Cade

The roar of the crowd grows louder when we leave the stage and head back toward our dressing rooms. They chant the band name rhythmically, a three-syllable mantra they hope will bring their dreams to fruition, but we already played the encore and won’t be returning to the stage until the next tour. My hands still vibrate as I remove the earplugs from my ears. I’m hungry and horny and plan on fixing at least one of those as soon as possible. The basement corridors of the MGM are packed with people who think they know us, smiling and waving and acknowledging us each by name as we pass, even though we won’t remember them two seconds from now.

I squeeze past a mob of fans, nodding at them and smiling my best smile, even though it’s forced because my head still pounds with the residuals of last night’s hangover. Two nights in Vegas is fucking hell, and I’m beyond ready to hit the road tonight.

“Hey, Cade,” Chris yells.

I stop at the corridor that leads to our bus parked outside those double doors. Chris’ chick has joined him on his way to the bus, and she gives me a quick wave. I give her the first real smile of the night. She’s been with my brother, and essentially the band, since middle school. Trinity is family.

“Trin already grabbed our stuff,” Chris says. “So just head straight to the bus.”

I nod, then meet Trinity’s gaze. “Thanks, Ma.”

She flips me the bird, then they slip outside.

Trinity started cleaning up our dressing rooms after the final tour stop on our West Coast tour two years ago, when she realized that if we made it back to our rooms, chances are we’d be accompanied by too many girls to say no to, and we’d never get on the road on time. She might be Chris’ chick but she’s become the honorary tour mom. I give her shit for it but secretly like the way she takes care of us.

I glance toward my dressing room, debating if I should go give it a quick once over, in case she overlooked something—

“Cade?”

I turn toward the voice and discover a blonde chick that has somehow made it past security. A lanyard hangs from her neck, but it’s flipped around so I can’t see who she is or how she got back here. She isn’t familiar, so she’s not one of our usual Bangers. Props to her for making it this far past security. None of that matters, though, as I trail my gaze up from that pass hanging at belly button level. The lanyard straps sit between a set of full tits—definitely fake, but I won’t hold that fact against her. Not all chicks are blessed with perfectly plump breasts and a full, soft ass. Especially nowadays when they’re all working so hard to out dead-lift each other. 

I linger on her cleavage a few seconds, then bring my focus up to lips that were meant to wrap around my dick.

It twitches in response, as if I’d forget that it’s there and just has horny as I am hungry.

She smiles, and I lick my lips as her full lips spread wide to reveal perfectly straight teeth. “I’m Ella.”

I nod. “How’d you get back here?”

She smirks. “Does it matter how?”

My lips twitch on a smile. “I guess that all depends on the why.”

She steps toward me, then tucks her finger into my waist band and runs it back and forth across my stomach. “I should think the why is obvious.” She leans forward, bringing her lips to my ear, and pulls my earlobe into her mouth. She moans so softly I barely hear it, then pushes something into my pocket. Her hand reaches deeply enough that it presses against my dick, which swells ever so slightly in response.

I’m too hard up for my own good.

A kick ass show does this to me every time. My adrenaline gland has a direct link to my dick.

She licks my ear, then pulls back, dropping her gaze to my crotch. “Down, boy,” she whispers. Her gaze flicks back up to mine and she licks those lips I want to fuck, then smiles slowly. “That’s my hotel room info. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes, but I won’t wait around forever.”

Bullshit.

She winks and walks away, and all I can do is watch her with a smile on my face and tightness in my pants.

It’s a shame we’re leaving tonight. She looks like a good fucking time. 

I glance back at my room, then turn toward the double doors. Trinity hasn’t forgotten a single thing in the few years she’s been cleaning up after us. If she forgot something tonight, I’ll buy myself a new one.

I hop on the bus just in time to hear the worst fucking words in the history of touring.

“What do you mean the bus is broken?” I’m whining, but we already extended the fucking Vegas gig an extra week, and I’m ready to bail.

I was really hoping to be in my own bed come sunrise, and this isn’t part of the plan. “Can’t you fix it?” I don’t tell Bart that this is his goddamn job, because it goes without saying.

Bart shakes his head. “Not tonight, Cade.”

“Bro, you have one job.” Atlas laughs bitterly. I shake my head at him, but he’s right. As tour mechanic, Bart literally has one job, and that’s to keep the bus working.

Bart wipes the sweat from his brow and looks at Chris. Not just the lead singer, Chris is the voice of reason in this band and on this tour, so it’s no surprise that Bart needs reassurance from him.

Chris shares a look with Trinity, an unspoken conversation, then shrugs. “Whatever, man, just tell me you’ll have it fixed by tomorrow morning.”

“I will,” Bart answers quickly. “No doubt about that. I already talked to a guy who has the part we need. He’s bringing it over first thing tomorrow morning.”

“So we’ll be on the road by...?” I ask.

“Seven.” Bart frowns. “Eight at the latest.”

I groan, then push up off the bunk. “Whatever. I’m off to get my dick sucked.”

Trinity slaps my ass as I pass her. “Dirtbag.”

“You know it.”

“Should we get you a room, or—?”

“Nope.” I dig into my pocket, then pull out the blonde chick’s note. “Got one right here.” I smile deviously and Trin curls her lip at me. Chris just shakes his head, pulling his chick closer and distracting her as I step down out of the bus.

I pull out my cell and dial the Wynn. When I reach the front desk, I ask, “Room 307.”

“Name on the room?”

Ah, fuck. I look back at the sheet of paper, but she didn’t leave a name. Just the name of the hotel and a room number. “It starts with an E, I think? Emma? Ella?”

“Sir,” the hotel operator says, “I need the full name on the room. Not just what you think might be the first name.”

I rub my hand over my forehead, then laugh. “Look, lady, I don’t even know her first name.” I flag down one of our stage guys and signal that I need a cab. “Let’s do it this way. I’ll hang up, then you can call her room and give her a message for me, cool?”

She sighs.

“Let her know that Cade Scott is on his way over.”

The operator gasps softly and I smirk. Not everyone knows my name, but I hoped she would, and bingo. 

“Oh, and I’m starving,” I add. “So send up a burger and a club sandwich, and...” I pause to consider. “A six pack of Stella and a side of fries.”

“Wi—will...” She stutters a bit, then clears her throat and tries again. “Will this be on the room, sir?”

“Nah. I’ll bring cash to the front desk when I get there.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who am I speaking with?” A cab pulls up to the back lot, and I nod to the driver, then hop in the back. “Wynn.”

“My name is Whitney.”

“Thanks, for your help today, Whitney from the Wynn.” I meet the driver’s gaze in the rearview and raise my eyebrows. He returns his focus to the road.

“Sure thing, Mr. Scott. Anything else?”

“Yeah, whatever she’s hungry for.”

You know, other than my dick.