CHAPTER SIX: Cain

“Please tell me it’s almost over,” I said, leaning my elbows on the table and burying my face in my hands. I’d downed six old fashions and decided that no amount of alcohol was going to make this night any better. The only saving grace was our waitress, Liv, the blond beauty with tits out to there and an ass up to here.

I leaned in to Drew and whined. “Jesus Christ, man, this is sooo fucking painful.” I glared at the three talent acquisition idiots who had set up the battle of the really, really bads. They had the fearful look of men lined up for execution. I snarled at them.

“Let me hear you guys say, ‘Do you want fries with that?’ Come on, motherfuckers, say it.”

In unison, they said it.

“Good,” I said, waving at them like they were a bad smell. “Practice that, because tomorrow that’ll be your fucking job.”

Over the last two hours, we had heard ten of the worst bands on the planet. I had lost interest after the third band, a death metal trio that called themselves Satan’s Bitches. I wished I could say they were the worst of the worst, but they weren’t. Not even close. By the time the tenth band was through, I was ready to drive railroad spikes into my ears because it would be far less painful than sitting through another band.

Like I said, the only reason I hung around as long as I did was the smoking-hot waitress with the big tits and big ass that I would have loved to have sunk my teeth into.

Olivia Poole—Liv, to me and her other close friends—was a gorgeous blond with big blue eyes and plump lips and a fucking smile that made my balls tingle. Too bad she wasn’t famous. I would have her riding the magic pony in the back of my car.

Still, a blow job in Rusty’s office would not be something I would turn down. Maybe I’d suggest that to her after the show.

The talent guys huddled together in a tight ball on the other side of the table and tried to pretend they were no longer there.

Drew had consumed twice the number of drinks I had, but he was somehow holding it together better than any of us. If anything, he just grew a little more flamboyant when he drank. He spoke with his hands, sweeping them through the air like Mr. Miyagi from that old Karate Kid movie.

He bumped me with his elbow and nodded at the stage below. The stage lights were off between acts, but I could make out dark figures getting into place behind the microphones and drums.

“Okay, this is the band Olivia, the waitress, told us about. The all-girl group. The Flakes. At the very least, maybe they’ll be worth a blow job in the limo after the show.”

“It’s scary how much we think alike,” I said with a heavy sigh. I leaned forward in my chair with my elbows on my knees and waited for the stage lights to come up.

Rusty appeared at the mic under a spotlight. The crowd hooped and hollered at him.

“Okay, you bastards, calm down,” he said, waving his hands in the air. He had used a little card that contained a brief bio to introduce each group. He held the card with the Flakes’ intro up to the light and squinted at it.

“Our next group consists of three young ladies from right here in NYC. You’ve seen them here before on open mic nights. They’re gonna do an original song called…” He glanced over his shoulder at the lead singer, who was still in the shadows. “Is this right? Okay… They’re gonna do an original song called ‘Fuck Your List.’ Give it up for the Flakes!”

The stage lights came up to reveal a skinny goth girl who screamed heroin addict on drums and a chubby redhead with pierced everything on bass. My eyes locked onto the lead singer. I felt the breath catch in my chest. I smiled. The lead singer was Olivia, our waitress. She glanced up at me for a moment, our eyes locking, and then waited for the drummer to count them off.

“One, two, three, four…”

As the song started, a hard-driving punk beat that made the crowd go wild, I glanced over at Drew. He was looking back at me. Both our mouths were hanging open.

“We’ve been had,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Fuck Your List?” he cackled, his hands sweeping through the air. He had to shout so I could hear him over the song. “I think this song’s dedicated to you, Mr. Bohannon.”

I nodded in agreement and focused all of my attention on Olivia. She was really into it, singing and jumping up and down as she hammered out the chords on the cheap guitar strapped low at her hips. Her big tits bounced at her chest. She was practically screaming the words, like a young Courtney Love, but I could tell she had a good voice. I had an ear for music. I could spot a real singer from a mile away. Sadly, most of the singers on the charts today would sound like shit if their voices weren’t run through a harmonizer. Not Olivia Poole. This girl had a set of pipes inside those magnificent tits. I wanted to press my ear to her tits and hear more.

I licked my lips like a hungry wolf and grinned at the words booming from Olivia’s sweet lips. For a moment, I felt an odd sensation in my chest. Then I realized my cell was buzzing in my inside jacket pocket, making my hard nipple tingle.

Olivia was killing it onstage.

“YOU’RE GONNA BE PISSED…

BUT I DON’T WANNA BE KISSED…

SO FUCK YOUR LIST…

FUCK YOUR LIST!”

She had the crowd chanting along with her now.

“FUCK YOUR LIST! FUCK YOUR LIST!”

I tugged the phone out of my pocket and read the text message from Katie Berry, a BEG pop singer whose last album hit number one on the Billboard and bought me a new beach house in Malibu.

I smiled as I read the text. In town 1 night… Cum mark me off your list…

“I have to go,” I said, leaning into Drew so he could hear me over the pounding beat of the music. I nodded at the Flakes, specifically Olivia, who had the crowd eating out of her hand. “Give her my card and have her come in tomorrow to talk about recording a demo.”

“Wait, there’s one more band,” Drew shouted, tugging at my sleeve. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Got a fire that needs putting out,” I said, wiggling my phone at him. The talent monkeys were all looking at me with fear in their eyes. I leaned over the table and smiled.

“Don’t worry, boys, your jobs are safe for now,” I said. I leaned down to whisper in Drew’s ear. “You pick the winner. These idiots wouldn’t know a star if it fell out of the sky and hit them in the fucking head.”

“Do you want me to pick her?” Drew asked, his Botoxed forehead slick even though his eyes were frowning. I shook my head.

“Pick the best band,” I said. “Just give my card to her.”