She opened one eye to look at him. “This is pretty much what it looks like, but with more vomiting.”
He was hoping that pouring a little alcohol down her throat would loosen her up a little. Open her shell.
“Don’t you need to see what an after-party is like for the book?”
“Yeah,” she said.
Ha, he knew he’d get her to accompany him somehow.
“But not tonight,” she said. “I’m exhausted. I need sleep.”
“So you’d rather stay here on the bus by yourself than go to a party with me?” Was he pouting? He was pouting. What the actual fuck?
“Actually, I’d rather you stay here with me.” She patted the sofa cushion beside her.
“Fuck, woman,” he said with a crooked grin. “And I thought
I
was the horniest person on this tour.”
“Not for sex,” she murmured, her voice slurred. “For sleep.”
“You just have to stay for a little while.”
“An hour?” she bargained.
An hour?
How much partying did she think she could accomplish in an hour? He supposed she wasn’t used to keeping up with him. Yet. He’d let her get off with an hour this time, but he’d keep her out until dawn at the next party. The woman needed to get out and have a little fun. Under his supervision, of course. He didn’t want any other man to discover what fantastic blow jobs she gave.
“Fine,” he said. “But I’ll probably stay out later than that.”
She rolled over and tugged her panties up her thighs, and then continued to lie there half asleep. By the time she was dressed and the two of them left the bus, they’d missed out on at least an hour of fun.
The bar the tour had
borrowed
for the evening’s festivities was jam-packed from wall to wall. Those who couldn’t get inside were having their own little party in the parking lot. He lifted a hand to people he recognized as they called out greetings to him. Logan scarcely noticed the two members of the security team who escorted them from the bus to the bar entrance. He was so used to them being there in his shadow, that it was natural to be followed. Toni kept glancing back at them, though, as if they were stalkers, not protection. There were plenty of yellow shirts mixed with the crowd inside as well, but they were there to make sure their employers didn’t get hurt, not to get in the way of their good time.
Logan took Toni’s hand and led her through the crush of bodies. He knew almost every person in the place, so he got stopped often on his way to the bar.
“Who is this?” Matt Chesterfield asked, his British roots made apparent by his accent.
“This is Toni. Toni this is—”
“Matt Chesterfield,” Toni said, reaching out to shake Matt’s hand. “Lead singer of Riott Actt.”
Matt raised an eyebrow at Logan. “Girlfriend?”
Logan’s brow crumpled. Why would he think that? Sure, he and Toni were holding hands, but Logan always had a girl or two on his arm and no one had ever mistaken one of them for his girlfriend. “No, just friends. She’s writing a book about Exodus End. I figured she’d want to see what one of these after-parties is like.”
“Nice to meet you,” Toni shouted over the raucous noise of the crowd and the music blaring in the background. “If you’re interested in having an interactive biography written about your band—”
“What’s that?” Matt shouted, leaning closer to her and turning his ear in her direction.
“I said,” she shouted louder, “if you’re interested—”
A nearby explosion of laughter cut off her words.
“Sorry?” Matt asked.
Toni shook her head. “We’ll talk some other time!”
Logan tugged her through the crowd once more, introducing her to anyone of interest. Matt wasn’t the only person who mistook Toni for his girlfriend. Logan was getting really annoyed by the fifth time he had to correct someone. “No! We’re just friends!” he yelled at Twisted Element’s lead guitarist.
“My apologies,” Brent said, holding up both hands in surrender, though a brown beer bottle was hooked in one.
Toni offered Brent a weary smile.
“What do you want to drink?” Logan shouted at her over the ruckus.
She pressed her hands to her temples and shook her head. “Is my hour up yet?”
“You’re not having fun?”
She looked like a wilted flower—still beautiful, but fading fast.
“This isn’t really my thing,” she said, “and I’m tired.”
He rubbed her arm. “You can go back to the bus if you really want to.”
He wanted her to say,
I’d rather stay here with you
, but she perked up immediately at his suggestion to leave. “Thank you,” she said with a relieved sigh.
He tugged her back through the crowd toward the exit, not sure how anyone would willingly give up partying with over a dozen rock stars to hang out on a boring tour bus.
Once outside, Toni sucked in a deep breath of the cool night air.
“I’m going back inside,” he said. “Can you make it to the bus by yourself?”
She glanced across the parking lot to where the bus was parked under a collection of street lights. “Yeah.”
He kissed her cheek, knowing that if he drew her into his arms and kissed her the passionate way he wanted to kiss her,
everyone
would mistake her for his girlfriend. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
She stared up into his eyes for a long moment as if she wanted to say something, but turned away instead. “Good night.”
She was a couple of yards away when he nodded at the nearest security guard so he’d follow her and keep her safe from the drunks in the parking lot. She started when she noticed the yellow shirt trailing behind her, but she offered him a timid smile and continued toward the bus.
Ensured of Toni’s safety, Logan returned to the bar.
“About time he ditched the stiff,” Logan heard Steve yell as soon as he got inside. “I thought maybe he was too pussy whipped to have any
real
fun tonight.”
Pussy whipped?
Please.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Logan said, lifting a hand toward the bar and finding it immediately filled with his usual drink—a Godfather. He chugged it in two gulps and extended his arm for a refill.
“This is Candace,” Steve introduced the gorgeous blonde on his right. “And Tonya,” He nodded to the equally gorgeous black woman on his left. “Oh, and you met Stacia earlier.” The same brunette Steve had banged backstage. She must be exceptional if he hadn’t ditched her yet.
“Ladies,” Logan said, lifting his fresh cocktail in their direction.
After the hi’s and great-to-meet-yous, Stacia moved to stand so close to Logan that her breast was pressed firmly into his arm. “What are you having?” she asked, eyeing his drink. Her perfume assailed his nostrils, and his nose twitched.
“If he had half a brain, he’d be having you,” Steve said and lifted his glass at her.
If he hadn’t just finished with Toni, yeah, it probably would have been Stacia. But he felt absolutely no interest in her, and he could only attribute his disinterest to having already had sex a handful of times that day. With the same woman. Which rarely happened.
“It’s a Godfather,” Logan said. “Scotch and amaretto.”
“Can I taste it?”
Knowing he could have as many as he wanted, he handed his drink to Stacia. She lifted it to her ruby lips and sipped, her eyes smoldering into his as she licked the rim of his glass. “Mmm,” she purred.
Okay, normally if a hot woman pressed her tit into his arm and made out with the glass he’d just sipped from while producing those kinds of sounds and offering him
come over here and fuck me
glances, his dick would have been bursting through the zipper of his jeans. But he didn’t feel so much as a tingle down below. There was some weird shit going down here. He must be getting old or something.
“It’s good, right?” Logan said.
“Strong,” she murmured. She rubbed her boob into his arm as she turned toward him and tried to hand the lowball glass back to him.
“You keep that one,” he said, extending a hand toward the bar for a fresh drink.
Reagan appeared unexpectedly beside him and practically shoved Stacia to the floor in her quest to get in next to him. Definitely some weird shit going down here. Reagan had never come on to him before. And it soon became apparent that she wasn’t coming on to him now as she jabbered about the concert and how she’d twisted her ankle in her damned high-heeled boots and how she wasn’t going to wear them anymore. She was going to wear her combat boots. Fuck Sam’s idea of feminine beauty. Blah blah blah. Eventually Stacia got tired of standing behind Reagan and making huffing sounds with her arms crossed. She wandered off to find less annoying company.
“Cock block,” Reagan whispered in Logan’s ear and then danced away.
What did she mean by that?
He glanced over at Steve, who was making out with the two women he’d introduced earlier. Hell if Logan could remember either of their names. Normally Steve’s behavior would have gotten Logan in the mood to one-up his bro and make out with
three
women at once, but he didn’t see a single woman who interested him, much less three of them.
Weird,
weird
shit going down here.
He begged his leave from the horn dog across from him and sought less promiscuous company. But Dare was with his brother—coming between that pair was an exercise in futility—and Max had disappeared for the evening. Maybe Max had already gone back to the bus. Maybe Logan should go back to the bus as well. Not to be with Toni. Just because this party was kind of dead. He usually had a lot more fun at these things. What the hell was wrong with him tonight? Maybe he was just tired. Or maybe he needed another drink. Or maybe he missed Toni.
Nah. He just wasn’t drunk yet. Though he usually didn’t drink enough to actually get drunk. He only drank until he mellowed.
A hush fell over the bar, and Logan turned to see Steve standing on a table and searching the crowd. “Logan!” he yelled. “Where the hell did you run off to, bro?”
Someone shoved Logan in the back, and he stumbled forward, his movement catching Steve’s attention.
“There you are. Candice and Tonya have agreed to a little game of double or nothing.”
“I don’t want to play. Pick someone else.” Why didn’t he want to play? It was his favorite game of all time, and the rewards were guaranteed to blow his mind. Or his load. Mostly his load.
“Awww, I think someone is pussy whipped,” Steve called to the bar patrons, getting everyone in the place chanting: “Pussy whipped. Pussy whipped. Pussy whipped.”
“Fuck you,” Logan shouted over the chanting. “You’re going down, Aimes.”
A knot formed in Logan’s gut as Steve’s two women removed their tops and lay on their backs, head to head across the wooden bar. They were still wearing their bras—which was a bit of a relief—but Toni wouldn’t like him playing this game. And she really wouldn’t like it if he won. The prize was a threesome with the two ladies. Logan wasn’t sure if Steve would purposely throw the game so Logan had to admit he didn’t want to bang the two hot chicks or if Steve honestly wanted a competition. Dude was almost as competitive as Logan was.
“Logan,” Reagan said, tugging on his arm. “Don’t hurt her. She’s such a sweet girl.”
He pretended he didn’t know Reagan was talking about Toni. “I’m sure they’re both sweet girls,” Logan said, “which is why they agreed to fuck the winner of this game. They won’t be sweet when I’m finished with them.”
Many of the male patrons at the bar cheered his boasting.
Once Trey had collected his cock-blocking pest of a girlfriend and the game had been set up, Logan stood next to the knees of one participant and waited for the festivities to begin. He couldn’t make it obvious that he was losing on purpose; he’d never live it down. At the very least, he had to make it look like he was trying.
“Go!” Steve shouted.
Logan leaned over the woman’s crotch, used his teeth to pick up the shot glass balanced on her pelvis, and tilted his head back to pour tequila down his throat. He swallowed, dropped the glass on the floor and bent over the woman again to lick the salt off her belly. He took the next shot glass off her stomach, which was a challenge because she was fighting a case of the giggles. Logan dropped that glass as well and fished the lime from between her tits with his mouth. Good thing she was relatively flat-chested, so it didn’t take too many swipes of his tongue to retrieve the green wedge. He bit into the lime and spit out the rind, wincing at the tartness on his tongue. He then snorted the bump of cocaine off her collarbone. Logan stood abruptly, smacking himself in the eye when the rush went straight to his head. He produced a full-body shudder and peeked at Steve’s progress. Steve was still trying to get the lime out from between his girl’s tits. Probably because he was doing more licking than lime seeking. Damn. Logan rubbed his nose and sniffed, shooting a second rush of exhilaration up into his brain. Whoa! Good shit. He didn’t do coke often—he was hyper enough without it. But how was he going to lose if Steve was so far behind? He had only one task left to complete.
Carla—was that even her name?—lifted a maraschino cherry toward him with her fingertips. Normally when he played this game, he licked and sucked the woman’s fingers as he attempted to get the cherry in his mouth, but in this case, he went after it with his teeth. He groaned when the first cherry fell to the floor and she had to grab a second cherry out of the bowl near her hip. He caught a glimpse of Steve snorting his bump of coke—
finally
—and going after a cherry without pause. That meant they were neck and neck. Logan might not have to throw the game after all. Holding the second cherry between his teeth, he moved to stand over the woman’s face. The idea was to get it from his mouth into hers without touching her lips. Which was way easier if he got up close and personal, but he dropped his cherry from full standing height and cringed as it fell toward her wide open mouth in a perfect trajectory. Shit! Why did this chick have to have a mouth like Steven Tyler? It was like dropping the cherry into a kiddie pool.
The cherry hit her tooth and for a second he thought it might bounce out of the gaping orifice. But no, in it went. The riveted crowd cheered.