zaide Bishop
5. Kelly—Shona Husk
6. Jet—Rhian Cahill
About the Author
Eden Summers is a true blue Aussie, living in regional New South Wales with her two energetic young boys and a quick witted husband.
In late 2010, Eden’s romance obsession could no longer be sated by reading alone, so she decided to give voice to the sexy men and sassy women in her mind.
Eden can’t resist alpha dominance, dark features and sarcasm in her fictional heroes and loves a strong heroine who knows when to bite her tongue but also serves retribution with a feminine smile on her face.
Contact Eden at [email protected], sign up to her newsletter http://eepurl.com/AUA7P or visit her website www.edensummers.com
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Kate Cuthbert for asking me to participate in this group project—my first group project. It is thrilling to be included amongst such awesome authors.
To the husband who makes life perfect.
Contents
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Episode 2—Josh
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
Episode 2—Josh
“It ain’t gonna suck itself.”
Josh Roberts snapped his attention from the crowd of moshing bodies to the security guard beside him, wondering if he’d heard the asshole correctly. Of all the people he had to be partnered with, Anton wasn’t the guy he wanted to be stuck with tonight. The wanker was delusional. A narcissist. With his head stuck so far up his ass he’d never see the light of day again. Apparently he also thought Josh needed pointers in scoring with groupies.
“Thanks, champ,” Josh muttered, wishing the plugs tightly shoved in his ears would block out the man’s arrogant comments. “But this ain’t my first rodeo.”
He’d been a security guard for The Screaming Tuesdays since they started filling stadiums back in Australia. He didn’t merely know the music that had become a phenomenal success, he knew the men behind it. They’d become friends, and he paid back the generosity of his healthy pay cheque by working his ass off. The knob-jockey beside him was a Chicago ring-in, only interested in getting laid.
“I’m telling you, it works every time. I haven’t met a groupie who wouldn’t fall to her knees for a glimpse backstage.” Anton pointed toward the security barrier before them and raised his voice over the thrumming music. “Check out the talent a few feet back from the railing.”
“What about ‘em.” The two women had been among the first to arrive at the concert. The blonde, with her schoolgirl ponytail and big, bright smile, was the most enthusiastic of the pair. One minute she was screaming, then crying, then paused in awe as she watched the stage. Without a doubt, Josh would classify her as a five out of five on the obsessive-groupie scale. But the brunette to her left was harder to read. For one, she still wore all her underwear. Unlike the other women at the front of the crowd, she hadn’t removed her bra or panties to throw at the musicians. He knew. He’d been watching. It wasn’t hard to miss the only woman dancing for fun, instead of attention.
“I bet I could have the blonde’s mouth around my dick quicker than you can say G’day, mate.”
Josh winced. Anton was a prick but, in this assumption, he’d be a correct prick. Josh had met the blonde’s gaze innumerable times during The Tuesdays’ performance. At the end of each song, or during the guitar solos, she’d focus her attention on him with pinpoint accuracy. She was calculating. Scrutinising. He’d seen that expression on men and women alike. The glazed look that announced she was trying to determine what lengths she’d go to for an up-close encounter with the band.
“The blonde’s mine.” Anton yelled over the loud thrash of drums. “You can have the brunette.”
Josh scoffed. Asshole. The brunette hadn’t shown much interest in the stairs leading to side stage where he and Anton were standing. Apart from an overly confident flirtatious glance or two, she was more focused on dancing. Nobody was penetrating her bubble of energy. Which only ever meant two things—she wasn’t a psychotic groupie, or she was too high to care.
“Yeah, whatever.” Josh preferred brunettes anyway. The bleach blonde was too similar to his ex, and he had no intention of putting his dick in that bear trap again. Jesus. What the hell was he thinking? He wasn’t in this security gig for the easy snatch. Yes, it had been a bonus when he first started, until the reality of the situation sunk in. It wasn’t like he was opposed to sexual favours. He just preferred to be giving them, not receiving them. Having women forget his name in the time it took to sashay a few feet to the dressing rooms backstage was a steel-toed kick to the balls.
The final guitar riff of the song belted through the stadium, sending fans into a screaming frenzy.
“Goodnight, Chicago,” Jet Stone, the lead singer, called.
The lights faded. The crowd continued their psychotic hollering, and the blonde focused on her brunette friend in panic. Her lips moved a mile a minute and her hands clutched the other woman’s upper arms, jostling her back and forth.
“You can see the fear in her eyes.” Anton rubbed his hands together as the fans waited to see if they would be gifted with one last song. “I doubt she’ll hear the encore.”
Josh ignored him and glanced around the front of the stage, making sure the security team was prepared for any craziness. They were. They all stood tall, their arms crossed over their chests. Watching. Waiting. It had been a quiet night. Nobody had jumped the security rail. Nothing had been thrown toward the band—apart from underwear.
Everything was running to plan as the stage lights burst to life, engulfing the darkness and blinding the crowd. Jet strode back in front of the audience, shirtless and sweat-slicked as the accompanying band members began belting out the first bars of their most recent chart topper. The encore was usually too much for some fans. If they were going to pass out from hyperventilating, this was the moment. So Josh should’ve been focused on his job instead of wondering if the brunette would succumb to the appeal of a backstage pass.
As the fans settled into the familiar dance rhythm, he sought out the brunette. The blonde gave her friend another shake, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes. A second later her face lit up like Sydney Harbour on New Year’s. The brunette turned toward him, ignoring the final song as she led the way through the myr
iad of tightly compacted bodies.
“Told ya,” Anton shouted. “Remember, the blonde is mine.”
“The blonde doesn’t look legal.” It could’ve been the small breasts under the excessively tight top or the glitter makeup, but the closer the blonde came, the younger she looked.
“I guess that’s a perk of the job.”
Josh ground his teeth together to stave the anger building in his chest. This guy didn’t deserve to breathe, let alone have the power to manipulate love-crazed women. It was pathetic. But Anton had been right. The women were on their way over, slowly squeezing forward.
Each step brought clarity to their features, and the closer they came, the harder he focused on the brunette’s flawless smile. She was hot in her blue jeans and loose fitting top that hung low to show off her cleavage. Beautiful even, with shoulder-length brown hair, thick black lashes and the darkest eyes he’d ever seen. But it was her lips—the full ruby-red swell of a tempting mouth—that made him think of dirty sex. There was confidence in every move she made, even when she was ducking and weaving around strangers. She was a seducer; an accomplished one if the ramped-up beat in his chest was anything to go by.
He wondered what their line would be. Would they be prepared for what was required to get a golden ticket? Some women had no clue. They came to side stage with love in their eyes and hope in their heart, but no concept of what some security guards would request of them. Lately, Josh had been allowing women entry for as little as a smile. He’d been in a relationship. He believed in fidelity. And sending entertainment to the band was a requirement after every show, so that’s all it took—a sweet grin, a nice rack, a tight body.
Tonight may be different.
His cock pulsed to life the moment the women squeezed their way to the barrier. The brunette met his gaze, making her intent known by the pouting curve of those delicious lips and the wicked gleam in her eyes.
His throat tightened at the vivid ideas rushing through his mind. He could have her. That mouth, those full breasts. It may only be for a few moments, with her playing hooker to get backstage, but the thought was there and he couldn’t shake it, no matter how sleazy it made him.
Fuck. He needed to focus. His work wasn’t done. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. What else could he do? She had his dick in her grip, squeezing tighter the longer her focus rested on him.
He dragged his gaze over his shoulder, back to the stage where Jet crooned the last line of the song. On cue, the illumination vanished, throwing the stadium into darkness. The fans went wild; screaming, sobbing, clapping. The sounds coalesced, hurting his ears even through the earplugs. The house lights snapped on, announcing to all that there wouldn’t be another encore. The performance was over. At least for the band.
People filled the aisles and staircases, preparing to leave, while the row of women against the rail waved their arms, reaching out. Some even showed their tits to get the attention of the men who tightly guarded access to backstage.
Josh cringed. It was a meat market. Even worse. The women acted like illegal immigrants trying to plead their case to get across the border. All for what? Sex with a rock star? A few moments of glory that the musicians wouldn’t even remember in the morning?
His neck tingled as the line of guards did what they were paid to do—wait. He could feel the brunette staring at him, enticing him while he wasn’t even watching. His dick felt it too, all the way from his balls to the tip of his shaft. Christ. He needed to get laid. He just hoped the growing bulge in his pants wasn’t obvious to the mob of salivating women before him.
His colleagues held their position in silence, unmoving until the majority of women lost interest, or hope, and began to leave. His radio crackled and a guard’s voice spoke soft and low. Josh yanked the device from his belt, removed his earplugs and asked for a repeat.
“Have you got any takers?”
Josh met the gaze of the security guard at the far end of the stage who held the radio to his ear, waiting for a reply.
“Tell him we’ve got two,” Anton called over his shoulder as he strode toward the barrier.
Shit. Decision time. He met the deep brown irises of the brunette and fought to control his conscience. It wasn’t his job to be the morality police. What these women offered was their business. Not his. Right? Taking them up on the offer of gratification for a ticket backstage was what they expected. It was the way the industry worked.
“Yeah, we’ve got a couple,” he muttered back, still holding her attention.
“Roger that. We’ve got two over here as well. That should be enough for the guys tonight.”
“Righty-o.” Josh clipped the radio back on his belt and let the buzz of anticipation crawl under his skin. Fuck his morals. He was going to have a little fun.
“—the rest of you can take a hike,” Anton yelled. “There’s no more passes tonight.”
Josh hung back, breaking the heated connection with the brunette to eye the group of rejected women glaring their disapproval. Some continued to plead their case, grabbing Anton’s arm and demanding his attention.
“I said back the fuck off. You’re not getting in there.”
Muttered curses were flung through the air as the women dispersed; all the women except the blonde and her tempting brunette companion.
Anton ignored the abuse flying his way and leaned his hip against the barrier. “I assume you two are interested in getting backstage.”
Josh could see the blonde nodding eagerly from his periphery as he focused back on the brunette. Her attention hadn’t wavered from his face. There was an air of assurance in her seductive eyes, like the cat that’d already got the cream, and he began to wonder if he was the one getting played.
“Passes don’t come for free, you know that, right?”
“I know.” The blonde continued to bob her head, eagerly gripping Anton’s forearms as he grabbed her around the waist and helped her over the barrier. Her high-heeled feet hit the cement floor and she beamed back at the douche. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”
Josh cringed. He knew what was coming. The seedy line, the repulsive superiority complex, the—
“Well, it ain’t gonna suck itself, sugar.”
Fuck. It sounded ten times worse than he’d imagined.
“Right here?” The blonde didn’t falter, she didn’t even wince. In fact, she lowered her gaze to the floor, probably wondering how the hard stadium ground would feel against her knees.
“No.” Anton snorted. “Up there.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder, aiming for the top of the staircase that led to a curtain-covered entry side stage.
“Lead the way.”
Anton grabbed her wrist, dragging her forward.
“Hold up,” Josh growled. There was only so much depravity his conscience could take. “Are you legal?” He met the blonde’s blue eyes and scrutinised the shock in her features.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Of course. I have ID if you want to see it.”
Josh glowered at her, waiting for her persona to crack. Fake IDs were a dime a dozen, and he couldn’t always tell the difference. She still had another round of security to convince before she met The Tuesdays, anyway. But it was his job to make sure there were no fuck-ups in the interim. Underage sex could cause bad publicity at best, legal action at worst. He’d seen it happen before.
“She’s fine,” Anton muttered, leading her forward.
“You sure?” Josh glared, his nostrils flaring of their own accord. “Because this is your call and your ass on the line if anything happens.”
“I’m good.” Anton walked away with the blonde, heading up the six stairs without another word.
“She’s legal,” a husky voice murmured.
Josh turned to the brunette, enjoying her interest more than he should have. “She better be.”
Thankfully, this woman was older, in her late twenties, early thirties maybe. Her head was cocked to the side, her mouth
set in a soft line. She was analysing him and he couldn’t figure out if the pounding in his chest meant he liked it or not.
“A security guard with a conscience.” The side of her lips curved in a delicious smirk he wanted to lick right off her face. “Do you really care what happens back there?”
“It doesn’t matter what I care about, what matters is the band’s liability.” He cared. He cared about the girl’s stupidity for wanting to go backstage. He cared about how easily she gave up something to a man who wouldn’t remember what she looked like tomorrow. It wasn’t an invigorating feeling. Being used never was.
Most of all, he cared about his association with assholes like Anton. But he wasn’t going to write a sonnet or shed a tear. “The guys aren’t out back having a knitting class. She needs to know what she’s up against.”
“Oh, she knows.” The woman raised her focus to the top of the staircase. “We both do.”
At least she wasn’t naïve or shy. It would be a harsher battle with his libido if she wasn’t the one seducing him to move forward and bridge the distance between them. This woman wanted him. She was practically gagging for it. She was waiting for an invitation, for her sleazy knight to lift her over the railing and set her on the course to her happily ever after with the band. His hang-ups were merely that, his and his alone. This gorgeous woman had no problem bartering with sex.
“I like your accent.” She met his gaze, still cool, calm, and collected, enticing him with nothing but a bat of her lashes and that husky feminine voice.
“Thanks,” he muttered, unwilling to lessen the harshness of his tone and announce how much she was enticing him.
“Australian?”
“Yeah, sweetheart.” At least she hadn’t confused him with a New Zealander or, worse still, South African. He would’ve had to walk away if she’d stung his Aussie pride.
“So.” She flashed him a teasing grin. “Do you always make women perform sexual acts to get a backstage pass?”
