Rock All Night(92)

I’ve never seen anybody’s eyes pop so far out of their head as Riley’s did – from utter shock, I’m sure.

Every guy in the room either wolf-whistled or roared with laughter.

I just cringed, imagining what Riley’s mouth tasted like. Probably an ashtray drowned in Jack Daniels.

When Shanna released Riley, the little drummer girl stumbled back – then stared at me, wide-eyed.

“I like your friend,” she said with a growing smile.

“This is Killian,” Derek said, putting his arm around the guitarist, who gave a wave and a shy little smile.

“Oh my God, you are brilliant,” she enthused. Then she sniffed the air. “And you have good taste in pot. What is that, Strawberry Cough?”

Of course Shanna was an expert in weed. Of course she was.

Killian looked taken aback. “You know your herb, luv.”

“Hell yeah I do! Mind if I…?”

“Be my guest,” Killian said, and passed her the joint. “Always nice to meet a fellow connoisseur.”

Shanna took a hit, then held it in. She passed the joint back to Killian, gave a thumbs up, then coughed out a cloud of smoke.

The rest of the room laughed. Derek slapped her on the back lightly. “You all right, there?”

“God DAMN that’s good,” she wheezed with a smile.

Shanna was an immediate hit with the band.





76




The show was a blast. Shanna and I hung out just offstage and drank champagne out of red Solo cups. She sang along with all the band’s hits, and even made me dance along with her. I’d forgotten how much fun she could be.

Derek even dedicated a song to her.

“I’ve got a friend visiting from New York, haven’t seen her in a long time,” Derek told the audience. “Her name’s Shanna – ”

At which point Shanna started Woo-wooooo-ing from the sidelines.

Derek laughed. “Her name’s Shanna, and though this song isn’t exactly the same as her name… it reminds me a lot of her.”

At which point they started playing ‘My Sharona.’

Shanna went crazy and started grinding against my leg as part of her dance routine.

Derek looked over like Heeey, niiiiice!

I just laughed and flipped him the bird as Shanna humped away.

After the show ended and the band showered up (even, miracle of miracles, Riley), Shanna turned up the partying to 11. She smoked out more with Killian. She kept grabbing Ryan’s ass, jumping in his arms, and trying to give him sloppy kisses. She didn’t exactly escalate the situation with Riley, but they must have come to some sort of wingman agreement, because the two of them went around the room and basically had three-way makeouts with at least a half-dozen hot girls.

I’m pretty sure I saw her snorting some lines of cocaine off an Olympic athlete’s bare chest (a dude, by the way).

When the party retired to the hotel, Derek got me on his back piggyback style, Ryan did the same with Shanna, and we raced through the hallways as Shanna whooped at the top of her lungs.

Only when hotel management threatened to throw us out did we go back to the band’s luxury suite – at which point Shanna passed out in the corner.

Riley looked super-disappointed.

Ryan looked relieved.

“Same old Shanna,” Derek laughed.

“She did do that the first night we met, didn’t she?” I remembered.

“She did,” Derek agreed, then whispered in my ear, “Want to go back to my room and do what we should have done back then?”

As Shanna would say, HELL yeah.





77




You know those scenes in movies where the guy and girl have crazy sex, crashing into walls and destroying the furniture?


I always hated those scenes. I was always like, There’s no way anybody has sex like that.

Turns out they do.

Maybe it was the champagne; maybe it was all the shenanigans after the show; maybe it was the contact high of being around Shanna’s ‘go-for-broke’ spirit.

All I know is I’ve crossed one more sexual experience off my bucket list.

We were already going crazy before we got to Derek’s personal suite. My clothes were half-off as we fumbled through the door, kissing madly. Within ten seconds, my panties (totally soaked) were off, my top was open, I was up in the air supported by his arms, my naked legs were wrapped around his waist, and he was sucking on my nipples like he was about to die of thirst and they were the only thing that could save him.

When I couldn’t get his t-shirt off, he growled, “Tear it.”

“Seriously?” I gasped – not from the suggestion, but from what his fingers were doing as he clutched my ass and slipped one finger inside me, rubbing my g-spot.

“Do it,” he commanded, and I bunched up the material and pulled as hard as I could. It was a light, flimsy material that had been washed a couple hundred times before they even put it on the rack – designers try so hard to make their t-shirts look three years old instead of brand new – and it gave a satisfying rrrrriiiiiiiip! in my hands.

His olive skin and carved chest showed through the tear, and I was immediately twice as turned on.

He, of course, was still licking my breasts and stroking deep inside me, so maybe that had something to do with it.