Saving Abel (Rocker Series) (9 page)

“Um, I’m not blind, chick. Of course I saw. The sexual tension between you two is killing everyone around you. I say just get it over with already. You’re killing me, Smalls!” she blabbed, half-laughing, then turned back to watch the show.

“How ya doin’ tonight, Colorado?” he asked the crowd. The cheers reached ear-shattering levels. The event was sold out for all four days. It was a beautiful night to be at an outdoor festival. A girl in the front row threw her black lace bra at him. Of course, he caught it, inspected it, and then scrunched it into his back pocket—but not before turning to smile at me. I wanted to slap his face, set fire to that bra—and kick the chick in the teeth who had tossed it to him. My possessiveness hit a homicidal pitch. I went to DEFCON 1, cocking an imaginary pistol in my mind. One of the roadies accidently bumped into me on his way over to Abel with a chair.

“Excuse you!” I screamed. The fuck! I was ready to throw down. How in the world did I ever think I’d be able to handle Abel? How would I ever deal with his personality, his man-whoring, or these slutty fan-girls?

The lights dimmed, a single muted spotlight illuminating him in all his epic glory as he took a seat.

“Feel free to join in the lyrics, loves,” he urged the crowd, strumming his guitar in concert with the band, their instruments blending beautifully for the start of the balled.

The memories of you and me
Haunting me every minute of every day
One more breath
One more taste of my dirty girl
You are my heroin, my addiction
I want to mainline your love
Until the reaper pulls me under
Forever, forever, forever …
Cold and empty is what remains
A life without you
I wanna get high on you
It’s all right to pray to
Your God because I’m coming for you
Forever, forever, forever …

I was fantasizing about taming this bad boy. I wanted to be the one he was singing to—singing
about
. I wanted those words to define what we had. The hairs on my arms stood stock-straight. My skin felt feverish, and my panties were dripping-wet. The tears I was holding at bay caused my throat to squeeze tightly. His words both pissed me off and had me deeply affected. The pain in his voice was hitting a nerve with everyone. He had that kind of disturbing effect on women. However, I needed to keep my eyes on the prize. He was my way out. I deserved this. I deserved him. I would stop at nothing, risk it all—my reputation, my sanity, and my heart. Feeling overcome with angst and passion, I turned to Cindy.

“Chick, I, um … I could really use a drink,” I muttered. I was praying I would not tip my hand; otherwise, she would see how in over my head I already was for this rock God. I needed something to take the edge off, to calm my nerves and make me numb—
and
turn off the water-works in my panties. Just then, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Looking for some of this, kid?” Dave asked as he leaned into my space. Long live Dave. He was the band’s manager. And as far as I was concerned, he needed a raise right the fuck then. Hell, yeah.

“Shit, you’re a lifesaver. I’m parched,” I said, smiling as I took the flask.

“Sure you are.” Nodding knowingly, he moved back to his dark corner.
Whatever.

Now that I had some much-needed alcohol in hand, in a matter of minutes, I hoped to be in happy land.

The crowd was screaming their praises to the band. They were putting on a ridiculously good show. But it was Ender and Abel’s unplugged rendition of “Sunrise” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlScrMv7Pd8) that brought down the house. Women climbed on top of their boyfriends’ shoulders, dudes held up their lighters, and the crowd swayed as one. This number was a beautiful tribute to people who were bullied. They were lecturing their audience in song—and the message was one everybody identified with. Everybody’s been bullied at some point. I knew I had, and it sucked. This was the band’s way of saying to those of who had been bullied, “We stand behind you, with you, and for you. You’re somebody—and you’re everything to us. Let us be your be your pillar, your strength.”

And that song got me to thinking. When I had set out on this mission to get myself a self-made man, namely Abel, I had had no idea how complex and deep he would turn out to be. But standing there on the same side of the stage, watching him sing his ballad against bullying, I had a brief moment of clarity. He was a good man. I could see that now. And now that I knew this, I started to wonder if I could really play him the way I had planned … I brought the flask to my lips in consternation. Yes, I could, and I was going to do this. End of story.

Dropping my head back, I downed the drink, needing the warming numbness of the alcohol. I had never been at a concert where a crowd was literally wrapped around the singer’s finger. It was breathtaking—powerful. All in all, the first night of the festival was turning out to be epic. How much better would the next few days be? I was pumped for the lineup, but
he
was the real reason I was there.

Abel bellowed out to the crowd. “Thank you, and goodnight! See you tomorrow night! Enjoy Dire Straits up next,” he called out, bowing gratefully. The band waved and departed the stage. I moved aside to let them pass, hoping to get a moment, a second, alone with him. Grabbing the heavy, draped curtain for support, I waited. The band filed past me, Abel included. His gait hurried and deliberate, he did not even stop to acknowledge me. Did he have somewhere to go? Had I done something to warrant his disapproval? Or was he bipolar, maybe? Cindy hip-bumped me back into the moment.

“Let’s party!” she screeched, practically running after the band down the narrow hallway. A tented outdoor venue was the site for the after-party. It was a perfect night for it. It was set up in the back of the festival to drown out the screams from the concert, enabling us to talk and party while the next band performed.

The party guest list was made up of lottery-picked fans, media, photogs, and us. I had a funny feeling about this. Cindy would hear none of my drama: she had her
Fourth of July
juju for Woody proudly displayed. If aura had a color, hers would be blinding. Not even I could spoil this night for her, at least not knowingly. If Abel pissed me off or worse
hurt
me, I’d retaliate. That was my go-to defense. I would fuck him before he fucked me. It might not have been right, but it was who I was. It defined a part of me—the part that was vindictive.

During our set, I flirted with Gia. What can I say? I was drawn to her. I felt a magnetic pull, a yearning from somewhere inside my soul. It was more than getting my cock wet. I knew that feeling all too well. And this wasn’t that. This was something else—something I didn’t like, that made me feel weak, like a pussy. And I
ate
pussy; I wasn’t one.

No, this was fucked-up. Above all, I had to resist giving in to this need. Because if I started, I would never get enough—and fuck that. My life was a rollercoaster of fucking, gigging, partying, and more fucking. I didn’t need to be tethered to some chick, who would constantly be yanking my chain. And what the fuck is going on with her and Ender? I didn’t like how I felt about that, either. Fuck it all to hell. I’m out! Tonight we were celebrating. I was not getting pussy-whipped by some chick who was flirting with my mate.

Dave offered me a much-appreciated beer. I loved my scotch, but tonight wasn’t a scotch night. Beers and shots were our usual celebratory libations. But still, I was on edge.
Big Abel
desired some attention. And who was I to deny my cock anything?

The tent was a bit of a mob scene, with photogs snapping away, their close-range cameras clicking. However, it was getting on my nerves.

“Get that light out of my fucking face dude or lose it.” I stepped up to the cameraman. I wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. I was wishing I had brought my bike like Woody and Ender had done. Problem was, the last time I had taken a ride post-gig, the fucking cretin paps had almost run me and my bike into a ravine.
Motherfuckers.
And I was protective as all get-out of my Custom Chip Foose Harley: one scratch on it, and the motherfucking apocalypse would descend. After that incident, I had called in a favor and Chip had delivered. Chip Foose normally didn’t fuck with bikes. He was a muscle-car gear-head. Muscle cars were my other addiction. Give me a hemi and I’d give you a taste of what Hell’s like.
Fuck, yeah
. A Harley between my legs, purring like a kitten, was the best sound ever, to my ears. I would slow my breathing and heart rate to become one with my Slut. Yeah, that’s what I called my girl—Slut. My Slut. When I downshifted her, it was like putting my fingers inside a slut’s pussy in search of her G-spot. I would hit that sweet spot—and open her wide. Take her for a good long ride. My Slut felt nice, vibrating with power under my dominant body. Fuck, just thinking about it got my dick hard …

And then, as if on cue, Cindy entered the tent with Gia, both of them looking lost, until Ender greeted them with a tray of Patron shots. He was up to something, likely looking to get Gia fucked-up and take her home. It would be interesting to see how she played it. I didn’t normally obsess over girls, but fuck if this girl wasn’t under my skin like an annoying splinter. Dave’s hard hand slapped my back, bringing me out of my reverie.

“Dude, let’s hit the bar,” Dave said. “Shots?” He smiled and I nodded knowingly. The bar was nicely set up with all the top-shelf liquors. There were a few of Puff’s Ciroc girls passing around shots. They wore leather get-ups with five inches of fucking glory on their feet. How in the world they managed to walk was another story. I needed to get one of those babes wrapped around my waist.

“What are we toasting to?” Dave asked, raising the shot glass to his parched lips.

“Here’s to suckin’ and fuckin’, and not catchin’ nothin’!’ “ I crowed, downing my drink. Dave nearly choked to death.

“Went down the wrong pipe,” he sputtered, coughing his brains out. I patted his back.

“There, there, candy-ass,” I cajoled. He turned red, and that only made me laugh harder. Maybe this night wouldn’t suck, after all …

But then Ender joined our party of two, making it a party of five.

“What’s up, Holmes? Abel, you up for going to club Blue tonight?” he asked. “I called Bobby, got us a booth.” He laid his accent on a little thicker than usual—which meant one of two things: either he was extremely comfortable and relaxed, or he was showing off his pussy-tease cadence. I wasn’t digging option two.

“I’m up for any place but here,” I said, meeting Gia’s gaze. Immediately, she lowered her eyes to the floor. Good girl. At least she knew her place. And that pleased me more than it should, making me smile

Cindy stepped forward, putting herself between me and the bar. Looking up through her thick lashes, she asked, “Wanna do shots with us? I’m in need of some liquor, and the faster the better.” She smiled up at me, then turned towards the rest of the gang.

“I’m up for shots, darlin’. Name it.” I motioned for the bartender to take our order. He was busy eye-fucking Gia. I slammed my fist down hard on the portable wood bar, nearly splitting it in two.