Camryn
“What the hell were we thinking?” I huff out, trailing behind Kristen as we finish running our eight hundred meters before heading back into the building to do the jumps of death—aka box jumps. Sweat runs in rivulets down my back, pooling in the crack of my ass.
“Come on, Cam. You’re getting so much better. A month ago, you would have walked this whole eight hundred,” Kristen says over her shoulder with a smile, her blonde ponytail swinging in time to her stride.
She’s right, even if I just want to stop and puke. When Kristen suggested I give CrossFit a try, I balked at first. Me do all those crazy exercises? But after downing a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia because I hadn’t heard from Isaac in two days, I decided I needed to focus on something besides him. The following weekend, I went grocery shopping with Kristen to revamp the way I was eating. My job is sometimes sporadic with its long hours and doesn’t give me a lot of time to worry about cooking. Take out has been my go-to for a long time, and as a last hurrah before starting our torture—I mean, lifestyle change—take out was ordered in the form of pizza.
By the time Kristen left the next afternoon, we had our meal prep done for the week and had gotten in a good power walk. We were set to meet at The Box the next morning at six, and that first day, I thought I was going to die. I had to stop so much, the forty-five-minute workout lasted over an hour for me. But everyone was so encouraging, and the ones who could stay, did so until I completed it all, cheering me on. That’s what keeps me coming back. And Kristen is right. I’m much stronger than I was a month ago. And the two instructors are easy on the eyes. The fifteen pounds I’ve lost hasn’t hurt anything either.
Opening the front door, I drop my bag on the table before trudging my way to my bedroom. Stripping off my clothes, I grab the t-shirt Isaac left behind and put it on. Between working out and the big litigation case at work, all I can do is crawl into bed. Talking to Isaac, or even texting, has been few and far between. Yawning, I grab my phone and type out a text.
Me: Good night. Sweet dreams.
My eyes drift closed as I hit send, and darkness claims me as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Isaac
Finishing up the last set of the night, I revel in the screaming fans. It makes it worth the long hours on the road and being away from home. Grabbing my bandana out the back pocket of my jeans, I run the red fabric across my forehead to mop up the sweat dripping into my eyes. As the stage lights dim, I place my guitar on the stand. The crowd continues to chant our name, and I make my way across the stage. As I walk by the stagehand, I grasp the bottle of water she’s holding out, screw off the cap, gulp down half, and head to our dressing room, dodging grabby hands while softening the blow with a quick wink in the girl’s direction. The security guards make sure the women maintain their distance behind the ropes. Otherwise, we would be swarmed by horny fans who want to get a piece. Brett starts to trail behind as he begins to pick out his conquest for the night while the rest of us just want to get changed out of our sweat soaked clothes and sleep. Glancing behind me, I see him nod for the guard to allow someone across the barrier. As the rope lifts, two leggy, scantily-clad blondes duck under, assets barely covered by their skimpy dresses. As Brett holds out his arms, each one clamps on like a vine as they continue down the hall. I hope he picks a different room to take them to. I don’t want to have to deal with listening to him getting his rocks off while I nurse a case of blue balls from hell. Not too long ago, I would have been right there with him, but a certain redhead has put those thoughts to bed. Knowing Camryn is waiting on me has put the temptation of all those easy conquests out of my mind.
As I see Brian, our band manager, standing next to a door, I know salvation is just on the other side in the way of food, drinks, and a shower. I flash Brian a smile as a thank you before making my way into the quiet room. The air conditioner on full blast cools my drenched shirt, causing me to get a chill. Brian stops Brett and his two friends at the door before redirecting them back out. Finishing off my bottle of water, I pick up my bag and head for the shower stalls. After a quick soap and rinse, I throw on a pair of jeans before grabbing my phone, praying there’s something from her. It sucks that we hardly get to talk, but she’s working when I’m free, and when she has the time, we’re playing for the masses. Seeing I have one message gives me an oddly pleasant feeling in my chest. A sappy smile crosses my face.
Red: Good night. Sweet dreams.
Noticing the timestamp is from two hours ago, disappointment washes over me. She told me she’s been working long hours preparing for a big case. That coupled with the fact that she’s been doing CrossFit with Kristen in the mornings, as much as I’d love to hear her voice right now, I’d hate to rob her of any sleep.
Me: My dreams are always sweet, Red. They’re full of you.
“You ready to hit the party?” Jason asks from behind me.
“Not really. I just want a bed,” I reply, putting the phone in my back pocket.
“Me too. But you know Brian will hunt us down if we don’t make an appearance for the backstage passes.”
“Let’s get this over with.” I pull on a clean t-shirt with my buddy Keith’s band on the front, Southern Drawl.
“Hey, assholes,” Derek yells from the other room, “get a move on!”
“Our adoring fans await. Let’s not disappoint them.” I clap a hand on Jason’s shoulder before walking toward the front.
Derek leads us back out into the hall, which has numerous fans still lining the walls. As soon as we clear the threshold of the door, the murmuring of voices becomes a full-fledged roar. Passing by the fans, we sign our autographs and take pictures as we move down the tunnel. A rather rambunctious group of girls wants a selfie. As I back into the group as close as I can, several hands begin to grope everywhere—my abs, chest, ass, and one is even ballsy enough to grab my dick and give it a squeeze. One drags her tongue up my neck as I try to disengage from them without causing any damage. One of the security guards rushes over when he notices the commotion and is rougher with the girls than I would have been. Avoiding the rest of the fans, we make it to the room where the VIP ticket holders are waiting for us. Noticing one of the stagehands, I walk over to her.
“Do you happen to have any hand wipes or anything?” I ask, wanting to wipe off where the girl who licked me. Lord knows what kind of germs she left behind. Miraculously, she produces a little package from her pocket and hands it over. I run the cool, lemon-scented napkin along my neck and arms before deciding the only way I’m going to feel clean again is another shower. Throwing the napkin in the trash, I murmur, “Thank you,” before walking over to where Jason and Derek are standing talking with a group of fans.
“Got mauled?” Derek asks on a laugh. His smile drops when he sees I’m not amused.
“I don’t know what these girls are thinking. One of them grabbed my dick, for Christ’s sake!”
“What are you complaining about? You usually like them on your dick.” Derek looks at me, baffled.
“There’s a difference between when I want a hand on my dick and them just taking liberties.”
“I’ll touch your dick anytime you want, Isaac,” a sultry voice says from beside me before I’m enveloped in a cloud of perfume. A sexy little brunette with massive knockers sidles up next me and clutches my arm to her chest.
I smile down at her with a wink while trying to remove my arm from her grasp.
“Thanks for the offer, sweetheart, but I’ll have to pass.”
“Come on, baby, I’ll rock your world,” she replies, running her pink tongue over her ruby red lip.
“I’m sure you would, doll.” I offer up another wink before moving away from the crowd to find Brian. Seeing him standing with some of the press for the event, I catch his attention and give him a nod to the right to have him come over.
“What’s up?”
“How long do we have to stay here? I’m tired as hell.”
“We at least have to wait until Brett makes his appearance. Then we need to get a couple group pictures with some key people here at the event.”
As soon as Brian finishes his sentence, the door bangs open and Brett stumbles through with a half-empty fifth of whiskey in hand, nearly causing the two skanks holding him up to fall to the floor as they laugh hysterically.
“Motherfucker,” Brian mutters before hurrying over to the trio. Even from this distance, the booze permeates the air as Brett tries to keep his legs under him. The man has been on a downward spiral ever since he and Kristen broke up last year. Brian grabs one of the security guards on his way over and has him escort the women back out of the room while Brian drags Brett to a side door, which I can only assume is a bathroom. With a glance in Derek and Jason’s direction, we move as a unit, making sure the security guard doesn’t allow anyone else through as we pass. As the door swings open, it’s not a bathroom at all, but another hall. We make our way to the other end, shoes slapping on the concrete, loud in the silence. A murmur of voices gets louder the closer we get to the source.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Brett!” Brian yells from behind a closed door.
Brett replies, but the door muffles his response. I push it open. Brett is sitting in a chair with his head resting in his hands as Brian paces around him, fists clenched and the vein on his flushed forehead about to burst
“What the fuck is going on?” Derek explodes as soon as the door closes behind him. His glare is hot enough to burn a hole through Brett.
“I’m sorry, guys. I fucked up,” Brett mumbles from behind his hands, his eyes fixed on the dull concrete floor.
“Well, that’s just great,” Jason breathes out.
“We have to get you sobered up, Brett,” Brian says. “The press is waiting for an interview and pictures.”
“I’m good,’” Brett slurs out as he tries to stand up before his knees give out and he lands shoulder first into the unforgiving floor, passed out cold.
“Jesus, what the fuck are we going to do with him?” I ask, glancing at the guys around me.
“I don’t know, but we have to do something before he ends up ruining this for all of us.”
“I just want my friend back,” Derek mutters as he bends down to help Brett. Brett is not a small man, and as built as Derek is, he’s barely able to pick his upper half off the floor.
“There’s a bathroom through there with a shower. Throw his ass in there and sober him up. I’ll send one of the assistants to grab his bag for a change of clothes. We need to make this quick. I’ll head out and stall. Maybe we got him in here quick enough that there won’t be too many questions.”
“Good luck with that,” Jason states as he opens the door to the bathroom while Derek and I carry Brett inside. Placing him in the stall, I strip off his boots while Derek empties his pockets. I turn the knob to the coldest setting on full blast and let it pour straight down onto Brett’s pale face. It isn’t long before Brett jerks awake, sputtering, bloodshot eyes open wide.
“Wakey, wakey, asshole.”
“What the hell?” Brett screeches as he backs as far away from the icy water as he can.
“Had to sober your ass up somehow,” I say, irritated, as he wipes a hand down his face.
“Here’s his clothes and some coffee. Brian says we have ten minutes tops to get back out there.” Jason throws Brett’s black bag into the room before setting the foam cup down on the countertop.
“Thanks, Jase,” I say, pulling clothes out of the bag. Derek turns off the water and helps Brett to his feet. Brett leans against the white tile as he struggles to pull his water-sodden t-shirt over his head. It hits the tile with a plop before he tackles the buckle of his belt.
“Fuck, at this rate, we’ll never get out there,” Derek grumbles as he pushes Brett’s hands out of the way, pulls the belt free, and unhooks the button on his jeans. “Push the damn jeans off, Brett. I love you, man, but I’m not getting up close and personal with your dick.”
“Okay,” Brett replies as he fights to push down the heavy denim.
Looking in the cabinet, I find some thin, white towels and throw one to Derek. As Brett stands there shivering in his boxer briefs, Derek begins to dry him off. Another towel sails in their direction, landing on Brett’s head as I let out a laugh.
After struggling to keep Brett upright, he’s finally dressed and sobering up. After downing the cup of hot coffee, he pulls his last boot on as Brian marches through the door.
“Move it. People are already talking. Let’s get this over with. Brett, you keep your fucking mouth shut. I told them you weren’t feeling well, which will help since you look like shit.”
When Brian turns around, we gather around Brett as he adjusts his jeans over the top of his boots.
“I’m sorry, guys,” he says, meeting out gazes, regret shining in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” Derek replies, exasperated. “Right now, we have to go face the firing squad.”
Making our way back to the room where the vultures are waiting, the interviews go rather smoothly considering. When they ask us for some pictures, we gather around. The brunette from earlier squeaks by somehow and wraps herself around me as the cameras click.