Misadventures with the Boss (Misadventures #12)(46)

Nah, couldn’t be.

I’d already pushed a few hotties away after one shoved her tongue into my mouth and grabbed my crotch.

“What’s with you, man?” Zane had asked.

I hadn’t given him a response.

Truthfully, I didn’t have one. I just wasn’t in the mood. Not for this, anyway.

Zane passed me the joint he was smoking, but I waved it away. I no longer smoked. Bad for my voice. I’d already turned down his flask as well as the many drinks and drugs offered by the chicks in attendance. No booze. Not tonight. And I didn’t do anything harder than that.

Not in the fucking mood.

One more concert, and one more drug-and booze-and groupie-filled after-party.

If anyone had told me five years ago I’d be tired of this scene, I would have laughed in his face.

Now?

Janet and Lindy finished their show and stood. Janet strode to Zane and unbuckled his belt, while Lindy walked toward me.

“Hey, Jett. You have way too many clothes on.” She cupped my crotch, my lack of erection apparent. “Not happy to see me tonight?”

“Nothing personal, sweetheart. Just not in the mood.”

“I always did love a challenge.” She nipped at my neck.

“This isn’t a challenge.”

She pulled back and glared at me with her dark-blue eyes. “Everything’s a challenge. I want you tonight, and I’m going to have you.” She snaked her tongue over my bottom lip.

Well, what the hell? Fucking Lindy was no hardship, and I didn’t have anything else pressing to do. My groin began to tighten.

But was it because of the blonde grinding on me? Or the auburn-haired, brown-eyed goddess I caught a glimpse of across the room?





Chapter Two





Heather





Several hours earlier…

“I know you love this band,” Susie said. “Come on. Please?”

Susie was my roommate and a good friend, but she was a notorious rock and roll groupie. The woman had a pube collection, for God’s sake. She’d sworn me to secrecy on that one. She hadn’t needed to bother. Who the heck would I tell? Pubic hair didn’t regularly come up in conversation. Also, keeping locks of rock stars’ gorilla salad in zippered bags made me kind of sick. I’d turned her down when she offered to show it to me.

“Sorry, Suze. Just not up for it tonight.”

“I’m so sorry Rod Hanson turned down your rewrite. But sitting around wallowing in self-pity on a Friday night won’t make it any better.”

“And going to a concert will?”

“A concert and an after-party. And watching Jett Draconis and Zane Michaels on stage is an experience every woman should have at least once.”

I did love Emerald Phoenix’s music, and yes, Jett Draconis and Zane Michaels were as gorgeous as Greek gods. But…

“Not tonight.”

She pulled me off the couch. “Not taking no for an answer. You’re going.”



*

Why was I here again?

I stifled a yawn. Watching a couple of women do each other while others undressed, clamoring for a minute of the band’s attention, wasn’t my idea of a good time. The two women were gorgeous, of course, with tight bodies and big boobs. The contrasts in their skin and hair color made their show even more exotic. They were interesting to watch, but they didn’t do much for me sexually. Maybe if I weren’t so exhausted. I’d pulled the morning and noon shifts, and my legs were aching.

Even so, I was glad Susie had dragged me to the concert, if only to see and hear Jett Draconis live. His deep bass-baritone was rich enough to fill an opera house but had just enough of a rasp to make him the ultimate rock vocalist. And when he slid into falsetto and then back down to bass notes? Panty-melting. No other words could describe the effect. Watching him had mesmerized me. He lived his music as he sang and played, not as if it were coming from his mouth but emanating from his entire body and soul. The man had been born to perform.

A true artist.

Which only made me feel like more of a loser.

Jett Draconis was my age, had hit the LA scene around the same time I had, and he’d made it big in no time. Me? I was still a struggling screenwriter working a dead-end job waiting tables at a local diner where B-list actors and directors hung out. Not only was I not an Alister, I wasn’t even serving them. When I couldn’t sell a movie to second-rate producer Rod Hanson? I hadn’t yet said the words out loud, but the time had come to give up.

“What are you doing hanging out here all by yourself?”

Susie’s words knocked me out of my barrage of self-pity. For a minute anyway.

“Just bored. Can we leave soon?”

“Are you kidding me? The party’s just getting started.” She pointed to the two women on the floor. “That’s Janet and Lindy. Works every time. They always go home with someone in the band.”

“Only proves that men are pigs.”

Susie didn’t appear to be listening. Her gaze was glued on Zane, the keyboardist, whose gaze was in turn glued on the two women cavorting in the middle of the floor. She turned to me. “Let’s make out.”

I squinted at her, as if that might help my ears struggling in the loud din. I couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly. “What?”