I close my eyes again as I wipe, then pull my thong and tights back up, my dress down. I have to feel around myself to be sure it’s covering my bare ass because unless one of these ladies tells me I’m exposing myself, I won’t know.
Light smacks me in the face when I open the stall door. I wince at the glare and make my way to the sink, hoping a splash of water on my neck will help the daze. I need a punch of adrenaline, a hook to the face of—
Holy shit.
A drawing in the graffiti at the corner of the mirror nearly shocks me off of my feet. I jump back, almost running into another girl entering the stall nearby.
“Oh shit—Sorry—”
Though I can hardly drag my eyes away from the symbol.
The symbol.
It’sherfucking symbol—the woman who’s been watching me.
Always watching.
Not here.
Please don’t keep following me here.
I never thought I’d have a stalker, yet here we are.
I’m not scared of much, but her… She fucking scares me. Just because I don’t know what she wants. I don’t understand.Whyme?Why pick me out of a crowd and follow me? I’ve never been special or someone people seek out. I’m just a troubled, fucked up girl from Southern California.
I just got in this band, and now this might be the thing that screws it all to hell.
I glance around the restroom again before exiting. A smile, as lopsided as it might be, slips onto my lips when I see a few people peering my way. The carefree mask is a shield I cling to on nights like tonight, and one that I’ll keep up until I’m passed out face-first on the bathroom floor later with Reed likely hugging the toilet at my side.
The brunette I’d begun eye-fucking earlier is perched on a stool by the end of the bar. I don’t see Reed nearby, nor the other guys, and I wonder if they’re on the dance floor somewhere. Zeb and Reed probably are. Mads… I almost laugh at the thought of him dancing—unless he and Reed were having a dance-off of some kind. Willingly out there on his own? An unlikely chance.
He’s probably lurking in some dark corner watching over everything.
And I’ve already forgotten about my stalker being here.
A man with dark hair stands near the brunette I’m walking toward. He’s leaned over the bar as if he’s trying to get the bartender’s attention, and just happens to also be chatting her up. I scoff. I know that move.
Amateur.
She peers toward me again, her eyes almost pleading when she looks at the guy, then back at me. I pause a few feet away to sign “Help,” also mouthing it in case she doesn’t know any of the language and draw a question mark in the air.
She picks up her drink, wraps her lips around the straw, then nods discreetly.
Hell yes.
I finish crossing the space between us, my smile broadening with every step. I’m planning my move, timing the slide of hand and interruption in conversation perfectly. She sets her drink down and watches me, drawing her bottom lip behind her teeth, and as I near, I see her breath catch.
That’s a beautiful little bonus.
And I don’t stop when I reach her.
“Hey, baby.” I slide my hand across her thigh and sink my fingers between them as I lean in. My lips land on hers, and she gives in perfectly as if we’ve done it time and time again. It’s a smooth, sweeping move, and I can’t help but smirk at the way she kisses me back.
Eat shit, loser.
Her eyes are wide and nearly black with dilation when we part. A gorgeous blush stains her cheeks, and I brush my knuckle beneath her chin, my other hand squeezing her inner thigh.
“You ready to get out of here soon?” I ask, my gaze dropping to her lips again.
