36
Slater
I fucked up.
I’ve gone about my relationship with Alina the wrong way. Being careful, not wanting to scare her, and working slowly to earn her trust. And I ended up putting myself in the friend zone.
I thought she’d kiss me back.
I was convinced she was feeling the same, feeling more.
Fuck me, was I wrong.
Not sitting on the plane together, laughing and feeling her close to me, was torture. It took everything for me to walk past her, but I wasn’t about to embarrass myself for a second time so I sat at the back of the plane where I couldn’t even see her. Then, about midway through the flight, I felt her presence beside me in the aisle when she made her way back to the washroom. I pretended I was sleeping. Ignoring her like I did took willpower unlike anything I’ve ever had to use before. When she paused briefly beside my seat, I wanted so badly to pull her down and hold on to her, begging for forgiveness for overstepping. But I let her go, and it fucking killed me.
We’ve been in Vancouver for two days now, and without Ali to hang around with, I find myself pissed off and bored. I guess it’s time to slip back into my old ways, to remind myself of the man I really am. It’s time to get back to being the guy who can have any girl he wants.
Even if I still want Ali…
I know I can’t give her what she deserves. A girl like her and a guy like me don’t belong together, despite the way she makes me feel. I’ve already become too soft where she’s concerned. Tonight my plan is to ensure we both know we’ll never be more than friends.
“Just as she wants it,” I remind myself, walking deeper into the afterparty the label’s hosting tonight at the Roxy Cabaret, located on Vancouver’s famous Granville Street.
Walking through the crowd of fans, groupies, and partygoers, I take a sip from my second beer, stopping for the obligatory fan photos, a couple of autographs—and a few shooters—while my eyes scan the room, looking for her in spite of my better judgment. A group of girls surrounds me, all vying for my attention. One goes so far as to tug on the sleeve of my black Incubus T-shirt, trying to get me to follow her, while a few other scantily clad groupies rub up against me, trying to get me to dance. Sure, they’re all pretty—and obviously more than willing to give me the release I seek. If it were any other tour, I’d be a more than willing participant. But my eyes are already set on one woman in particular. A flash of red appears in the distance, and immediately I know it’s her.
Sasha.
We’d met a few years back on Sicken Union’s first Western tour, and whenever we’ve passed this way since then, I’ve always made it a point to invite her to our shows when we’re in Vancouver. With long blonde hair and a round ass, Sasha’s a guaranteed no-strings-attached party girl who’s always down for a fuck. And that’s exactly what I’m in the mood for: sex. No strings, no feelings, just plain old dirty sex. For a while there, I lost sight of who I was, so tonight I’m going to let Sasha remind me.
“Hey, baby boy.” Her slender hands run over my black T-shirt. Her perky tits and knowing grin welcome me, and my cock twitches instantly with the memory of just how good those tits feel wrapped around him.
“Let’s go sit down,” I say. I take her by the arm by way of greeting, not wasting any time. Taking a long swig from what’s gotta be my sixth beer by now—not to mention all of those shots I had—I lead Sasha to the sectioned VIP area, reserved for band members and their guests. I sink into an overstuffed, plush, black chair in the centre of the dimly-lit purple space, and Sasha doesn’t waste any time. She sits down on my lap, her warm back pressing against my chest, and her fine ass grinding over my cock.
“I’ve missed this, Slate,” Sasha says, all rough and sultry, and I can’t help compare her voice to Ali’s soft and sweet one. Looking around the room, I see Rain and Fife off to the side, sitting on a couple of bar stools and talking to some chicks standing in front of them. Fife catches my eye, and gives me a disappointed head shake before resuming his conversation with a petite redhead.
Yeah, yeah. I’m an asshole, brother, but she doesn’t want me.
Pushing thoughts of Ali out of my mind, I work on enjoying Sasha’s ministrations.
“Oh, baby. Is that for me?” Sasha asks, dipping her hand underneath her in order to cup my denim-covered cock, running her hands up and down my bulge.
“Yeah,” I lie, wanting her to stop talking. I can still hear Ali’s voice so vividly, the voice of the girl I wish was here with me instead. I give my head a shake, needing to rid my thoughts of Alina, and reach my arm around to run my hand over Sasha’s silky, ruby-coloured top. I cover her tit with my hand, taking her hard nipple and rolling it between my index finger and thumb, pinching it, and decide to give in to all things Sasha as I planned.
“Fuck, yes. Harder. Pull it harder,” Sasha says.
“You like that?” I ask.
I move my other hand over her other tit, and start tweaking both peaks as Sasha amps up the friction of her ass bearing down on my cock. Fuck, if she keeps this up, I’m gonna come right here in the middle of the club, not giving a shit who might be watching. Victoria can deal with the PR fallout on that one…
“Oh, baby. You’re so hard.” She turns her head, her eyes lust-filled. “I want you in my mouth, Slate. Let’s get outta here,” she pleads, arching her back against me like a cat in heat, twisting to try to connect my mouth with hers.
And that’s when my eyes trap hers: Alina.