The Boys in the Band: Part One

by Lanie Jacobs

  The Boys in the Band:

  Part One

  by

  Lanie Jacobs

  The Boys in the Band:

  Part One

  by

  Lanie Jacobs

  Published by Hard Candy Press

  The Boys in the Band: Part One

  Copyright 2013 Lanie Jacobs

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author and her work.

  This if a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental

  This book contains adult content, sexual situations and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

  All sexually participants in this work are over 18 years of age or older.

  Cover Design: Slippery Elm Designs

  Dedications

  For Andy.

  Without you there wouldn’t be any sound.

  Visit me at my website: http://www.papercutsandcandy.com/

  Hey! Here’s my email address: laniejacobswrites@gmail.com

  And my twitter handle: @TheLanieJacobs

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  The Boys in the Band: Part One.

  Four part serialized fiction

  Warning: This 20,000 word installment is intended for adults only (17+) and contains language and situations that some may find objectionable including, Spanking, Domination, submission, bondage and graphic descriptions of sexual situations. If you can’t stand the sight of dirty words, hot rock stars or brazen, unapologetic women on you kindle then this book probably isn't for you.

  Description:

  Jane has a few simple rules to get her through life

  No musicians

  No expectations

  No long term commitments

  Twenty-four years as the child of two rock star parents has taught her a thing or two about keeping people at a distance. She’s got one friend she can trust, two siblings she’s got mixed feeling about and a job she’s ambivalent about but that’s not going to keep her warm at night.

  Enter Micah Eigen. Bringing his own set of secrets and surprises to the bedroom, he seems determined to push each one of Jane’s carefully crafted rules to the breaking point.

  Prologue

  A long, time ago in a high school far, far away…

  When I was seventeen the boy I’d been casually been screwing, and not so casually madly in love with, announced he needed to cool things off between the two of us.

  There was a girl he liked.

  He said that he could really see himself having a real relationship for the first time in his life.

  A relationship for the first time? It took me a few seconds to let that one sink in.

  He kept talking like it wasn’t any kind big deal. Like he and I were buddies hanging out after school.

  Her name was Summer.

  Summer West. The moon faced girl of everyone’s dreams. The girl with the clear blue eyes and a dimple in her chin whose infection laugh made everyone around her smile.

  Yes, that was the girl. From her thick brown bobbed hair to her wheat colored linen dresses she was exactly what this boy thought he needed in a girl. She loved Dostoevsky and had every Ani Difranco album spun up on her ipod classic.

  Serious.

  That was the word he kept using. She was a serious girl and they would have a serious relationship.

  I could only assume this meant he wasn’t going to try and fuck her behind the dumpster at The Chicken Hut.

  Yep, Summer West was the real deal.

  I didn’t tell him that Summer West was everyone’s real deal.

  I didn’t tell him that everyone loved her just as much as he did.

  I really didn’t tell him that he has just about as much of a chance getting into Summer’s pants as he had of getting into a decent college.

  The poor boy was going to have to figure that on out on his own.

  The other things I didn’t do was bite down on his cock that was lodged in the back of my throat ready to go off like a rocket. I did contemplate it, however the idea of getting blood all over my favorite shirt didn’t justify taking that dramatic of an action.

  Instead I decided it would be smarter to let every girl in school know about his smooth maneuvering. The nasty little bastard would have to go back to trolling freshmen and perving on the girls in the Latin club once I’d spread the tale of the blowjob break up around.

  “I gotta catch the late bus,” I said as I extracted my shoulders from between his thighs and grabbed my backpack. “You can finish yourself off.”

  He made a sad puppy dog sound and gave me the eyes. Big, brown, begging eyes that, just three minutes ago, had me sucking cock in the back of the high school auditorium.

  I’m not the kind of girl who enjoys bold proclamations of her unworthiness from stupid little fuckers with crooked little dicks. At least not anymore.

  Chapter One

  “

  Another round of frozen raspberry margaritas for the creampuffs in the corner.”

  I look up from my side of the bar to see Molly West, sister to the dreaded Summer West, my best friend and the greatest rogue philosopher this side of Philadelphia.

  . “You did explain the price scale to them? Right? I don’t want you get into fisticuffs with the blond bunnies.” I grab four fresh glasses on the rack and start setting up the round

  “Tonight’s gonna fucking suck.” Molly as she stacks the empty glasses on the bar and sets her tray down on the bar and waits patiently for me to get the drinks mixed. It’s one of those kinds of days when you’ve got time to lean.

  “How’s that?” I ask and pour the tequila into each glass.

  “Because it’s Wednesday and we’ve got some crap no name band playing here.” She informs me. “And those bunnies are their groupies.”

  “They’ve got groupies?”

  “Four.” Molly turns toward the table with the quartet of blondes and makes a little hissing noise. She sounds like a pit viper on crack and I’m reminded once again why I like her better than any other human on this miserable planet.

  “Maybe a couple more with show up to brighten your night.” I snicker. “If we’re really lucky a whole tour bus will park outside with a bunch of horny groupies.”

  “Yep, and they’ll all want raspberry margaritas.”

  “Or appletinis.” I shoot back as I pour Chambord into each glass.

  “Only if we’re all really lucky.” Molly rests her head on the edge of the bar. It’s barely past happy hour and she already looks exhausted. “Set me up one of those, would ya?”

  “Kinda early for you isn’t it?”

  “You’re so funny.” She lifts her head for a second so she can toss me the look of death.

  “You know the rules. No drinking till the stroke of one thirty.”

  “When we send all the yucky people home.” Molly sighs. “Will you at least make me a really good drink after the lights come back on?”

  “Of course.” I tell her. “I’ll even use the top shelf stuff.”

  “That’s momma’s pusher.” She picks up her head and smiles at me.

  She’s a brat but I love her.

  “Did you tell them that they’d save money if they ordered these by the pitchers?” I ask.

  “Yeah
, like I need my only tippers of the night getting by on the cheap.”

  “Good point.” I place the drinks on the tray just in time to watch the stage door entrance swing open. “Oh look, the band finally decided to show up.”

  “Just in time to skip sound check and start playing.” Molly grits her teeth as a small group of pretty boys stumble toward the stage with guitar cases. “Keep it classy, assholes.”

  “You think they can year you?”

  “You think I give a shit?” She rolls her eyes. “I hope they’ve got enough brains to stay sober till their sets are finished.”

  “By the looks of them it’d doubtful if they have a fully functioning brain between them.” I mutter. “But we can always hope.”

  Molly shrugs and nods toward the front entrance. “Oh, look. Wednesday night and we’ve got fifth customer.” Her voice the spine-tingling zest I’ve grown accustomed to over the years.

  “How thrilled are you to be here?” I’m tempted to toss the bar rag at her but with my luck it’d just hit the tray of drinks and I’d end up having to make them all over again.

  “Somewhere between a root canal and a trip to the gyno.”

  I keep my mouth shut and let her serve the drink. There’s no competing with her brand of misery and I’ve got a customer sporting a bright red wrist tag.

  Red is the drinking color of the day. He’s over twenty-one.

  That means drinks with booze and I might actually make a little money before the night is over. Not to mention the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.

  He smiles at me.

  Mr. EyeCandy. That’s how I’m going to remember him. Tall and lean, but with enough muscle to fill out his flannel shirt. I like a good set of shoulders and nice pair of eyes and Mr. EyeCandy’s got both.

  I’m also into an ass you could bounce a quarter off and the ability to get an erection on command but seeing as he’s fully clothed and facing the wrong way I’ll take what I can get.

  He slides onto the stool at the far end of the bar and eyes me with keen interest. If I didn’t know better I might think he wants a good look at the legs behind the bar. The combat boot I’m sporting aren’t going to get me either one of us very far but my skimpy kilt should help increase the cash he’s willing to spend.

  “So what are you drinking tonight?” I don’t move from where I am. No need in letting him run me around just yet.

  He waits, the smile spreads across his face. He’s got dimples on both cheeks and the best looking teeth I’ve seen in ages. “Bourbon, on the rocks.”

  “Do you have a preference?” I take a few steps, stopping when I reach our selection of bourbons.

  “Not really?”

  “Do you have a budget?”

  “No.”

  Now I’m smiling. Too many nights trying to make expensive drinks squeeze into tight wallets can leave a barmaid feeling frustrated. “You sure about that? We’ve got some pricey stock.”

  “How about I let you call it?”He reaches into his pocket, pulls out two crisp hundreds and places them on the bar.

  “A.H. Hirsch Reserve?” I query before reaching for the bottle. It’s on the top shelf and my skirt is kind short so I’d rather start with a confirmation before I start climbing.

  “Sounds like a plan to me.” He keeps his eyes on me as I raise bend down to move the step ladder into place. “So, what do you hear about the band tonight?”

  “Those guys? Christ, I have no idea who they are. I can’t even remember their name.” I go up three steps and still have to stretch so high my skirt lands at the very tops of my thighs. One inch more and I’m really gonna be putting on a show for my new favorite customer.

  “That’s not a good sign.”

  “Well, seriously? Have you seen the quality of their bunnies? Come on. My cousin Hamish plays the banjo in a folkpunk band and he’s beating the lovelies off with a stick.” I head back down the ladder, snatch a shot glass from the top of the pyramid behind the bar and head in his direction. Something’s caught his attention but I can’t be sure is it’s me or the three hundred dollar bottle of booze I’m carrying.

  “So, you can tell the quality of a band just by its groupies?” he asks as I set the shot glass in front of him. “Isn’t this a little small for the drink I ordered?”

  “No, this is a preview.” I shake my head as I pour the shot. “I thought you might want to taste what you’re paying for before I fuck it all up with ice.”

  “What’s wrong with ice?”

  “Waters down the taste. Like I said, it fucks it up.”

  He eyes the glass for a moment before picking it up. “Here’s mud in your eye.”

  “Hold on there, Cowboy.” I reach out, grabbing his hand to stop him from downing the whole thing. “Just because I poured you a shot doesn’t mean you gulp it down.”

  “But it’s a shot.” He raised an eyebrow as we lower the glass together.

  “It’s a preview.” I sigh.“This isn’t a shot of Stoli or Jäger .This is a work of fucking art. It has aged and mellowed into a rich, warm, honey flavored piece of American awesomeness. It’s like a beautiful Kentucky woman. Long dark hair, bright blue eyes, a nice southern drawl. The kind of woman who will kiss you till your blind and shoot you when you run. You wouldn’t rush a woman like that. You’d take your time. You’d go slow and enjoy every second.”

  The confused look he had on his face is replaced with one of amusement.“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

  “Neither can I.” I admit. “I just sort of opened my mouth and all that came out.”

  “Do you do that a lot?”

  “All the damn time. Now, take a nice slow sip and tell me what you think.”

  He smiles at me as he brings the glass to his lips. He’s got nice, full, kissable lips. It’s easy to imagine all the things a guy like him could do with a set of lips like those.

  “Did you know that September is National Bourbon Heritage Month?” I ask as he takes a drink. “I figured you might want to know.”

  He moves the glass away from his mouth and gives me a funny look. “Do you really have a cousin named Hamish that plays the banjo?”

  “Does the bear shit in the woods?”

  He nods. “I guess the one about the pope being polish doesn’t really work anymore.”

  “That was quite a few popes ago.” I laugh. “So, was I right about the bourbon with no ice?”

  “You were. It’s good.”

  “Just good?”

  “Why don’t you set me up a double.” He says before finishing his small portion and handing me the glass. “Can I get a big boy cup this time?”

  “What?” I tease. “No sippy straw?”

  “I promise not to spill anything on the floor.” He announces while I make him real drink. “So, there’s a direct correlation between band soakage and groupie quality

  “Absolutely.”

  “But they’re decent looking.” He motions to the four giggling bunnies in the corner.

  “It’s not about looks. It’s about quality and quantity.”

  He picks up his drink and takes a taste. “Explain this fascinating equation to me.”

  “I already told you, it’s a mix of quantity and quality. You want a wide range of groupies following you. Big girls and skinny girls. Tall ones and short ones. Pretty and not so pretty. All kinds of girls for all kinds of guys. It’s really good if a band rolls in and there’s even a few guys in the mix. You know, for the bass player? Just in case girls aren’t his thing.” I give my eyebrows a suggestive wiggle. “A really good band has all those bases covered before they hit town.”

  “I see.”

  “It also helps if the band can fill up a place better than this.” I groan. “Five customers. This doesn’t even cover the water bill to keep the toilets running.”

  “Turn out does kinda suck.” He nods in agreement. “Maybe it because they’re new? Sometimes it takes a band a while to find their audience.

  �
��They didn’t do a sound check and the bass player just plugged his bass into a guitar amp. There is no way this band is going to be anything but complete donkey shit.”

  “You sound pretty confident with your assessment.”

  “I know my way around a mixing board.” I tell him. “My brother’s an audio engineer. He runs a small recording studio in the city so I’ve picked up a few things.”

  He takes another drink and for a second it looks like he’s can’t quite figure out what he wants to say to me but then grins and says in his low, very sexed up voice. “Is that all you picked up?”

  “You sneaky little bastard, Are you making a pass at me?” I laugh

  “I might be.” The grin morphs into a full on smirk. A goddamn hot smirk that I’d like to wipe off with my own mouth if I had the chance. “Are you going to tell the bass player about his amp?”

  “No. If they’re too cheap to show up here with their own audio tech and too stupid to do a sound check than they’re on their own. Remember, I’m just the bartender.”

  “I like you.” He laughs before setting his empty glass down on the bar.

  “I am a very likable person.” I inform him.

  He rakes a hand through his thick black hair but somehow manages to miss screwing up his perfectly done just rolled out of bed hair. “And do you have a name?”

  I smile, lean in and whisper “Yes, I do.”

  “What is it?”

  I take a moment, lick my lips and look up at the ceiling between us. I like talking to him. He’s just flirty enough to keep be interested but not skeeved out. If I wasn’t serving him up drinks and taking his money I might entertain the thought of bringing him back to my apartment and fucking those fantastic brains right the hell out of him. “You really wanna know?”

  “I do.” He nods. “I really want to know.”