The drums pound again, thumping the rhythm straight to my bones. I’m an artistic kind of guy. Photography is my top passion, but music is a close second. I play the drums and guitar. According to Josie, I’m incredible. Who am I to argue with her opinion?
We dance and sing and rock out to numerous songs. Yelling and singing back the words the whole time. The music thrums in my veins and I feel the bass trembling through Josie’s small figure. It’s shocking and endearing that Josie took the time to learn the songs by this band just for me. She wouldn’t have listened to them for any other reason.
At the end of one song, Ollie throws his water bottle into the crowd, making a girl’s wet dream come to life. Josie screams out with all the women, and I might’ve been a tad jealous if her hand wasn’t inching up my thigh and lying on the bulge in my jeans.
Ollie, the bassist, Mason, and the guitarist, Ty, bring out a stool and the lights dim. Sweat and heat suffocates the room. The crowd hushes momentarily, and Ollie takes out an acoustic guitar, bringing the mic stand in front of him.
“You ever meet a girl you think loves you unconditionally and she breaks your bloody heart? Rips it to shreds? This song is for the ones who know how it feels.” His Cockney accent enraptures his audience, and we wait anxiously for the first chord of the new song. He takes a deep breath and starts playing one of my favorites.
La-la-liar. La-la-liar.
Digging the grave for my soul to embrace
La-la-liar.
Amelia Grace.
La-la-liar.
Made promises you couldn’t keep.
And one day, I hope you reap
The choking pain your words create.
Amelia Grace,
A death by lies,
One only your black heart could comprise.
Josie sways her hips as I sing the song next to her ear. Her eyes flutter closed and she clutches onto my hand. Josie looks for any opportunity to listen to me sing, saying it calms her. She described it once as the notes infiltrating her body and chipping away at her anxiousness.
Withdrawing my hand from her hold, I take in a deep inhale of her vanilla-scented skin. She always smells so good. I glide my fingertips up the back of her thigh and under the hem of her skirt. The music picks up its pace and my heart knocks with the bass pumping loudly through the speakers. My ears are ringing and my body is buzzing. Josie fists the denim fabric of my pants and tilts her head back as my thumb feels the space between her legs.
I lick my lips imagining how good she would taste on my tongue. It’s been a few days since we’ve had sex—the major downside of having a sexy fiancée who’s been sick. It’s fucking torture lying next to her when she’s only wearing one of my t-shirts and not being able to touch her or make love to her.
I need to make her come. It’s random and impulsive, but it’s also primal. It’s instinct and need that’s understood straight in my DNA. I need to do this. She lets out a throaty hum and I hold her harder against me as I slip my fingers into her. She’s all sweat and heat and beauty and hunger and need. Everything rolled into a collaboration of perfection. Sexiness.
We ignore the bodies colliding with each other and the screams of the fans. While we feel the music thrumming off each other’s bodies, we enter another dimension where it’s just us. Just my fingers pushing in and out of her. My tongue tasting the skin along her shoulder and neck. Her hand kneading my erection. Her body conforming into the shape of mine. Rapid breaths spurting past her lips. Adrenaline that pumps my heart faster. My palm on her clit. Her leaning back to moan in my ear. Goose bumps on her arms. The feel of her body trembling. My name shaped on her moistened lips. The satisfied cry that gets lost in the loud crowd when she lets go and comes on my fingers.
The sighs. The moans. The kiss. The perfection of the two of us together.
I bring my mouth to hers and show her just how much she means to me. Feather-light at first and deep as she continues to kiss me back. I don’t want to be pulled away from her. To be separated from this moment. I don’t want it to end. She takes her time and imagination, inventing ways to sensually torture my lips and tongue.
“There he is. Having sex with his girl in the middle,” I vaguely hear Ollie talking into the microphone, trying to get someone’s attention, I like what Josie’s doing too much to stop, and I tighten my grip on her waist.
“Seth Montgomery! Pay attention.”
I pull away abruptly and look up at the stage where Ollie and the band looks in my direction. My mind is foggy temporarily, and then I notice him beckoning me on stage.
“Well, hello, mate. Done yet?” He quirks an eyebrow and nods to Josie. People have turned their attention to the two of us and I watch Josie’s head fall and cheeks swell scarlet. I pull her tighter and kiss her cheek. “Come up and play a song with us.”
I grin and shake my head, pointing to Josie so he knows I’m not leaving her. The thought of leaving her in a crowd this huge while I’m not paying attention is terrifying. She still doesn’t know that she could be in danger.
“Well, shit. Your girl can come up, too. Can she sing? There’s room.”
I throw my head back and let out a loud laugh. Josie shoots me a look and smacks my chest. “She’s terrible, man,” I yell back.
Ollie laughs and points to the side of the stage. “She can stand over there. Now, stop being a pussy and get up here.”
I look down at Josie and she gives me an encouraging smile. She kisses me softly and says, “I told them you would play with them.”
My mouth hangs open briefly in disbelief. She really did have this planned out. “You seriously are the fucking best. You know that?”
“I know. Come on. I want to hear you play.”
I grab her hand and the people part so we can make our way to the side stage. Their new drummer, not sure what his name is, meets us up there. He hands me his drumsticks and I let go of Josie’s hand.
“Thanks, man. Would you mind doing me a favor and make sure nothing happens to her?” Josie rolls her eyes, but the guy nods his head in acknowledgment.
Ollie’s voice rambles while I walk on stage. “This crazy motherfucker saved our arses in a pub one night in London. He’s a killer drummer and even better singer. And goddamn brave as hell. He let Ty give him a tattoo with our band name. He was piss drunk.”
A smile tugs on my lips as I remember that drunken night, and I situate the drum kit to fit me better. Sending a nod to Ollie to let him know I’m ready, I flip the drumstick in my palm.
“Wanna hear a song about a cheating bitch?” Ollie asks, pushing his hair out of his eyes. I immediately know the song he’s going to play and I start pumping my foot on the bass and tapping my drumstick on the cymbal lightly. On the eighth count, I hold off. I look quickly over at Josie who’s clasping her hands and bouncing on her toes. I give her a wink right before Ollie starts belting out the lyrics.
“Her every intention was to rattle your bones,” he starts, and I slam my drumsticks down on the drum head. It’s a fast-paced song, full of hard bass kicks and heavy drumming, and I love every fucking second of it. Ollie and I play off each other, taking a couple liberties of my own in the set. When the song is over, I’m dripping in sweat and breathing heavily. I haven’t played like that in a long time.
I get off and give Ollie a hard hug. He tells me to stay after the show so we can catch up, and then I walk back to Josie. The drummer is already walking past me and I look beyond him to where Josie is supposed to be standing.
My heart drops to my stomach. Terror. Complete and utter horror washes over my body.
I grab his arm before he passes and grit my teeth. “Where is she?”
He pulls his arm back and glares at me. “I don’t fucking know. She ran off the stage.”
I look back hoping she’ll suddenly appear, but no.
She’s not there.
Chapter 7
Josie
My heart feels like it’s been pumped with a massive amount of
caffeine. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and stagger backward. With a long weary groan, I lean against the bathroom stall, trying to cling to the cool flashes of the metal against my skin. I close the door and lock it for some privacy. I wish I hadn’t dropped my water bottle on the way in; I could really use it right now.
The concert was great. Seth was incredible playing the drums on stage. Sometimes I wonder if music was his calling; the way he loses himself in the notes is hypnotic.
One second I was admiring the hard muscles in his biceps straining with each hit on the drum, and the next, my stomach heaved and I needed a bathroom. The girls around here must be used to people throwing up, because they didn’t say a word when I ran into the stall and vomited with the door open.
“You okay in there?” someone calls.
“Yeah.”
Brooke said that pill should last me until I got home, but I think it’s blocked all the nausea it can. I need to get back and take another one. My breathing evens out, and my heart finally beats at a rate that isn’t alarming. Just a few more minutes and I’ll go back out there.
While I try to meditate the sickness away, I hear the bathroom door open with a boisterous bang. My breath catches when I hear the panic in Seth’s voice.
“Josie, are you in here?”
Stall doors next to mine are flung open and a couple of girls shriek.
I can’t hear what one of them says, but I hear Seth loud and clear in response. “Call the fucking manager, I don’t give a fuck,” he says angrily. “Josie?”
I clamber from my stupor and open the door.
“What are you doing, Seth?” The frustration I have from him making a fool of himself by barging into the girl’s bathroom evaporates when I watch the dread on his face evolve into relief when he sees me.
His hands are trembling when they reach my cheeks. He backs us into the stall and locks the door. For the first time in years, I see a frantic look in his eyes. He leans his forehead against mine, eyes falling closed, and his hands move all over my face and shoulders and arms and hands—like he’s trying to make sure I’m real.
“Are you okay?” he breathes.
“Yes. Seth, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
His eyes shoot open and he gives me an incredulous look. “I’m scaring you? You scared the shit out of me. I thought something happened to you.”
“I’m fine. I got sick and ran in here during your song.”
Something feels wrong. Seth is protective of me for obvious reasons—he never wants to see me assaulted again—but this feels different.
“Sethy, what’s going on? Why did you lose it?” I ask softly.
He bites the side of his lip. It’s barely noticeable, but I zone in on the movement instantly. His hand raises to my forehead, slick with a cold sweat, and he frowns.
“You don’t feel like you have a fever, but let’s go home and get you in bed. I’ll make a doctor’s appointment for you on Monday.”
He evaded my question. I pull away and slice him with a hard look. “Why did you freak out? You didn’t have to tear in here like a goddamn storm trooper.”
He grabs my hand—more like clutches onto it—and pulls me out. “We’re not talking about this right now, Jos. I was just worried. It’s a big crowd. Let’s go home.”
Pulling myself free, I walk up to the sink and turn on the faucet, scooping some water and rinsing out my mouth. Seth’s glare deepens, realizing that I wasn’t simply feeling sick. I actually threw up. Putting my hands on my hips, I return his glower.
“I’m not leaving yet. I want to meet the band.”
“We’ll meet them another day.”
“No, we won’t. It was luck that they were playing in Raleigh this weekend. I told them on Facebook you’d say hi after the show. And I already threw up so I’m good for at least another hour.”
He grabs my hand and leads me out of the bathroom. “You drive a hard bargain, woman. Five minutes with them and that’s it. That’s only if the show ends in the next ten minutes.”
He pulls me against a pillar, creating distance from the raucous crowd and the loud speakers. I lean against him as he reclines against the hard wall, his hands automatically moving to my stomach. His fingers start rubbing the bareness of my skin like he’s trying to take away or relieve the stomach ache, and I relax. I look back at him and he leans down to give me a quick kiss.
He pulls back with a crooked smile. “Maybe we shouldn’t kiss for a while. I don’t want to get sick, too. You’re probably contagious.”
“You wouldn’t last an hour. We tried this once before, remember?”
“Yeah, but I was testing you. I have more willpower.”
I knock him with my shoulder and watch the last of She want the D-isco’s performance. Seth hums each song and the vibrations calm me enough to close my eyes. Exhaustion. Fatigue. Sickness. It all takes its toll on me, a weight I don’t mind enduring when I’m wrapped up in Seth’s arms.
After two encore songs, the band goes off stage. Loiterers beg for an autograph, and Seth starts walking to the door for the back lounge. I’m not sure what I’m more excited about: getting backstage access at RALE or meeting a real band. Ollie sees Seth and motions him through the door that leads into the lounge.
The rest of the band is already scattered in the room, a girl or two attached to each of them. My scan is quick, but I get excited when I see an autographed Johnny Cash album on the wall.
“Holy shit, Sethy.” I tug on his hand and nod to a framed autographed picture of Justin Timberlake playing at RALE.
He laughs and shakes his head. “Only you would care about that in a room filled with memorabilia from rock and roll legends.”
Ollie comes back with three beers and hands one to Seth. Before he can pass one to me, Seth grabs the second one. “She’s not feeling well. I’ll take hers.”
Ollie takes that moment to look at me—shifting his gaze up my legs and up the rest of my body. He takes my hand and kisses it. “Smashing legs, love.”
Seth rips my hand out of Ollie’s and tugs me to his side. Giving Ollie a bright smile, he says, “This is my fiancée, Josie.”
Ollie winks at me and clasps Seth’s shoulder. “Fiancée, huh? Is this the same Josie that had you in a bender in London?”
“The only one for me,” Seth says, taking a swig of his beer.
“It’s good to see you. We’re lucky your lady saw that we were playing here and told us you’d be at the gig.”
“How long have you been in the States?” Seth asks as I check out the lead singer in the band.
Ollie is hot. Really hot. He’s got a gait of confidence, light-brown, shaggy hair, mossy-green eyes, and long, brown eyelashes that make mine want to jump off a bridge. The soft features of his face ooze of charm and charisma. He’s shorter than Seth and a lot leaner. If he has any tattoos, they are covered by his clothes. I assumed by their music he would be dressed in all black with an overload of piercings, but he’s wearing a bright-blue shirt and khakis and no holes in his face. Face of an angel and a voice of a seductive fallen angel.
“Been back for almost a year now. These wankers didn’t want to be far from their mums for too long. Good thing I’m an orphan.”
Seth says something back, but I get distracted looking at the other band members. Now that he mentioned them, I notice how young they all look. The lot can’t be older than twenty-one. I don’t stare long—it looks like a porno is about to be made back there with all the kissing and moaning noises.
Ollie reaches out and pinches my cheek. “Aw, look at that. She can’t handle the whoring around in the back. Don’t think I’ve seen a girl blush since we started the band.”
Seth looks at me, features softening as he looks at my red cheeks.
“I can handle it just fine,” I say defensively. Not that I want to.
“That right, bird? Wanna join?”
Seth rolls his eyes. “No, she doesn’t. Nice try. Where’s Tasha?
Ol
lie leans against the wall and props his foot against it. “She bailed. Switched to another band.”
“That sucks,” Seth says, sounding truly disappointed.
“Yeah, but that’s the last time I fuck a hot manager, that’s for sure. She screwed us over.”
“Who’s managing now?”
“Good ole Phil. He’s probably outside making some calls now. Ugly one, he is. No worries there, at least,” Ollie says with a grin.
I can barely keep up with what they’re talking about, so I detach from Seth to walk around the room. They have everything. A pool table, foosball table, darts, a mini basketball hoop. The collectables range from Willie Nelson to Prince to Metallica to Falling in Reverse to The Dave Matthews Band.
As I read the description on a Panther’s jersey, I feel someone come up next to me. It’s the bassist from the band. He nods to the frame.
“You like football?” He doesn’t have an accent like Ollie, so I assume he’s from the United States.
“That’s a trick question,” I answer, looking at him.
He smiles, dimples forming on both cheeks. Auburn hair frames his face, and he pushes it back. “How is that a trick question?”
I turn back to the jersey. “I like football.” I look back at him and grin. “But not for the game.”
He laughs lightly and turns toward me. “You like to look at the tight pants, don’t you?”
My hand clutches my heart. “I’m offended you would assume that. I happen to be fascinated with football food. Hot dogs, buffalo dip, and beer.”
He nods and his eyebrows crease, appearing to be contemplative. “Wieners, cream, and liquid courage. I get it.”
A loud laugh bubbles up in me, and I slap my hand over my mouth. When I trust myself not to giggle, I look back at him. “You successfully turned my Sunday tradition into something dirty.”
He leans closer and plays with one of my curls, a barely-there smile on his lips. “You’re cute.” I duck back and widen my eyes. These musicians are fucking crazy—so bold and crass. As selfish as it may sound, I’m suddenly glad Seth never pursued a music career. I never would have been okay with this world.
That's a Relief (Promises, Promises Book 3) Page 5
