Rock My Body
Page 4
Gabby’s harsh laugh cuts across the room as her lithe fingers work at the knots in the rope. “Hate to break it to you, slick, but that ship has sailed. It’s nearly three.”
I sit up once I’m free and rub my wrists. “Fuck. The guys are going to be pissed. I’ve blown off the last three or four band meetings. Doing it again isn't going to sit well with them.”
Gabby sits at the small desk in the room and fixes a line on the mirror for herself before snorting it up her nose. “Fuck ’em. Those douchebags need to learn to fend for themselves.”
“Don’t, Gabby,” I warn, not liking her putting the guys down. It’s one thing for me to do it, but someone else baggin’ on them pisses me off. They’re my brothers.
I roll out of bed and grab my jeans off the floor, quickly yanking them up on my hips. There’s no sign of my underwear, but whatever; I’m not about to waste my time looking for them. I have to get the fuck out.
The blonde rolls over onto her back, and I freeze just as I pull my black T-shirt over my head. When she doesn’t wake, I turn to Gabby. “You taking care of this one?”
She nods and wipes her nose, but a small dusting of white powder still remains. “Yeah. I’ll check her phone for any pictures and videos and then call her a cab.”
I fasten my belt and then slip my feet into my boots. “Good. No more groupies with sex tapes of us. That shit didn’t go well last time.”
She laughs. “Speak for yourself. That fucking tape got my band noticed and put on tour with Black Falcon.”
I roll my eyes. “Just check her shit before she leaves. Trip and Noel will blow their fucking tops if I keep bringing the band down with negative publicity.”
This time she rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever. I forgot what a Debbie fucking Downer you are when you sober up. You want a bump before you go?”
My nose twitches in anticipation, and while I know I should say no, I can’t help myself. Gabby puts a small amount of coke between her index finger and thumb and raises her hand to me. “You know you want to.”
I pull her hand up to my face and quickly snort every last bit of nose candy; the white powder stinging as it coats the warm, moist skin inside my nasal passages, sending me on a near-instant high in the process.
I close my eyes as every nerve in me comes alive, making me forget why the fuck I felt so anxious a few moments ago. I lean against the desk next to Gabby and she looks up at me and smiles, nodding over to the chick still sleeping in the king-size bed. “You wanna play?”
Gabby runs her hand down my torso, my toned abs flexing beneath my shirt in response to her touch. She pauses at my belt and yanks it open before allowing the tips of her fingers to rub against the growing erection inside my jeans.
A wicked grin crosses her face as she licks her lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Unable to resist her, I give in and grab the nape of her neck, pulling her a little more roughly than I mean to out of the chair. I yank her slender body flush with mine. “Why the fuck do I let you do this? You’re no good for me.”
She bats her long lashes at me, attempting to look innocent. “Because you like getting crazy. Because you were bored out of your fucking skull until I came around. Because, deep down inside, you’re tired of being the scapegoat for the other guys in Black Falcon, and you’re done being their bitch.”
I flinch at her cold words. “Fuck you, Gabby. I’m no one’s bitch.”
“Except mine,” she purrs.
I shove her away. “Especially not yours.”
I refasten my belt as I turn and head for the door.
“Tyke…”
I don’t bother turning around. Good time or not, there’s no way in hell I’m going to be talked down to by a chick I’ve known for three months.
Who the fuck does she think she is?
If it weren’t for a groupie catching me drunk fucking Gabby after a show and blasting it all over the web, she and her band, Sex Arsenal, would still be playing small dive bar gigs with a weak-ass following. Now that bitch has the nerve to insinuate I’m a pussy? Fuck her.
I don’t need her. There are plenty of other people to party with. Her pussy isn’t made out of gold, and I damn sure never made a fucking commitment to her.
She’s a chick I like to get high with and fuck—that’s it. Nothing more. She better not have it in her head that we are more than that.
Jesus.
When the elevator opens up to the lobby, the full effect of the afternoon sun begins to assault my eyes and I flinch, fishing my sunglasses from my pocket and slipping them on my face. The moment I’m outside I pat my pockets, hoping to find some car keys, but I have no such luck. I obviously didn’t drive myself over here last night. Actually, I have no fucking clue where in the hell I am. Reaching into my back pocket, I whip out my phone and use the GPS feature on it.
Orlando.
Thank God I’m still in the right city. We play the Amway Center tonight to a sold out crowd. At least I know I can still make it there on time.
The young valet approaches me with a pen and paper in hand. The small cluster of pimples on his forehead does nothing to conceal his youth, and the eager smile on his face tells me one thing: he’s a fan.
“Excuse me? I hate to bother you, but you’re in Black Falcon, aren’t you?” he asks in a voice that’s just above a timid whisper.
I shove my glasses a little further up my nose. “Yep. Sure am.”
I sit up once I’m free and rub my wrists. “Fuck. The guys are going to be pissed. I’ve blown off the last three or four band meetings. Doing it again isn't going to sit well with them.”
Gabby sits at the small desk in the room and fixes a line on the mirror for herself before snorting it up her nose. “Fuck ’em. Those douchebags need to learn to fend for themselves.”
“Don’t, Gabby,” I warn, not liking her putting the guys down. It’s one thing for me to do it, but someone else baggin’ on them pisses me off. They’re my brothers.
I roll out of bed and grab my jeans off the floor, quickly yanking them up on my hips. There’s no sign of my underwear, but whatever; I’m not about to waste my time looking for them. I have to get the fuck out.
The blonde rolls over onto her back, and I freeze just as I pull my black T-shirt over my head. When she doesn’t wake, I turn to Gabby. “You taking care of this one?”
She nods and wipes her nose, but a small dusting of white powder still remains. “Yeah. I’ll check her phone for any pictures and videos and then call her a cab.”
I fasten my belt and then slip my feet into my boots. “Good. No more groupies with sex tapes of us. That shit didn’t go well last time.”
She laughs. “Speak for yourself. That fucking tape got my band noticed and put on tour with Black Falcon.”
I roll my eyes. “Just check her shit before she leaves. Trip and Noel will blow their fucking tops if I keep bringing the band down with negative publicity.”
This time she rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever. I forgot what a Debbie fucking Downer you are when you sober up. You want a bump before you go?”
My nose twitches in anticipation, and while I know I should say no, I can’t help myself. Gabby puts a small amount of coke between her index finger and thumb and raises her hand to me. “You know you want to.”
I pull her hand up to my face and quickly snort every last bit of nose candy; the white powder stinging as it coats the warm, moist skin inside my nasal passages, sending me on a near-instant high in the process.
I close my eyes as every nerve in me comes alive, making me forget why the fuck I felt so anxious a few moments ago. I lean against the desk next to Gabby and she looks up at me and smiles, nodding over to the chick still sleeping in the king-size bed. “You wanna play?”
Gabby runs her hand down my torso, my toned abs flexing beneath my shirt in response to her touch. She pauses at my belt and yanks it open before allowing the tips of her fingers to rub against the growing erection inside my jeans.
A wicked grin crosses her face as she licks her lips. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Unable to resist her, I give in and grab the nape of her neck, pulling her a little more roughly than I mean to out of the chair. I yank her slender body flush with mine. “Why the fuck do I let you do this? You’re no good for me.”
She bats her long lashes at me, attempting to look innocent. “Because you like getting crazy. Because you were bored out of your fucking skull until I came around. Because, deep down inside, you’re tired of being the scapegoat for the other guys in Black Falcon, and you’re done being their bitch.”
I flinch at her cold words. “Fuck you, Gabby. I’m no one’s bitch.”
“Except mine,” she purrs.
I shove her away. “Especially not yours.”
I refasten my belt as I turn and head for the door.
“Tyke…”
I don’t bother turning around. Good time or not, there’s no way in hell I’m going to be talked down to by a chick I’ve known for three months.
Who the fuck does she think she is?
If it weren’t for a groupie catching me drunk fucking Gabby after a show and blasting it all over the web, she and her band, Sex Arsenal, would still be playing small dive bar gigs with a weak-ass following. Now that bitch has the nerve to insinuate I’m a pussy? Fuck her.
I don’t need her. There are plenty of other people to party with. Her pussy isn’t made out of gold, and I damn sure never made a fucking commitment to her.
She’s a chick I like to get high with and fuck—that’s it. Nothing more. She better not have it in her head that we are more than that.
Jesus.
When the elevator opens up to the lobby, the full effect of the afternoon sun begins to assault my eyes and I flinch, fishing my sunglasses from my pocket and slipping them on my face. The moment I’m outside I pat my pockets, hoping to find some car keys, but I have no such luck. I obviously didn’t drive myself over here last night. Actually, I have no fucking clue where in the hell I am. Reaching into my back pocket, I whip out my phone and use the GPS feature on it.
Orlando.
Thank God I’m still in the right city. We play the Amway Center tonight to a sold out crowd. At least I know I can still make it there on time.
The young valet approaches me with a pen and paper in hand. The small cluster of pimples on his forehead does nothing to conceal his youth, and the eager smile on his face tells me one thing: he’s a fan.
“Excuse me? I hate to bother you, but you’re in Black Falcon, aren’t you?” he asks in a voice that’s just above a timid whisper.
I shove my glasses a little further up my nose. “Yep. Sure am.”
