Roni Loren - Call On Me

Pike moved through the crowded backstage tent, letting his eyes scan over the area. They had the usual suspects milling around—other bands who’d performed today, crew, spouses and girlfriends, promoters, and of course, the women they’d let backstage. Well, women and dudes. One of the other groups performing this afternoon was The Boys Club, which was an all-female band. They had their own groupies.

But Pike wasn’t looking for any of the people he saw. He’d given Oakley backstage passes with her tickets and was hoping she’d use them, but he had no idea if she’d made it to the show at all. After last night, he may have scared her off with the gift. The only hope he held on to was that Oakley would want to give her daughter a fun night, so would come even if she hadn’t wanted to see him.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” a redhead said, putting her hand on his arm as he passed through the crowd. “Where are you off to so fast? I wanted to tell you how much I liked the show.”

An automatic smile jumped to his lips—the politician face, the face for fans. His eyes flicked over her. Model pretty. Enhanced rack. Edgy look. Vaguely familiar.

“Hey, thanks. Glad you liked it …”

“Holly,” she provided, conspiratorial smile touching her glossed lips. “We met at a Houston show a few years ago. I hung out with you and Eddie Duff.”

By hung out, she probably meant slept with. He scanned his memory bank. Eddie was the lead guitarist in Crucial Madness and they’d done a show out there together. But memories of what had happened afterward were vague. Back then, Pike and pretty much everyone he surrounded himself with had been on a rotation of trying out every illegal substance known to man.

“Right, yeah. Good to see you. You look great.”

She gave him an of-course-I-do smile and gave his arm a squeeze. “So do you.”

He moved out from beneath her touch. “Thanks. And I’d love to catch up, but I need to find someone.”

“Maybe you’ve already found her.”

Fuck. Normally he liked a forward girl. No use wasting time playing coy games when both people knew what the end result would be. And all the adrenaline coursing through him had his dick on a hair trigger. He could tug her in a back room, hike up her skirt, and be inside her in five minutes. But he couldn’t muster up any real interest. He knew he should tell her he wasn’t feeling it. But he didn’t have time for any drama, so he pulled a douche move instead. He leaned over and kissed her cheek then whispered, “Maybe later, sweetheart.”

She smiled. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He moved past her and continued his search of the crowd, but after twenty minutes passed, he’d given up. Oakley either hadn’t come to the show or she’d skipped the backstage tour.

He was disappointed. And pissed at himself. Why did he give a fuck if she showed up or not? He sank onto one of the couches and grabbed a beer. This was so not his style. If Oakley wasn’t interested, then that was her prerogative. He didn’t chase women. They chased him. He could have two back at his place before he finished this beer if he put the barest amount of effort into it.

This whole thing had been ridiculous from the start anyway. He had no business messing around with some soccer-mom type—even if she did have an X-rated job at night. What the hell had he been thinking? He leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face.

“This seat taken?”

His eyelids snapped open. He’d know that voice anywhere. He lifted his head to find Oakley staring down at him, looking altogether uncomfortable … and altogether lickable. She’d donned a pink tank top, a white pair of shorts, and her hair was pulled high into a ponytail. The glisten of sweat and the rosy glow from a day outdoors clung to her. No sign of the buttoned-up work outfits or oversized T-shirts. Just lovely, luscious curves and sure-to-be-salty skin.

“I was saving it for you,” he said, forcing the flirt out past his suddenly dry throat and patting the couch cushion.

“Liar.” She sat on the chair catty-corner to the couch instead of taking the spot by him.

“I didn’t think you were coming. Where’s Reagan?”

“I sent her home with my brother. She had a great time, but I wasn’t sure if backstage would be kid-friendly.”

He shrugged. “Things will be pretty tame back here since it’s a daytime all-ages show. A few guys brought their kids. Any debauchery will happen in the buses or hotel rooms.”

She glanced toward the rows of tour buses parked behind the tent then back to him, her eyes briefly dipping down to his naked chest. “Is that where your harem awaits?”

He smirked. “Nah, I waited too long to gather them up. Most have already found their prince for the day.”

She frowned, something flashing in her eyes. “Right. If candidate A isn’t readily available, they’ll find candidate B.”

He rubbed the back of his damp hair, her comment landing squarely. Wasn’t that the truth. People came backstage to fuck a band member. As long as the guy was halfway decent looking and willing, in the end, it didn’t matter who they ended up with. The sentiment was the same from the other side, too, though. Pretty groupies were just as mix and match. “It is what it is.”

Her expression was wry but grim. “I’m aware.”

That’s when he realized he shouldn’t have invited her back here. Even if he wasn’t partaking of anything, it highlighted exactly how different their worlds were. Sometimes he forgot this wasn’t normal. He could see her opinion in the vague disgust on her face.

“So how’d you like the show?” he asked, pulling her focus away from the scene around them. He hated that he felt the urge to ask, probably sounded like he was fishing for compliments. But for some reason, her opinion mattered to him.

She leaned back in the chair, considering him. “Your guitarist is crazy good. Crazy good. And hot.”

He sniffed. “Is that why you’re back here? Want me to get his phone number for you?”

“That’d be great. Is he single?” she asked, all wide-eyed eagerness.

He gave her a stony look.

Her mouth tilted into a pleased smile. “You’re kind of cute when your ego is bruised.”

“Wonderful. You know, I don’t really need another sadist in my life. I’ve got enough of them.”

She leaned forward, bracing her forearms on her thighs, unintentionally giving him a nice view of her cleavage. “Oh, get over yourself. You know you’re a phenomenal drummer. Watching you is like falling into some voodoo spell. Arms and sweat and sticks flying. Even I had to fight the urge to throw my granny panties at you.”

He laughed. “Granny panties?”

She patted the waistband of her shorts. “I’m all about the comfort, my friend.”

A lightness filled his chest, his mood buoying. “So what you’re saying is, watching me drum turned you on and now you must have my sweaty, dumbly tattooed body or you’ll just die of lust.”

She gave him a droll look. “What I’m saying is that I came back here to be honest with you. You have a thing for honesty, so it’s only fair I give you some of mine.”

His eyebrows lifted. “All right.”

“Yes, I’m attracted to you. In truth, I couldn’t tell you what your guitarist looked like because I never took my eyes off of you.”

Pike leaned forward, his blood stirring.

“But this can’t happen. I know I’ve given you the wrong idea with the phone call and all, but you need to hear this. I’m the kind of woman you most fear. The relationship kind. I don’t do casual hookups.”

He shifted on the couch, the word relationship making his skin prickle. “What’s so bad about casual?”