The backstage room is filling with people. Band members, roadies, management, and special guests such as family, media, and a few pre-selected fans. The place buzzes with chatting and chuckling, and I stop in the door to assess. Don’t see any eye-catching hotness yet.
Sweat runs from my head, along my back, and down my abs. My soaked shirt glues to my skin, and I stink of hour-long transpiration. I need a shower, but there’s so much else I want to do first: get a drink, a smoke, and some pussy before the tour bus leaves. None of these are allowed on board. I’m electrical, high. I need to move, and my whole body thirsts to get higher.
Next to a merchandise booth in a corner stands a table with plates of sandwiches and cut fruit, a selection of mineral water bottles, and alcoholic drinks.
“Shawn! Shawn!” Strangers rush me with expectant smiles, probably wanting me to sign CD covers or something.
But I’ve made up my mind. Ignoring them, I stride to the table, grab a can of cold beer and down it in one take. The icy beverage rushes through my throat and refreshes me. The sweaty hairs on my arms rise as if chilly air blew on them. I open another, gulp down the beer, and grab a third.
“Hey, Shawn,” a female says behind me.
I hate being interrupted, but I’ve heard that voice before. Beer in hand, I spin around.
Oh, Samantha from the record company. I don’t know if that pleases or annoys me. She’s cute, though, with long brown tendrils at shoulder-length, and hazel eyes glowing with warm intelligence.
The alcohol makes me a little tipsy; I can’t resist the want to tease her. I give her the can with a grin and proceed to take off my soaked shirt, as if it’s the most natural thing. Damp body heat and the sharp smell of sweat emanate as I lift my arms in the air, struggling to remove the wet fabric, groaning.
Once done, I drop it to the floor and cross my arms, making my well-trained muscles protrude, and scrutinize her reaction. Offering a little male sexiness has worked on most females before.
Flabbergasted is the best word to describe her face. I flash my teeth as her gaze runs over my torso. She can’t possibly be aware of her nostrils’ tiny movements, revealing her inhalation of my scent.
I let a moment pass, then ask, pointing at the can in her hands, “You gonna have that beer?”
“Oh.” She straightens with a deep breath, regains composure, looks at the brand logo on the can, and shakes her head. “No, I don’t drink alcohol at work.”
I like her voice. It’s soft, comforting, reminds me of my mother’s. But when she hands me my drink, the wolf in me wants to play. I cover her hand and tug while taking a step closer, pulling her toward me. She wears a discreet perfume, the scent of prairie flowers, I think. Her cheeks blush as she lifts her chin to meet my eyes, and her pupils grow feverish. She’s holding her breath. With my other hand, I grab her round, firm butt and press her stomach against mine.
All sounds around us vanish; the talking, the laughter. I focus on the girl in my arms. She’s not really my type, but knowing her infatuation, she’ll be an easy fuck. That’s all I need before getting on the bus. Tomorrow, it’ll be someone else.
I glance at the KISS patches on her chest. Gene Simmons once declared we’re all in this business for sex, and whoever says he does it for the music is lying. Besides, the girls beg to be screwed senseless by celebrities, so they can brag to their friends. Shawn in Bloodless slept with me! Squee!
Maybe she thinks I’m going to kiss her, but I’m not. Call me crazy, but there’s a little romantic in me saving that for a special girlfriend—if such a thing is in the cards for a guy like me. Instead, I move my hands to her denim jacket and start unbuttoning it from the top.
“You seem to need a little help with that,” I joke.
Damn, we’re so close, and her feminine heat makes my blood boil. I picture bringing her to a dark corner behind the stage curtain and having her hands on my cock. I suggestively push my hardness against her warm thighs.
She frowns and takes a step back.
No? What is it? My beer breath? I withdraw as well. Too fucking bad.
Eyes shimmering, she opens her mouth, but I turn and grab a new can. I mean, who the hell do you think you are to turn me down like that?
I gulp the whole drink, release a solid burp, and take what must be the fifth can before leaving.
Copyright @ 2014 Lea Bronsen