"THAT WAS QUITE a statement," Marsha told me hours later and miles away from New York. We were alone in the privacy of our hotel room in Chicago, an elegantly furnished corner suite with a killer view of the downtown skyline. My bestie lounged on one luxuriously upholstered bed. I occupied the other, delighting in the high thread count linens beneath me. Apparently our days of scratchy polyester comforters and sharing a small double bed at budget accommodations were in the past. We were scheduled to fly with the crew to each of the remaining concert stops, a major upgrade from Marsha’s old Accord. We would have more time to explore each city, and they would have more time to film. I might have taken big steps forward in many ways, but I wasn’t totally without self-awareness. I knew I had taken one giant step backward, an irrevocable one, after my romantic and oh so real interlude with the Dragons’ lead singer. But I couldn’t dwell on what was done, what I had put behind me for the greater good. Thoughts like those were too depressing. I had a job to do.
“Especially that last surprise bit about Lucky. You dropped a few extra things in there that I figured would spring Smith’s hair free from that tightly wound up do of hers."
"You don’t think she'll cut anything out do you?" I fretted. I had done what she had asked me to, but secretly I hoped that Lucky would see the video. That it would soften the things I’d said to him but never meant. But that hardly seemed possible given the love ‘em and leave ‘em nature of the RFC. That door was closed.
"She didn't cut one word.”
I let out a pent breath in response to her statement. Even the slightest chance that Lucky could understand how highly I regarded him gave me a measure of comfort.
“The whole thing is already up on the YouTube channel. We polished it up along with a bunch of the video I’d already recorded. We got a lot done at the airport and on the plane. Ignacio has a cool vision for the series. He’s already taught me so much and we haven’t even started really filming yet."
"That's great." I tried to inject believable enthusiasm into my voice.
"I would never have had this opportunity if it weren’t for you, Raven."
"It was your video that got ten million people to notice."
"It's you. Don’t deflect compliments. I’m trying to tell you how grateful I am that you stuck your neck out for me.”
"You don’t need to thank me. I’m your friend. That’s what friends do. You don’t owe me anything. I did it because I love you."
"I wonder if Lucky will feel the same way after he hears what you said on that statement."
"What do you mean?" I snapped my head her way.
"I don’t think he rescued you from JGB expecting you to owe him a debt, either."
"I know that, Mars. I didn’t sleep with him to repay him. I did it because I wanted to.” Because I wasn’t sure I could say no to him.
"You made him sound like a paragon of manhood. He’s going to have even more women throwing themselves at him.”
My heart sank. I hadn’t considered that possibility.
“He’s also going to know you care about him.” Marsha’s expression softened. “That you’re truly into him. That things aren’t resolved between you two."
"You’re wrong, Mars.” I swallowed with difficulty around the tightness in my throat. “I made it clear with him. He knows it’s over. He knows where we stand.” Rock Fuck Club number three was tomorrow. If the Dragons’ frontman had any lingering doubts, if I did, they would be erased after that. Lucky Spencer was looking for more than just a fuck, and a fuck was all I had to offer.
THE NEXT MORNING we got out early to explore downtown Chicago. Part of Ignacio's vision for the ten episode series included travelogues of Marsha and me in each city to set the atmosphere and the scene for each hookup. Crew in tow, we took an architectural tour of downtown on the river. We visited Millennium Park and its signature Cloud Gate, an impressive mirrored sculpture the locals called ‘The Bean’ because of its shape. We rode the Ferris wheel and the swings at the Navy Pier, stuffed ourselves with deep dish pizza afterward and even got in a good portion of the art museum before we ran out of time and had to return to the hotel to get ready.
"Do you have a guy in mind for tonight?" Marsha was perched on the corner of her bed. Already dressed, she looked as sexy as ever in a mid-thigh cinnamon sheath that kept seductively slipping off one shoulder. I was still a work in progress. A protective cape draped around my shoulders, I tried to sit still as Carla completed the finishing touches on my makeup.
"I do," I answered, though the thought of being with anyone else after Lucky, even one as hot as the drummer from Tempest did not enthuse me.
"The lead singer?" she guessed.
"No." I shook my head. Warren 'War' Jinkins was sexy like Lucky in a bad boy dangerous kind of way, but he had a serious girlfriend.
"Dizzy Lowell, the rhythm guy then."
"Nope, he has that elusive you can’t touch me vibe that draws women to him like bees to honey, but he has a girlfriend just like Warren. So does Sager Reed, the bassist."
"That leaves King Acenado." Her lips formed a surprised o. "The guy’s handsome alright. Short jet black hair. Tawny eyes. Sexy goatee. Latino charm. But he’s built like a mixed martial arts fighter. Not your standard rock star type."
That was the point. "His real name is Juaquin."
"I read the bios,” she reminded me. The fancy accommodations weren’t the only perk WMO provided. A package from the research department had been waiting for us when we had arrived. It contained glossy photos and dossiers on each of the guys in the opening band as well as the members of Tempest, the concert headliners. "Juaquin visits the strip clubs regularly. He likes a particular type."
"Naked and breathing you mean."
"Ha!" She snorted. "No, I'm surprised the researchers didn’t pick it up. But let me show you. Photos don’t lie." Her finger moved around on her display. She flipped her phone around so I could see what she had pulled up on it.
"Oh, I see what you mean,” I said as I swiped through the pictures. The good looking drummer was in them all with a lot of different women. They all wore strip club pasties or other little nothings. And all of them were strikingly similar in looks.
"Black hair and ivory skin like yours," Marsha pointed out the obvious.
"Grey or green eyes usually though, not gold."
"Yeah. Too late to get colored contacts. But you could wear shades. It would be cool for the routine you're doing."
"Good idea.” I’d felt like something had been missing. “I'll do it," I decided. Sunglasses would give me an additional layer of separation from my audience and my chosen catch of the night, something else to hide behind. The skit I could manage. But could I go through with the rest of it?
TEMPEST KICKED ass and rocked the United Center as hard as any I had ever seen. Stage presence. Synergy. Musicianship. They had it all, and they were at the top of their game. Often compared to Guns 'n Roses in their prime, I’d dismissed the praise as overzealous hyperbole. After seeing Tempest live though I had to admit that these guys were the real deal. I was a bona fide convert.
"You ready to go?" Marsha gestured to the security duo that had appeared directly after the encore to escort us and our crew backstage.
"Yeah. I just need to make a quick stop to freshen my makeup."
After regrouping in the public restroom downstairs, by which I mean draining the bottles of whiskey I had snagged from the minibar earlier, I reentered the corridor. Despite the press of people in the hallway, I could distinctly feel the womp of the bass rattling the walls inside the after-party room. Through the rose tinted sunglasses Carla had provided I had noticed the guys guarding the door giving me the once over. I’d gone pretty sexy in a barely there leather bustier we had purchased at a local lingerie shop today, a denim micro mini hugging my hips and strappy sandals that crisscrossed all the way up to my thighs.
"You look hot," Marsha said.
Carla nodded in agreement.
Ignacio, Les and Ernie just stared slack jawed.
"Ok. Thanks." I was liquored up and ready to command the attention of the one I had chosen to be my fuck of the night. But was he ready for me? I fist bumped Carla and my bestie who were less agog than the guys about my nipple baring top. "Let’s do this." I threw open the door. The music over the speakers screeched to halt and gave way to a karaoke version of Kelly Rowland’s "Rose Colored Glasses". Another benefit of WMO, ambience on cue with professional lighting. As I crooned the lyrics, my crew captured the action. I had one goal in mind, and my play worked brilliantly.
Maybe too brilliantly.
Before I could catch my breath, King grabbed me and walked me backward into the wall. He caged me in with his huge body, my spine pressed flat against the cold bricks. His tumbler of Maestro Dobel abandoned, his fingertips still felt cool from the glass. And they were quick and everywhere. My ass. My legs. My tits. My heart raced. The only way I managed to talk myself down from full panic was by remembering that Marsha and my film crew remained close by.
"Take off the glasses," he purred in a sexy Latino cadence that I was sure melted the panties and the resistance of most women. But I was more partial to a certain British one.
"Not so fast, handsome.” I needed to slow him down. “How about we get to know each other better first?"
"I just wanna fuck you, bonita. I don’t want to know your life’s story. I signed the disclosure. So drop those pantalones and bend over."
"No. Not here." And not so fast, I added silently. The attraction I had felt to Rayne. The recklessness with JGB. The rush of passion I felt with Lucky. None of those things were to be found at the moment.
“Sí, you mean. And ándale.” He pressed closer. I could feel his erection through his jeans. His cock was huge, maybe larger than Lucky’s. “Those are the only words I want to hear from you right now. Maybe ay Dios mío when I stick my cock inside you."
I shook my head, swallowing hard as he ran his calloused fingertips along my exposed cleavage.
"What’s your deal, bonita? You danced for me. You came on to me." He backed up and ran a hand through his black as sin, shortly trimmed locks. "The guys warned me, but I didn’t listen. You’re all show, aren’t you? The RFC shit’s a total scam, isn’t it? I should have gone for a stripper."
“Maybe you should have.” I lifted my chin. “If you want to settle.” This was supposed to be my call, but I wasn’t feeling anything right now except anger at his highhandedness and frustration that he wasn’t who I wanted him to be. That thought led to another. “Maybe she could have pretended to be who you really wanted her to be.”
He froze, his eyes narrowing on my face. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I just don’t like being pushed when I’m not ready. If you want to play that type of game then we’re finished here.”
"Wait.” He grabbed my arm before I had taken a single step and spun me back to face him. "Let’s go somewhere else.” His voice lowered. “I’ll have you screaming my name I promise.” He was back to the purr. “My hotel room or yours?”
Mine was a disaster of strewn clothing and dossiers. “Yours,” I decided.
“Excellent.” His eyes narrowed more. “But your crew stays outside. I’m up for whatever. I think we can have some fun together. But I’m in enough trouble with my label without adding making a porno to the list.”
After that, things started to get more interesting between us. It became less about him getting off and more about him convincing me that my choice had been the right one. He complimented me on my looks. He praised each part of me that he caressed in Spanish. My hair was seda. The skin across my chest was satín. My tits and curves un regalo. My legs the gateway to cielo. By the time he slipped a sure hand beneath my mini and skimmed it across my lace covered pussy, I was breathing as heavily as he was.
“Marsha.” I glanced over at my friend. I knew she wouldn’t abandon me, but I had forgotten until that moment that she and the crew were still there. “Will you go with me?” I needed to get on with things before I lost my nerve, but so soon after JGB I wanted someone nearby that I trusted in case I changed my mind.
“We’re all with you,” she informed me. “We’ll wait outside the room. Just keep your cell ready to call me once you and Mr. Latino lover are inside.” King frowned. “Relax, drummer boy. We’re not planning on interfering, but you’ve got my bestie in your arms. If she needs rescuing, I’ll be there.”
“That won’t be necessary.” The Latino’s goatee framed lips curled. “But if you’re so worried you’re welcome to join us. The only thing better than one bonita is two.”
“Um, no. Not tonight, but thanks.”
It was a little crazy on the mad dash out of the venue. The paparazzi were poised, calling my name and King’s. Their camera bulbs flashed as we all piled into the waiting van. I hadn’t really fathomed until that moment how blown up the interest in me and the RFC had gotten. Whether because of WMO, the publicity of JGB’s claims, or both, I wasn’t sure. But King was certainly sure of what he wanted and how to get it. He held my hand and stroked across my knuckles with his thumb as we settled side by side in the vehicle. He pressed warm kisses to my cheek and my neck in the dark as we sped through the city streets. And he tucked me in close to his side, his hand on the curve of my ass after we exited the SUV and entered the hotel.
On the way to his room he upped his game. Between warm kisses on my skin and purposeful caresses, he kept me so busy that I didn’t even notice the trappings of the elegant hotel or that Marsha and the film crew trailed behind us. Outside his door, he kissed me on the lips. He wasn’t Lucky. I needed more whiskey to quell those comparisons, but he knew what he was doing. In a few firm brushes of his mouth across mine he had my pulse pounding so hard that I felt lightheaded. I clutched his bulging biceps when he pulled back.
“Let’s go inside.” His eyes were black with lust.
“Yeah, sure.” I twisted to Marsha.
“Your phone,” she reminded me.
I nodded at her, and King and I went in. The door clicked closed behind us. The moment felt momentous. Once I went forward with King there would be no going back to whoever I had been with Lucky or whatever it had been that we shared. “I need a drink.”
“What do you like?”
A certain tall, dark and tatted man with a proper British accent, I thought. But that was over. “What do you have?” I asked instead.
“Tequila’s my preference.”
“Pour me some of that. A double.”
“Lime? Salt?” He queried from his spot at the bar. His palatial suite featured luxurious cream upholstery and dark hardwoods. Black Cat Records apparently didn’t skimp any expense for their top artists.
“No thanks.” I took the shot glass of Maestro Dobel he had poured and downed it in one gulp. It burned like fire going down, but the numbing effect would soon follow. King watched me closely for a moment over the rim of his before knocking his own shot back.
“The top is coming off,” he decided, slamming his glass on the counter and turning me around. I felt a loosening around my tits as he began the arduous procedure of unhooking the bustier fastenings. “Fuck it!” he exclaimed after he had released only a couple. “I’m ripping it.”
The wire fastenings gave way beneath his determination. I gasped as he spun me back around and yanked the ruined garment away. Crossing my arms in front of my tits, I noticed his lips curve appreciatively as he swept a glance over me taking me in. Any sass I considered voicing was silenced as he refastened his mouth to mine. I could taste the tang of tequila. I could feel his hunger in the way his tongue sought mine and in his fingers as they flexed into the skin of my upper arms. It stirred a longing inside of me I wasn’t sure I was ready to feel along with the realization that all of the tequila in the world wouldn’t be powerful enough to let me ignore.
“No kissing.” I pressed my hands against his rock hard chest and attempted to push him back.
He didn’t budge, but he cocked his head at an inquiring angle. “Why not?”
“No offense to your technique, but it’s too personal.” And it felt all wrong.
“And fucking me’s not?” He raised a brow.
He had a point. “Give me another drink,” I brazened, bunching up a couple of fistfuls of his Cannibal Corpse tee and peering up at him through my lashes.
“Raven," he stated my name firmly, and I froze surprised he even remembered my name. "This isn’t working for either of us. So why are we doing this?"
"Because I don’t have a choice." I watched his jaw unhinge as I explained in too much tequila addled detail the contract I had signed and my conflicted feelings about Lucky Spencer.
"So." He swayed. Until that moment I hadn’t realized that the constructed like a body builder drummer might be more inebriated than me. "This dumbass have any idea how much trouble you’re having trying to convince yourself it’s over with him?”
“It is over,” I insisted, unable to remember what I had just said to King that had revealed so much.
“Congratulations. I think I finally met someone more fucked up than I am.” He reached for me, his large hands holding my face so I couldn’t escape his perusal. The rose tinted lenses couldn’t hide the truth at close range. "I totally get it, bonita. I’m in limbo myself. So I’m going to offer you some free advice. Stop looking backward. If it’s over, it’s over. If you keep staring at your life in the rearview mirror you’re going to crash. Look straight ahead, step on the gas and get the hell out of there.”
“Wise words. So why don’t you follow your own advice?”
“Because it’s too late for me.”
“For me, too.” It was too late even before I left Dallas. I thought I was on a journey to somewhere, but now I was just lost in a shit storm of my own making.
“Then I propose we go into the bedroom. You keep on your sunglasses. I won’t kiss you on the lips. We can each pretend the other is someone else. We’ll both get off. You’ll fulfill your contract. What do you say?”
“Can I have more tequila before I decide?”
He shook his head. “It’ll be better for both of us if you’re not comatose. But it’s your choice.”
“Alright,” I agreed, letting him lead me into the bedroom. I pretended his lips were Lucky’s lush ones as he skimmed them over my cheek and down the column on my neck. I was pretty sure he pretended I had the grey green eyes of the one he truly desired. Clothes were carelessly discarded. King had the type of body most women would dream to touch. I certainly appreciated it with my eyes closed as my fingers skimmed each defined ridge of his incredibly chiseled physique. He touched me with practiced but detached caresses. We each accommodated the other. No one said stop. We came together with shortened breaths and skin slickened by our exertions. But it was clinical. It was truly only a fuck. I never wanted to see him again. I was sure he felt the same. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to even look at myself in the mirror.
I slinked out of his room a little over thirty minutes after I had gone into it holding the edges of the ripped bustier together. I ignored my bestie with her assessing and far too knowledgeable glances. Thankfully, the crew had taken off. How long had it been since I had left Boston behind? It felt like a lifetime. Another chapter in my life had definitely been closed. It was time to move on for real. But I would wait to get started on that until I was sober in the morning.