K. Linde - Take Me for Granted

“I’m fine, Shelby.” I patted her back.

“You’re not fine, Aribel. You always act like you’re fine, but you’re clearly not. Who is fine after her boyfriend breaks up with her? No one.”

“Really. It’s okay.” Please drop it.

“No. You know what? I’m going to call Cheyenne and Gabi. You’re coming with us tonight to the ContraBand show at The League, and we’re going to find you a rebound.”

I fiercely shook my head from side to side. I didn’t need a rebound. More importantly, I wasn’t interested in rebounding off of someone I hadn’t cared that much about. “No way, Shelby. I am not going to a dumb bar to see a dumb band. That is not my thing.”

“That’s exactly why you should go. And ContraBand isn’t a dumb band,” she scolded. “Even if you don’t like the music, you will appreciate their talent.”

“All I know is that you guys drool all over them,” I said.

“That’s because the whole band is smoking hot.”

I rolled my eyes. That was just what I wanted to do—spend my precious sleeping hours at a party with some crappy college band. “Count me out.”

Shelby narrowed her eyes at me and gave me a look that said, Just try to argue with me .

I’d seen that look before. It was never followed by something I would be happy about.

We hopped off the small stage at a local Princeton bar, The Ivy League.

“That was a fucking good set!” Vin yelled. He flexed his bulging biceps and set his black guitar down on a stand.

“You’re telling me,” Miller cried, high-fiving him. The bassist was the brains of the operation. He was tall, clean-cut, and put together with short brown hair and a quiet confidence.

McAvoy flipped his drumstick in his hand and nodded. His shaggy blond hair fell into his eyes, and he swished it to the side. His green eyes were perpetually bloodshot from smoking too much weed. He was tall and lanky with an I-could-not-care-less attitude, but he always managed to mellow us out. “Killer. I need a beer.”

“Me, too,” I said, nodding at my bandmates and sticking a pick into the front pocket of my jeans.

“Beer first and then bitches,” Vin said. He clapped me on the back and made his way toward the stage door that exited to the bar.

As soon as the door opened, the screaming began. I smiled and ran a hand back through my dark brown hair. After the music, this was the best part. I lived and breathed the music, but damn, the chicks I would get from doing what I loved didn’t hurt a damn thing.

I followed the rest of the guys out the door, and I was immediately surrounded by a crowd of girls. I had my pick of the litter at this party. I liked when my biggest decision of the night was blonde or brunette. The Princeton crowd was one of the best. As smart as the chicks were, they would all act dumb and turn to putty in my hands.

Even though none of us had actually gone to Princeton, I considered the League our home base. Miller had hooked us up with a semiregular deal. Now that we all lived in the area, we would play shows every other week or so. We’d moved here from the Point Pleasant area after graduation and stayed. I wasn’t even from Jersey, like the other guys. My parents had relocated from Knoxville when I was ten. That was before shit had hit the fan.

A beer was passed to me almost instantly, and as I took a swig, I slung my arm around the closest girl to me. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Kimberly,” she peeped. Her tits bounced in her top as she pressed herself against me.

My mind wandered, and I started thinking about how fast I could get her out of that top and get those tits in my hands. She looked to be a handful, but I wouldn’t mind a little bit more to motorboat tonight. Maybe one of her friends. I scanned the other girls around her. I wasn’t that picky as long as they were hot.

“Well, Kimberly, do you know that girl right there?” I asked, pointing to a girl with a nicer rack.

“My friend, Kristin?”

“Kristin, darlin’, come on over here.” I crooked my finger at her.

Her eyes widened, and she jogged over. It was a beautiful sight.

“Oh my God, you’re Grant McDermott,” Kristin groaned. Her hands went to her chest as she bent her knees and stared up at me with big brown eyes.

“That I am.” I finished off my beer, and another appeared in my hand.

A second later, Miller and McAvoy showed up with a girl carrying a tray full of shots. After tossing back a couple, I decided to cut the small talk and get down to business. Neither girl protested.

Big Tits had her tongue down my throat before I’d even wrangled her and her friend into a corner. I knew the place wasn’t crowded enough to push the other chick to her knees, but the alcohol was kicking in, and I was contemplating it. It wouldn’t be the first time I got a blow job in the League. As if she’d read my mind, the chick started working on my belt buckle, and I just fisted her hair as a thank you. At least I knew how the night was going to go. One who sucks and one who fucks. Perfection.

“Bro!” Vin called.

I broke away from Big Tits long enough to send Vin a fuck-off look as he jogged up to where I was standing. “Kind of busy right now.”

Vin scoffed at me. “You can do better.”

The girls gasped. I took another look at them and wondered why they were acting all offended. Vin was probably right. I could do better, but I’d been heading toward something pretty nice.

Oh well. Later perhaps. I nodded my head at Vin. “Truth.”

“Pig,” Kimberly grumbled, standing swiftly. She grabbed Kristin’s hand, flipped me off, and dragged her away.

I bet they’d still fuck me if I asked.

“Sorry to cockblock, but I totally just drugged some chick,” Vin said, smiling like a total dope while crossing his arms over his chest.

“You just did what?” I furrowed my brow. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

“So, look, I know this chick Cheyenne. She follows us around when we tour, and she brought her fucking hot roommates with her tonight. I picked one out, but she turned me down flat.”

My eyebrows shot up. I loved pussy as much as the next guy, but even I could admit that Vin was a good-looking guy. He had the Italian guido look going for him—tan skin, shaved head, and built like a tank.

“You finally meet a chick who says no, and your response is to slip something into her drink? What the fuck is wrong with you? You don’t drug girls to get them to have sex with you. You move on to the next one. Seriously, Vin, you’re the fucking scum of the earth.”

“Yeah, bro. Are you just figuring this shit out?”

Vin cracked up, laughing at himself, and all I could do was shake my head at my bandmate’s insanity.

“You’re a fucking imbecile, Vin.”

He shrugged like he didn’t fucking care, but this was low, even for him. Although he couldn’t get any girl he wanted like I could, it just seemed unnecessary. Not to mention, adding date rape to his record sounded pretty shitty.

“Just take a look at this chick though, man.”

“All right, show me which piece of ass turned down my man.”

Vin pointed out a small blonde chick standing against a column surrounded by a few other girls, nursing a pint of beer. She looked completely out of place but coherent. I watched as she buttoned and unbuttoned the top of her cardigan. She didn’t seem to be showing any side effects I would assume she’d have if Vin had really drugged her. Actually, she just appeared really uptight and vigilant. She looked like a cork, and I wanted to be the corkscrew—uncap that pressure and help her explode.