After a quick shower where I forbade myself to think about Blaine’s shower, I dress in some black, holey jeans I find in Seth’s closet, one of his tight-ass white shirts, and pull back on my boots. He’s such a girl, so his bathroom is stocked full of hair styling shit. Once I do a style that has my dark, overgrown hair looking messy but hot as fuck, I steal an unused toothbrush and take care of the taste in my mouth that reminds me of bad decisions from the night before.
As soon as I head downstairs, I can hear a familiar guitar riff. Owen’s showing off—alone, from the sound of it. I saunter down the stairs and scan the growing crowd. Several scantily dressed women let out squeals when they see me. I’m not an asshole, so I nod and flash them a killer smile before finding Owen.
He’s sitting on the hearth of the fireplace, shirtless, a Gibson Dove acoustic in his lap and a cigarette dangling from his lips as he plays something familiar. It’s not wise to try new songs with guests, so we tend to stick with what they already know. We learned that the hard way when we had an impromptu jam session one time during a party. That YouTube video still gets more “free” hits than anything we’ve ever produced in a studio or played onstage.
I walk over to him and fuck with his hair as he strums away on “Heartache from Below,” the first power ballad we ever did.
“And then his hot best friend walks in and asks where the fucking pizza is,” I croon in my voice that makes girls lose their panties in a flash. It’s not the words to the song, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d fall for it.
He laughs and kicks his foot out at me. I grin at him before heading into the kitchen to see what I can scrounge up. Once in Seth’s massive kitchen, I find a girl sitting on the counter looking like a fucking treat.
Tiny as hell.
Long brown hair.
Fat red lips.
Her tits are spilling out of her dress, and the hem barely covers her cunt. She has short legs, but they’re nice and shapely. They’d look great wrapped around me. As she types away on her phone, the glow illuminating her face, I lean against the fridge and watch her.
She’s exactly what I need.
A fucking distraction.
A reminder that whatever confusing shit has been going on, is just that: confusing. I like what I see with this girl. She’s my type.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out, ignoring the missed calls from Blaine I received this morning. Flipping over to Twitter, I look to see what I’m missing out on. Lots of Owen shit—pictures of his shirtless body strumming his guitar from moments before. Even one of me messing with his hair. Fuck, these people are quick. The picture of the two of us already has over forty thousand likes. I snap a picture of the girl, a close up of just her mouth, and type: “Where can a guy find a pretty mouth like this to kiss?”
As soon as I submit the tweet, I watch the girl. She stares intently at the screen. Then she frowns, pulling the phone closer. When she determines it’s her, her mouth parts as she mouths “Oh my God.” Her blue eyes lift to mine.
“There’s one,” I say, like I just found the answer to my question, as I pocket my phone. “Question is, does that pretty mouth want to be kissed?”
I saunter over to her and grip both her knees, pulling her thighs apart so I can stand between them. With how short her dress is, she’s probably flashing anyone in the near vicinity. I slide my hand into her hair and kiss her hard. My lips and tongue dominate hers, and she rewards me with sweet mewls.
My stomach grumbles, making her giggle.
It’s enough to pull me out of the moment and remind me why I haven’t eaten. I fucked up and texted Blaine to come save me last night. As a result, I slept all day trying to forget that horrible mistake.
“Come on,” I growl, pulling her into my arms.
Her laughter spurs me on as I carry her through the house, past the curious onlookers, and upstairs. Once inside the guest room, I shut the door and toss her on the bed. Under her dress, I get a flash of a black thong.
“Lay back,” I command. “Take off your panties and show me what I get to fuck.”
She bites on her plump bottom lip and shimmies out of her thong. It gets flung at me, and then she opens her legs like a practiced whore, baring her pink pussy lips at me. This shit used to get me riled up. I can fuck for hours. I’m relentless.