1
ELLIE
My mouth watersat the delectable sight in front of me. I lick my lips, practically tasting the flavor on my tongue. It’s been so long since I’ve had one in my mouth, and I’ve never seen so many in one place before. Splayed out for me, ready and waiting for me to take my pick. All different shapes and sizes.
I can have any one I want. I just have to choose. Hell, I could have them all, but that seems a bit greedy. Plus, I don’t think my body could handle that.
“Miss, did you decide what you wanted?” the young girl behind the counter asks, clearly tired of waiting for me to make up my mind.
I tap the glass with my nail, pointing at the plump, jelly-filled donut staring back at me. “I’ll take one of those.” If I were home, I’d sample each of those babies, but being on tour doesn’t leave much time for the gym, even if I wanted to go.PS, I don’t.
She tosses the donut in a paper bag and rings me up. I make my way down the street to the shiny black tour busparked outside the venue the band is set to play tonight. They should be rehearsing now, and I’ll have the place to myself, which doesn’t happen often.
My heels clack against the pavement, and the sun warms my face. It’s a beautiful, seventy-degree morning. The summer air is crisp as it breezes across my skin, and I smile, thinking about the donut I’m about to devour.
My steps falter as my eyes land on the familiar shape of Loose Threads’ lead singer. He’s coming off the bus, his back to me, but I know his build like the back of my hand—it’s been on top of me, underneath me, behind me. His colorful tattooed arms are on display in a cut-off black T-shirt, exposing the swirls of ink my fingers have traced repeatedly. His white mohawk sticks up in its usual style; he trimmed it right before we hit the road, so it’s not as tall and imposing, but still sexy, nonetheless.
My face falls, and I freeze when I see a girl step off behind him. All dainty like some sort of pixie with blonde hair that’s as short as her, and that’s saying something since I, too, am short. She smiles up at him, probably saying something like, “Thanks for the mind-blowing orgasms.”
Travis gives her a half-assed hug, and I spin on my heels, marching right back to the coffee shop. I’ll just work from there. I don’t need any distractions, and it’s closer than my hotel.
I grab a window seat, soaking up the sunshine just a tad longer, even if it’s through the glass. I don’t get outside enough anymore. I’m either cooped up on the bus, working inside venues, or in a hotel room.
I pull out my treat first, then my phone. “They really don’t pay me enough to do this,” I mumble, as the glaze from the donut melts on my tongue and jelly explodes in my mouth. I hold back my moan.
Shit, that’s good.
Opening Instagram, I start editing yet another video for the band’s page. Using one of their songs as background music, I finish the reel and hit upload. It’s basically a thirst trap of Travis, but the girls love it. I repeat this process for what feels like hours, planning content, scheduling posts, and writing captions. Once that’s done, I drop my phone, sick of looking at it. Something I never thought would happen, but after taking this job and being on the road, I can barely stand to be on it longer than it takes to send a single text message when I’m not working.
I crack my fingers, then pick up my coffee and take a sip, wincing at the lukewarm temperature. I’d gotten lost in my phone again and neglected it. That’s the third time this week I wasted a perfectly good eight-dollar latte.
The band pays me now—a real salary—which is so much better than interning for free. Plus, I get to see cool cities. I thought it sounded like a great idea. Free travel with room and board, and concerts almost every night. Sounded like college, only better—no homework, and I’m getting paid. What I didn’t account for was the complicated relationship I have with the lead singer.
Of course, I took that into consideration before accepting the job as their marketing manager/PR person, but I’d shushed all the voices in my head, including my best friend Olivia’s voice, who urged me to proceed with caution.
But Travis and I have been strictly friends since their summer tour last year. No benefits.
Completely professional.
There’s no hard feelings or secret resentment when I catch girls throwing themselves over the barricade to get to him. He doesn’t bother hiding it when he hauls someone on the bus for a quickie before or after a show. I simply turn the other way—like earlier—and ignore the fact that I know what his dick looks and feels like. Spoiler alert: it’s nice.
See? No jealousy here. This is a jealousy-free zone. I, too,would like a quickie now and then, should the opportunity arise. Sadly for me, it hasn’t yet.
Ok, so maybe there’s a teensy bit of resentment. Only because I haven’t gotten off by a man in so long, I’m starting to get depressed. It’s hard to meet people on the road. Well, unless you’re a super-hot rock star like the four I’m working for. Tanner and Penn are taken though, so it’s not like they’re getting any right now, except maybe phone sex. Yeah, they’re probably doing that. But since I’m not the lead singer or the drummer, I’ve been getting no action. And newsflash: I love action. Love the feel of a man’s body under mine, sweaty and panting as I ride him. Love having earth-shattering, leg-quaking, back-scratching orgasms while he eats me out.
That’s exactly what Travis and I had, but that’s neither here nor there anymore. And I’m fine with it. Totally.
Strutting back to the counter, I order a fresh latte, then people-watch as I drink. I drum my fingers on the table. I’m bored. I didn’t factor in all the downtime this job would have. When they said tour, I saidyes!But I’m lonely and I miss Olivia. I wanted her to come along, but she’s off being a badass businesswoman. I’m so proud, but this would be so much more fun if my bestie were here.
I pick up my phone to FaceTime her, but it rings before I can. Calvin’s name flashes across the screen. My eyes automatically roll back into my head as I answer. He’s not my boss, but he is a pain in my ass.
“Hi, Cal,” I coo, knowing he hates when I call him that.
“What did I tell you about calling me that? You know what, never mind. Where are you?”
“I found this cute little coff?—”
“I need you to get to the venue as fast as you can and bring caffeine. Lots of it. Is he asleep? Jesus Christ.”
