Not that Elfie had looked at it.
Not that she was any kind of connoisseur of men’s bodies.
Not that she was even inadvertently copping a feel of his very muscular back, especially his lats, that tapered down to his narrow waist as she dragged his drunk butt back to his hotel room to pour him into bed.
“You were seventeen?” Tryp asked.
He wasn’t too shitfaced to do simple math, astounding, but he was probably too messed up to remember anything she told him right now. Tryp had a lot of blackouts. She said, “I ran away from home. Long story.”
His breath smelled like fresh whiskey, a comforting scent, when he said, “When I was nineteen, I was a millionaire with a gold record.”
“Way to make me feel better about my life, buddy.” Elfie adjusted his arm on her shoulders to hold him up while she frisked him for his wallet and, not finding it because it had probably been stolen by some desperate groupie again, his hotel room keycard. She shoved him up against the wall and found it in his sock. He still had his drumsticks shoved in his back pocket. A long, blond lank of her hair dangled in front of her face, escaped from her tight braid down the back of her head. She shoved it behind her ear.
Tryp said, “I was living in a shitty hotel because my girlfriend OD’ed on heroin and was in a coma. I didn’t know how to wash the blood off the walls of her apartment.”
“That must have been terrible.” She opened his door, frog-marched him through the living room of the suite to his bedroom, and shoved him toward the bed. He landed on it like a redwood falling in the forest.
“She died,” Tryp said. “Liver failure.”
Elfie really should cut him some slack. She had been hanging around the other techs too long, verbally abusing the drunk musos. “I am really sorry about that.”
She closed the drapes, darkening the room and shutting out the bright morning sun outside. He only had five hours to sleep before his wake-up call.
“You wanna suck my dick?” Tryp mumbled into the pillow.
Elfie jumped back, nearly slamming into the wall, but Tryp was still prone on the bed, nearly comatose. She said, “Not in the slightest.”
“Why not? What kind of a groupie are you?” he kind-of whined.
She shook out her arms and started toward the door. “I’m the pyrotechnics technician, you jackass. Now go the fuck to sleep before I put a bomb in your bass drum tonight.”
“Promises, promises,” he muttered. “Where was the show today, Elfie?”
“Sacramento.”
“And where are we now?”
“Berkeley.”
“No wonder it’s so fucking cold.”
He looked cold, lying on his belly on the bed like that, even though he was dressed in leather pants and a ripped-up tee shirt, his scarlet and black tattoos visible through the slices in the fabric. Hotel rooms are always damp and cold, so Elfie flipped the other side of the comforter over him.
He said, “I hate Berkeley. We always have to do a runner.”
In arenas without backstage facilities, the musicians ran to waiting SUVs where they were cooped up and belted down, sweaty and shaking with adrenaline, sometimes for hours while they were driven to the hotel or the tour bus.
Technicians didn’t rate runners. Elfie stayed and tore down her pyro effects and the lighting battans.
“Yeah, runners suck.” Elfie edged toward the door and put her hand on the light switch.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m not going to fuck you, Tryp.”
“Just stay.” His face was half-buried in the pillow. “I’ll die and no one will know.”
“You’re just drunk. You’re not going to die.”
“I feel like I’m going to die.”
“Lay off the Jagermeister. That shit is poison.”
“Please stay.” His hand twitched on the sheet like he was reaching for her.
So Elfie sat in the chair and waited until Tryp’s breathing evened out and he went to sleep, his face mashed into the pillow, before she went and found her own hotel room to crash for a few hours while the rest of the crew struck the concert stage and lighting rig before they packed the semis and everybody trooped to San Francisco the next day.
Click here to see
Someone to Love
(Rock Stars in Disguise: Tryp)
Q. Are The Billionaires in Disguise Books erotic romance or erotica?
A. The Billionaires in Disguise Books are erotic romance.
Erotica generally centers around the sex act, a preponderance of the page count is given to the sex act, and the main characters usually do not build a life together after the sex act. The main character usually discovers or accepts something new about herself or himself, thus it is a journey of self-discovery.
Erotic romance concerns itself with the two people falling in love and, usually, building a life together in a very, very sexy way. Erotic romances generally end with an HEA (Happily Ever After) or at least an HFN (Happy For Now).
Q. I want to read more of The Billionaires in Disguise Books. How can I be notified when another one is published?
A. Sign up for the email mailing list HERE. Email subscribers get discounts or free Devilhouse episodes in addition to special deleted scenes and epilogues.
Q. I want to tell you how awesome The Billionaires in Disguise Books are. Where can I tell you this?
A. The best way to support writers whom you enjoy is to leave a review at your ebook store, even a short one. Blair reads all her reviews at all the ebook stores and appreciates every one of them.
You can email Blair Babylon by putting her name in the subject line when you email Malachite Publishing. She loves to hear from readers, reads every email, and does her best to respond to everyone. You can also connect with Blair via her Facebook Group or Goodreads Page.
Q. Do you have a study guide for book groups?
A. Seriously? You’re reading The Billionaires in Disguise Books in a book club? Blair wants to hang out with your awesome dirty book club. Email her above.
About Blair Babylon
Blair Babylon is the nom de plume of an award-winning author who used to publish literary fiction. Because reviews of her mainstream fiction usually included the caveat that there was too much deviant sex in her novels, she decided to abandon all literary pretensions, let her freak flag fly, and write hot, sexy, erotic romance and twisty, turny thrillers.
Copyright 2015 by Malachite Publishing LLC
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s wild and naughty imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission from the author or publisher.
1st Edition: May, 2015
Wild Thing Page 23
