“Whatever, man. What trouble are we getting into tonight?” Trent slapped Ethan’s shoulders. Long, dark hair tied in a man bun, full beard, and sea green eyes, Ethan got a lot of attention. He had an insatiable appetite for men and women, and I dare say he may have surpassed Trent’s whorish tendencies. Panties and boxer briefs were permanently wrapped around his fans’ ankles. Occasionally, at the same time.
Ethan rubbed his hands together, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Did you see the brunette with the huge tits?” He mimicked the size with his hands a foot away from his chest. “I’d motorboat the fuck out of ’em.”
“Yesss. I was hoping you were in the mood for women tonight!” Trent gave Ethan a high five. “There was this blond chick beside her. Killer face. Decent rack.”
“Please spare me the details of your orgy.” I grabbed my phone, which was charging on the glossy vanity cabinet with a large mirror.
Trent leaned down, his eyes focused on me in the mirror. “Just say the word and I’ll dump Ethan and those chicks for you.”
“I like my vagina disease-free, thank you very much.”
Trent’s cheeks reddened. “I got checked out before we toured.”
“And you’ve fucked at least a dozen women since we’ve been on tour.”
“So you noticed.” He waggled his eyebrows and made a beeline to the mini-fridge.
I rolled my eyes and focused on my phone. James had sent a goofy pic of himself and the kids at the park. JJ had lost a tooth and stuck his tongue through the opening. I rubbed a hand over my chest.
“Drink, Nik?” Trent asked over his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“I got ya.” Trent returned with a plastic cup filled with a heavy pour of vodka and a splash of cranberry juice.
“Just how I like it.” I saluted him and tossed back my drink.
“Another?” he asked.
“Yup!”
One, two, three . . . five. I lost count of the drinks I’d consumed. Didn’t matter. My alcohol tolerance was legendary, and this former stay-at-home mama still had it.
Still, the drinking didn’t stop me from thinking about James and the kids.
I glanced at the clock. It was only eleven at night, and I was in the same time zone as Atlanta.
Send me a pictuuure. A dirty one.
I ended the text with a winky smiley or whatever the hell it was. After a minute or two of silence, I sent him another one.
Hello???? You there? I need a picture of you naked! If you don’t send one in zero-point-eight seconds I’ll hate you forever.
Still no answer.
OMG. I hate you.
Just kidding, I love you. A lot, a lot. I must love you a lot because Trent is always tryna get in my pants. But I always say NOOOO!
James finally replied back.
What??? Are you drunk?
I snorted.
Am I drunk? N-O.
I typed back my response. What did he think I was? An amateur?
Yes, you are. The last couple of texts you’ve sent me have been belligerent. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Please be sober.
I focused on the last word and rolled my eyes.
Technically I wasn’t sober, but I wasn’t operating a vehicle, upchucking, or running around with my clothes off. I’d done that a few times in my younger days. I was way past that stage.
I loved James, but he was being a hater.
Our band manager, Julia, opened the door. “Time to meet the VIPs.”
“Or as we like to call ’em, fresh meat!” Trent laughed and followed the manager out of the room.
God, these guys were the worst. Mostly Trent and Ethan. Drew was quiet and sweet and had a girl back home. Davey wasn’t a saint, but he was selective with his bed partners.
I followed the band to the VIP room and sat at the end behind a long, scuffed-all-to-hell table. The boys had a large clump of fans surrounding them.
“Of course I’ll sign your tits.” Trent winked at the girl, then looked at me.
“Such an ass,” I whispered under my breath.
“Yeah, he is.” A tall black woman with long, gorgeous twists that framed her face appeared in front of me.
“Oh, hey. Sorry! I didn’t notice you. Do you, um, want an autograph or something?”
She shook her head, her twists moving with the headshake. “Or something. I’m actually a new fan . . . because of you.”
“Really?” I raised a brow. Not that I wasn’t talented, but I was the new kid on the block, lucky to get a head nod from the groupies. The guys tended to be chattier, but I couldn’t tell if it was because they enjoyed the music, were trying to entertain themselves while their wives or girlfriends hit on my bandmates, or if they wanted in my pants.
“Yes, really. I’m Monica, by the way.” She laughed and stuck out a hand.
I found my manners and shook her hand.
“Anyway, I’m a traveling music blogger and reviewer, and since you joined the band, I plan to follow you guys around to a few cities. I would love to interview you and the band, but I want to focus the piece on you. It’s not every day you see an African American woman leading a rock/alternative band.”
I put my finger over my mouth. “Don’t let Mr. Trent Masters hear you say that. He might lose his egomaniac mind.” I pretended to shudder. “Anyway, I’d love to do an interview. I need to run it by our manager, Julia, but—”
“I already pitched her the idea, and she’s down for it.” She waved at Julia.
Julia gave me a wide smile and thumbs-up. I wasn’t sure why she was excited about a blogger following us around, but since Monica was a sister and seemed to genuinely like our music, I was down for it. “What’s the name of your website?”
“RockHop.com. I cover all music, but mostly hip-hop, R-and-B and rock. I have a few contributors, but I write most of the content. It’s fairly new, only been around for a year.”
“Okay, I’ll have to check it out, Monica.” A niggle of recognition wormed in my brain.
“Wait a minute. Are you the Monica Davis, music critic at Rolling Stone magazine?”
She shrugged. “The one and only. So, true confession, I’m doing the full-on series of articles on the blog and then a feature piece for the magazine.”
“Okay.” That’s why Julia was all over it.
“Great! Your manager told me you guys were heading on the road tomorrow at ten. I’m actually going to ride with you to the next city. I can get a feel of you and the band in your natural element.”
Trent walked past us, a girl on either side, followed by Ethan.
I shook my head. “Buckle up, Monica.”
* * *
I grabbed the weed from Drew’s outstretched fingers, took a puff, and then passed it to Davey. Monica waved away the smoke cloud and continued clacking along on her laptop. For some reason, Monica was enamored of our band and decided to tag along for the remainder of the tour. Her readers had enjoyed the initial write-up about me and our unique rock-and-soul sound.