“When is it?”
“Next Tuesday night at seven.”
He reaches for his sunglasses lying on the counter. “Tit for tat?”
Confused, I tilt my head in question.
“You come to my show; I’ll go look at art while your ex hovers.”
Ah, bribery. I consider his offer. Going to a show isn’t a date and I could leave right after. Though I’m not sure why he wants me to go so bad. Maybe he’s trying to get around my refusal to date customers. Not that I’m going to change my mind. “I can’t make it tomorrow, but your next one?”
He nods. “It’s a deal. I’ll pick you up?”
Though I’m relieved he agreed to go, picking me up sounds way too date-ish. “Thanks, but I’ll be coming from work. We could meet there.”
“Or I could pick you up here.”
His tone is persistent, and it’s kind of unfair to make him barter to be my fake date. “Okay, seven forty-five?”
He nods and holds out two slim cards for me to take. My expression is confused as I reach out.
“Two tickets for tomorrow night,” Justin explains.
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Great. I’m sure Todd or Mandy would love to go and bring a friend. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He reaches for his coat. “See you Tuesday, love,” he adds with a grin before strolling out the door.
His dark, earthy scent lingers in the air. I link my hands behind my head and stretch back, groaning. “What the fuck am I doing?”
“I heard that!” Shay yells from the hallway.
The girl has bionic ears or something. I let out a sigh and dig in my pocket for a five. At this rate, I’m going to be paying for pizza and sub night for the rest of the year.
Chapter 6
Justin
We’re almost done with our second set. Though my lower back has been on fire all night from my new ink, the pain can’t destroy the high of performing. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. Being the center of attention fills me up and leaves me high. It’s my only real addiction. I could sing forever, with the crowd below me and the guys playing music next to me. Even sex comes after this high. Unfortunately, the rush is almost over since we’re about to start the second to last song of the night.
The lights dim and I pluck a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of my open shirt, stepping back to Gabe’s drum set so that Romeo and Sam can have the stage for the intro. One of our originals, the song is slower and more bluesy than most of the stuff we play. Romeo, who writes most of our music, has a thing for blues, folk, and combinations of the two.
The crowd sways and moves to the beat. Some hardcore fans, knowing the song, shout and whistle in excitement. As the opening bridges into the repeating chords of the chorus—Romeo also likes to start songs with the chorus—I walk to the microphone, grab it, and share it with Sam as all four of us sing the first words.
The volume of the guitars drops and the drums pump a slow beat behind me as I walk away from Sam, who’s bouncing like normal to the edge of the stage, singing the first verse low like a whisper. The crowd crushes forward. Some chick’s hands grab on to the edge of my boots, which hang over the edge of the stage, but I keep singing. Rabid fans don’t bother me—they get me more pumped up. After another repeat of the chorus, I step back behind the drums again while Romeo plays the solo. Leaning on Romeo, we end the song with one more round of the chorus.
As the song fades, the crowd roars.
I slide the microphone back into the stand and lower my glasses. “You guys rock! With that response, I’d like to stay here all night!” Their response is deafening. “But we’ve left a classic for the end.”
When I step back, Romeo breaks into a charging riff and the crowd goes wild, recognizing Lit’s “My Own Worst Enemy.” Sam, Romeo, and I jump together to the beat, and the crowd is soon copying us. I’m pumped with unquenchable energy as everyone sings with me and raises drinks at the refrain. It’s the perfect hard-driving song to end the evening.
Tilting the microphone stand over the edge of the stage, I sing the last line as the whole room bounces with us. On the last note, the lights cut out. The masses below the stage go wild. The lights come back on. The four of us bow in a line at the front of the stage. The chant of “More! More! More!” rings out, but Romeo put a stop to giving in to the “more” chant after the first six months. If it were up to me, we’d always do more.
Backstage, Sam passes around the obligatory bottle. At my turn, Gabe shoves it at me. I snatch it from the immature little prick and take several swigs. My inked back hurts more now that the high of performing is wearing off.
After we load up Romeo’s van, he’s off to see Riley. He’s one whipped asshole. The rest of us head toward the closed-off balcony—most of the places we play are old movie theaters turned into bars—but some guy stops me at the foot of the stairs.
“Hey, man!” he shouts over the recorded music playing. “I wanted to say thanks for the tickets. The show rocked.”
I’m trying to figure out who the hell he is when I notice the Dragonfly Ink logo on his T-shirt. Then my stupid ass notices his piercings and tattooed arms. Damn. I’d been hoping Allie changed her mind. Obviously not. But I force the tightness from my face. “No problem…”
“Todd,” he fills in, and gestures behind him. “This is Mac. The old man only inks part time.”
With his gray beard, Mac looks like he’s closing in on sixty. Compared to everyone else I saw working at the shop, he’s an odd choice, but I’m guessing he’s good because Allie appears to take her business seriously.
Noticing people slowly gathering around us, I take the first step and say over my shoulder, “Come on up and have a drink with the band.”
Without hesitation, they follow me up. Sam, Gabe, and a bunch of girls already wait in the balcony area, standing at tall tables. Mara comes at me and throws herself into my arms. I give her a long hug, enjoying the way she’s rubbing herself against me, then grab two beers from the tray on a table and give them to Todd and Mac. After grabbing my own beer, I introduce them to Mara, who’s now glued to my side.
Standing around one of the tables, we talk music for a while until we switch to ink. Mara’s mouth is quiet, but her body is as suggestive as hell each time she moves. Someone orders a round of tequila shots, and a minute later Mara and I are licking the salt from the same glass, feeding each other the shot, and sucking on the same lime. She wraps a leg around my waist as our lips touch during the suck. I’m liking it until I glance up and see Todd and Mac still holding their own shots and watching us enviously. That’s when the situation I’ve put myself in hits me.
They work with Allie. In fact they work for her. And Mara’s been hanging on me all night, practically fucking me with her clothes on. Definitely fucking me with her eyes. They might say something to Allie. Maybe even warn her away from me. Normally, I wouldn’t care if a woman turned me down because I’m promiscuous. I sure as hell don’t owe anyone anything. But Allie’s different. She’s a challenge. A challenge that now has a newly opened door for me—in the form of a fake date. Allie, hearing about Mara and me tonight, has the potential to shut that door. Business owner, talented tattooist, and college student, Allie is the whole package. The more I get to know her, the more I’m committed to the challenge she presents. Mara, on the other hand, is a way to pass the time.
A hot, wild way to pass the time.
Sam comes over and starts talking to Todd and Mac about ink while I weigh my options. Mara stays pasted to me. Damn, her tits look good. She must have one of those push-up bras on. The kind I like to leave on when we have sex. I mentally compare the two girls to each other. Sure, Mara’s hot, but there’s not much else there. Allie is also sexy but talented too and easy to talk to. Then there are her sad, guarded eyes. I want to rid her of the storm in her gaze, if even for a night. It’s become part of the challenge.