The bike roared down the road, whizzing past the buildings and cars. I could still smell the salt in the air from the beach, no matter how far away I got. I loved that about Florida. The reverberation of the bike under my hands was intoxicating. I could ride forever. It was almost as invigorating as writing and playing music.
Julia asked me almost daily if I’d played on the Gibson. Every time I told her no, that I couldn’t, I’d see that look of disappointment in her eyes. I had pages and pages of lyrics, not that I shared those with Julia. I’d never shared my lyrics with anyone. They were a diary of sorts; a way to get out everything that got all jumbled up in my head.
Much too soon, I pulled into Dixie, where Belles and Lace was playing tonight. Heads turned as the rumble of the motorcycle got their attention. I stepped off, removing the helmet and clipping it to the bike. Looking around, I saw that I was in the minority at this bar. Huge jacked up trucks were much more prevalent than bikes, and most of the patrons wore cowboy boots while I wouldn’t be caught dead in them.
Ignoring the stares, I pulled open the door and stopped, letting my eyes adjust to the dimness in the room. Music pumped through speakers, and the dance floor was packed with people doing some sort of line dance. Kill me now. I hated country music. The things I do for a good lay.
“Hey there, sugar.” I snapped my eyes over to a young girl, who looked barely twenty-one. She was wearing shorts—if you wanted to call them that—and a low cut tank top. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Beer,” I barked out. “Whatever is on tap.” Her smile faltered just slightly before she turned to get my beer. I knew what she probably thought: I was from the wrong side of the tracks, in the wrong bar, and she would take care of me while I was here. Honey, you don’t want any of this.
I sat on the same stool drinking beer after beer while I waited for the band to come on. The place was even more packed than when I first arrived, and I was being jostled on both sides as people came up to order from the bar.
Several women had tried talking to me, but I’d not so kindly told them I wasn’t interested. My phone lit up, and I picked it up. The girls are ready, the text read. I stood, throwing money on the counter and heading to the back where the band was. I was scheduled to meet them briefly before the show and tell them I was from The Outrigger.
I planned on wooing Stephanie right out of her panties.
I walked past what looked like security, who just nodded at me as I moved down the dimly lit hallway. Just as I reached the door where they were, I heard a voice announcing that the band would be out very soon, and loud cheers erupted.
Knocking on the door, I stuck my hands in my jeans pockets and waited. The door swung open almost instantly and I met the eyes of Zaide, the drummer. She was smoking hot, too, with long black hair and almond-shaped eyes. Visions of her and Stephanie taking turns . . .
“You must be Johnny,” she said, interrupting my daydream. “Come in.”
I nodded, following her into the room. Four other sets of eyes followed me as I came in. Stephanie, the bassist Ginger, the guitarist Elle, and someone I didn’t recognize stopped talking as Zaide shut the door behind me.
“This is Stephanie,” Zaide started introductions. I pretended like I didn’t know already. “This is Ginger, Elle, and Stephanie’s sister, Nichole. She doesn’t play; she’s kind of our manager. Not that we need one yet.”
“Nice to meet all of you,” I said, not smiling. My eyes bored into Stephanie’s, and she shifted. I was making her uncomfortable. Good. Her short skirt showcased her legs for miles, and her shirt was see-through and sexy. “I’m Johnny. I’m here for The Outrigger. I just wanted to see you in action.”
Stephanie stepped forward and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.” I didn’t miss that she held onto my hand for a beat too long, or the look in her eyes as she took in the tattoos scrolling down my arms and peeking out of the collar of my shirt.
I smirked at her. Oh yeah. Just as I thought, she wanted me. It was either the bad boy vibe or my irresistible charm. I almost laughed out loud at the thought.
“The pleasure is mine,” I said in my best bedroom voice. She smelled like something delectable, and I wished the room was empty so I could fill her with myself before she went on the stage. “I have to admit I’m not much of a country fan, but we have a good following at The Outrigger.”
Nichole laughed, turning my attention to her. Damn, she was hot, too. The rest of the girls watched me, interest in their eyes. I’d never had an entire band before, but hell, there was a first time for everything, right? “Then you’ve never seen them,” she said, jutting her chin out.
I pictured coming into the room after the show to congratulate them on a job well done and seeing them all in here naked, ready for me. The mere thought of it had me stirring in my pants.
Clearing my throat, I headed back for the door. “See you out there, girls. Break a leg.” I gave one more long look at Stephanie before shutting the door behind me. For whatever reason I’d decided before I even came here tonight she was the one I wanted, so I had to get to her now.
“You were fucking smoking hot up there,” I said to Stephanie. I’d had a few too many drinks, but I was telling the truth. I hated country, but damn if she couldn’t convert me. The last hour of listening to her belt out lyrics and dance around the stage had gotten to me.
She blinked her large eyes at me, sipping whatever fruity drink she liked. “Thanks. I’m glad you’re enjoying the show.” She wrapped her tongue around the small straw and stared directly at me. Did she know what she was doing? Did she realize what kind of show I wanted?
“I am,” I said, pulling from what might be my tenth beer tonight. If I didn’t end up going with her somewhere, I was going to have to call a cab. I moved in just a hair closer to her, and I heard a small gasp. I smirked at her and leaned close enough to smell the alcohol on her breath. I could see the other girls watching us, but that was okay. They could get in on the action, too.
“I’d like a different show with your panties in my pocket and you dripping wet,” I said into her ear. Stephanie dropped the cup, splashing what was left of her drink on both of our feet. But it didn’t matter because neither of us moved. I watched as her chest heaved with the increase in breathing. I had her. I knew it.
“What kind of panties are you wearing?” I pulled her body to mine until she was standing in between my legs. I snaked my hands around her, resting them just a little too low to be appropriate. She rested her hands on my biceps, her mouth in a small O as she registered my words. I imagined it around my . . .
Stephanie smiled. “What if I said I wasn’t wearing any?” Hell yeah. I liked this girl. She was ready to play.
I looked around quickly. Her band mates had moved away to the dance floor, leaving us alone. She had another fifteen minutes before she went back on. “Want to go back to the room? Or dance?”
Her brain warred with my options. She knew what going back to the room meant. What she didn’t know was I could do many things to her while we danced, also. There was hardly any light over the floor, and I knew just how to use it to my advantage.
“You have a boyfriend? Fiancé, anything?” I might’ve been an asshole, but I wasn’t a home wrecker.
She shook her head, biting her lip in between her teeth. She was conflicted.
“Let’s go dance.” I had every intention of making her horny as hell on this dance floor and making her think of me the entire last hour she played.