1
PENN
Bassfrom the act before us pounds through the walls, vibrating the floor beneath my feet and rattling my chest. Leaning back on the cracked leather couch, I take a calming breath and close my eyes. My fingers twitch against my thigh, strumming to a beat that’s only in my head. The door pops open along with my eyes. The bar manager, Brad, pokes his head in, his black polo shirt grease-stained and wrinkled almost as much as this couch. Still, this isn’t the worst place we’ve ever played.
“Thirty minutes,” he informs us before shutting the door.
Everyone scatters. Liam tucks his drumsticks under his arm. Tanner rushes to tune his bass for the fifth time. Travis does nothing, as per usual, when the setlist only requires him to sing. I get up and walk toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Tanner asks.
“Gotta piss.”
I head down the hallway that leads to the bathroom. When I turn the corner, I meet a familiar blonde.Damn.
“Well, hey you,” she coos, sidling up to me.
Christ, I don’t have the time or patience right now. This is the fourth show in a row she’s shown up to, and while I admire her enthusiasm, I don’t think she’s a fan of our music. Nah, I can smell a groupie from a mile away.
I give her a nod and attempt to move around her, but she steps in front of me. She bats her eyelashes up at me, playing coy. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom.”
She smiles, but it’s too wide and eager. I see what she’s hinting at, but I actually have to take a leak. Her red pointy nails slide up my shirt and across my stomach, earning an involuntary shiver from me.
I step back and she pouts.
“Give me a minute.” I move into the bathroom, realizing too late that it sounded like an invitation. I barely have my pants buttoned before she’s slipping through the unlocked door and pouncing on me. I stumble back, taken off guard. Her arms wrap around my neck, locking me in tight as her tongue invades my mouth.
“Wait,” I say, pulling away. “I’m about to go on stage.”
Dipping her head, she trails her lips down my neck. “I don’t need long,” she says, sucking and licking my skin.
I let out an aggravated groan, but she takes it as encouragement to keep going. A long, tanned leg curves around my waist, making the tight-as-fuck dress she’s wearing ride up, damn near exposing her pussy.
She’s trying to tempt me, but there’s no way I’m going to fuck this girl—Carrie? No, Casey—in this piss-smelling bathroom.
“I really have to go,” I urge, gently ushering her toward the door while trying to peel her off me. Casey is undeterred, tightening her hold and plastering her red lips to mine again. Mycock starts to harden despite my lack of interest, but fuck, it’s been a while.
She reaches down and rubs me over my jeans. I sigh. I can feel my resistance slipping, and the smile against my lips tells me she notices too. She starts to inch her dress up more, but I snatch her wrist.
“I’m not going to fuck you in here—I don’t have time,” I add, I feel bad turning her down. She’d been persistent the last few shows, but never pushy like she’s being now.
Her smile falls, but then her eyes light up. Her fingers tangle in my shirt, and she drags me out the door.
With her hands pressed against my chest, she backs me into the wall across from the bathroom. I’m mentally counting the seconds. If I’m not back in the dressing room in a few minutes, Tanner, my crazy-ass bassist who doubles as our manager, will come looking for me.
I rip my mouth away from hers, ready to end this fucked-up little dance, when Casey seductively sinks to her knees. My muscles tense as she undoes my button and slides my zipper down. The sound echoes in this narrow hallway despite the thundering music from the act on stage.
She works my pants down just enough to pull my half-hard dick out. Her eyes widen as she gazes up at me, innocently licking her lips. Even though I should, I don’t stop her. I let her wrap her fingers around me. My cock stirs as she pumps me in her fist. She grins up at me before parting her lips and taking me into her mouth.
I give in and relax against the wall, my eyes casting to the ceiling. I’m trying to enjoy it, but all I can think about is what I should be doing. There is probably less than fifteen minutes before we go on. I have shit I like to do before every gig, alone. I expect Tanner to turn the corner any minute and drag me away.Maybe that’s why I’m struggling to enjoy this, or maybe it’s because her mouth feels wrong. She’s moaning, slurping, and sucking—things I normally like—but it’s not doing it for me. I’m about to tell her to stop when a quiet, shocked gasp fills the air.
I jerk forward, searching for the source. And I find it.
She’s across the hall, next to the women’s restroom. I have no clue how long she’s been standing there, but I doubt she was expecting this show. Her hair is blonde but not bleach blonde like Casey’s. It’s more natural. Golden almost. In waves spilling over her shoulders and past her chest, which is rising sharply.
She’s wearing a plaid, schoolgirl-looking skirt and a silky white top with buttons down the front. My eyes drift down her legs and, fuck me, she’s wearing stockings and pink high heels. She’s stunning. Like a perfect little Barbie.
