Manaconda (Hammered #1)(14)

“Damn right. And it’s my mouth wrapped around that massive cock.”

My eyebrows shot up. Wow. Truly? My cheeks heated, and my fingers fumbled on the lock. It jangled, but the women didn’t seem to notice.

“I went on the Manaconda Alert site. There’s already like ten videos,” 1-900 said.

The what? I dug out my phone and typed in “Manaconda Alert”. A Tumblr and Instagram site came up. I clicked on the Tumblr and had to physically hold back a shriek. It seemed to be a fan site dedicated to all things Hunter. In depth discussions about the size and shape of his…manaconda, as well as sightings, girlfriends, and any picture on the internet of him with a woman—ever.

Including me.

A lot of me.

Oh, God.

The girls from outside the bathroom stall moved on. Now that they’d laid their little information bomb on me, I couldn’t stop looking at the blog. Tumblr was known mostly for small clips caught from videos—and the most incriminating ones at that.

One kept coming up again and again.

It was the one that had seared itself in my memory. However, my memory was much different. It was way more disconcerting to actually see us completely lost in the moment. Him holding me so tight there wasn’t even room for air, let alone breath.

My phone rang again, obliterating the image of me and Hunter. The name on the display snapped me out of my hormonally-induced fugue state.

Lila Shawcross. Again.

I dropped the phone into my bag, opened the door and strode out to the sinks. The damn thing kept buzzing, but I didn’t want to force the call to voicemail again. It was better if she thought I just couldn’t get to it because of the show. A pair of women were at the sinks, another three coming in. I didn’t look at them. Didn’t need to. It was silent as a church, and I was definitely the sinner everyone was staring at.

At least that’s what it felt like.

I didn’t have the balls to look up until after I washed my hands. I lifted my chin, gave my winning smile and waltzed out. Somehow I didn’t fall, didn’t break an ankle, didn’t walk into a wall. When I got back outside, I forced myself to set a steady pace through the lobby to the theater. People were lined up for the meet and greet, and there was a pulse to the room.

Obviously the band had arrived.

I made my way up the stairs to the balcony, nodding at Patrick as he stood sentinel at one end of the ridiculously grand table the band sat behind. It was as ornate as the theater itself, with embellishments and filagreed scrollwork dripping off the corners.

Indie and one of her minions was herding people through, but I was happy to see she actually gave everyone time to actually spit out stammered hellos. It wasn’t just a factory line. Keys was the most hands on—literally. She leaned forward and listened to every person. Even going so far as holding hands with some that were really upset or too excited.

Hunter was last in line and Patrick was paying close attention to everyone that moved up to him. Hunter’s smile was wide and friendly for albums, memorabilia, or pictures, but his demeanor changed for the magazine cover. His shoulders stiffened, and the shine left his unusual gray-green eyes.

I slid behind Patrick and leaned against the wall so I could hear the conversations.

Two giggling girls came up to him, asking him to sign over the jeans. The taller girl with bleached white hair and lavender roots tapped a nail over the bulge. Challenge lit her heavily-lined, improbably violet eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t stuff a sock down your pants? Or was that photo altered?”

My eyebrows shot up.

Everyone went silent. Hunter’s marker stopped. His shoulders hunched forward, and I had the strangest urge to move up behind him and slip my fingers into the short strands. I liked the peach fuzz of the tightly shaved part of his hair, but had to confess that the much longer top made my mouth water. But right at that moment, I wanted to soothe.

And I wasn’t exactly the soothing type.

Bats tilted his head and leaned forward. He was sitting right beside Hunter with his hands laced together loosely. “Are you expecting him to whip it out right here, darlin’? Slap it on the table for all to see?”

The girl’s smile vanished.

Bats stood and pulled up his shirt, showing off an impressively muscled torso. He drew down his zipper. “Mine’s just as impressive. Maybe a little girthier. Want to suck it right here too?”

Indie came up behind him and slammed him back down in his seat. “Reed,” she growled between her teeth.

He shrugged. “What? I was just doing what she asked.”

Lavender girl stammered and scooped up her magazine. She looked down at it, then to Hunter. He was sitting back in his throne-like chair, f*ck-you face in full effect.

Not good.

I moved around the table to the girl. I scooped out a pre-signed magazine from the pile and handed it to the girl. “Can’t hold up the line.”

“We don’t need this shit.” She dragged her friend with her and snatched the magazine away from me. She gave Hunter a scathing look before dropping the other one and twisting her booted heel over Hunter’s face.

That was so ending up on YouTube. Maybe it would be more exciting than our kiss. Reed “Bats” Mason made almost as many headlines as Hunter. Some of his ended in arrests, but he definitely might take the heat off of our little hallway thing.

Maybe.