I knew what they wanted. It was what they always wanted.
Me.
I wasn’t even talking shit, either. I was the lead singer and chicks saw that as some sort of prize. They all worked hard, strutting and preening, trying to be the one I fucked for the night so they could put me in their trophy case, ready to trot out the story whenever life disappointed them, remembering that for one night, they fucked a rock star.
I stood there, taking inventory of the girls, one thumb running over my lower lip, the sensation of skin on skin making my dick hard already. Charlie had outdone himself tonight; the women he’d selected were spectacular, each one more beautiful than the last, with a nice variety of...assets for perusal.
Now that I’d been noticed, several of the girls who had already resigned themselves to one of the other band members—or, if their self-esteem was low enough, a roadie—looked my way, their eyes lighting up as they mentally calculated the odds of scoring with me versus staying where they were and guaranteeing themselves a consolation prize.
The girl who had been talking to Lewis, a busty brunette in a denim mini dress with a full zipper down the front, stood and abandoned her spot next to him, leaving him staring after her as she walked away right in the middle of whatever it was he was saying. I smirked at him as he scowled, his hateful gaze cutting my way before he leaned back, finishing his drink in one swallow, and reached for the bottle.
Poor fucker. He just couldn’t catch a break.
“Hey,” she purred, and I gave her a smile.
“How you doin’?”
She didn’t respond, instead sliding one arm around my waist and the other up my chest, her blood-red nails dragging across my abs and sending a riot of sensation through me.
That was why Molly was so fuckin’ popular; it made every touch feel like a goddamn holy experience. Letting her continue to touch me, I rolled my head on my neck, reveling in the sensations as she pressed her tits against my ribs, encouraged by my groans.
I wondered if I could get her to blow me right away, or if I’d have to put some work in. It wasn’t typically hard to get the first one of the night out of the way, the way the girls competed with each other tended to work in our favor, and I was fuckin’ ready for it, my dick having been half hard since I entered the room.
I was considering taking the blonde back to the bus—mostly just to spite Lewis, but also because I was horny as fuck—when movement at the door caught my eye. Two new girls were coming into the room, the taller one dragging the shorter one in by her hand. That caught my attention right away because I’d never seen someone more reluctant to use their backstage pass than that girl. Once they’d cleared the doorway, she paused, looking around, and I could see the moment she clocked each of the band members in the room, shock and awe painted clearly on her face. When she noticed me her mouth opened, her jaw dropping a little.
When she noticed me noticing her, a pretty pink blush stained her cheeks, and I watched in satisfaction as it spread down her chest.
Fucking loved that. When you could see every single emotion on a chick’s face. There was nothing they could hide from you when they were like that. Their bodies told a story their mouths never would.
She stared at me, and I stared right back, waiting to see if she had the balls to do something, when I felt a hand slide down my stomach and land right on my junk.
That expressive face paled, her eyebrows lowering, and I watched as her mouth pressed into a thin line. She was disappointed. I got it; groupies were territorial, and when you were the last one in the room, the pickings tended to be slim.
So why did I suddenly feel like I had to go over there? Make her smile again?
Shaking that off, I watched her, pointedly ignoring the hand on my dick as the girl with the frown gazed around the room once more, her expression now a little guarded, disillusioned even, until she looked at me again.
This time, a slow smile spread across her face, and, fuck me, if it wasn’t like the sun shining through the clouds.
I had wanted her to smile again, and now here it was, like she had looked around and realized just how lucky she was to be in this room. As I stared, I could see her lean over, whispering in her friend’s ear, who then looked in my direction before she rolled her eyes playfully and nodded.
Yeah, that girl knew a good thing when she saw it, and the greenroom backstage at one of our shows was the motherfucking best. Releasing her friend, the girl started walking toward me, her face painted with determination, and I ran a hand over my hair, making sure she’d be happy with what she got.
But I was shocked to shit when she cut a hard right, veering away from me and heading behind the couch before dropping to her knees, out of sight.
What the actual fuck?
“Hey, Hawk.” Lewis’s castoff girl had noticed my wandering attention and was determined to get it back, gushing loudly as she tried to squeeze her boobs together subtly. “Oh my god! You were, like, so amazing tonight.”
“Thanks,” I replied absently, my gaze still locked on the corner of the room where the girl had disappeared. What the fuck was she doing back there?
“Can you sign this for me?” the groupie in front of me asked, and it took a second for me to register that she had asked me a question. Turning my gaze back to her, I noticed she was holding a Sharpie in one hand and her exposed tit in the other, waiting. “I’m planning on getting it tattooed later tonight.”
“Sure thing,” I said, taking the marker from her and scrawling my name on her flesh. Chicks did that sort of thing all the time; I didn’t get it, but whatever. It meant they’d never forget me, that was for fuckin’ sure. “Have a good night,” I said, pocketing the marker and ignoring the look of disappointment on her face as I dismissed her.
“Hey, wait!” she called, sounding desperate, but I ignored her. The quiet girl in the plaid skirt had my interest piqued, and it felt like I had no choice but to follow her.
Pushing through the crowded room, I made my way over to the couch, dodging a few more of the eager groupies as I did so. Once I’d made a show of greeting everyone who wanted a piece of me, I stepped behind the couch and peered down, finally seeing her there, on her knees, staring at my guitar, one hand raised as though she was about to touch it.
