“I like tequila, but it isn’t my favorite.” I say, holding her stare. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and I watch with rapture. Fuck, why is that so sexy?
“Ugh, could you guys stop with the fuck me eyes please? I’m trying to get a little drunk over here.” Boston sighs, breaking the connection between Bristol and I. Her eyes dart away from mine as she turns to Boston.
“What did you guys do while I was gone?” she asks, her voice sweet as the alcohol runs through her.
“Couple tours, couple albums, lots of groupies and a whole lot of partying.” Boston laughs loudly.
“Partying huh?” she asks, leaning forward like he’s fucking Shakespeare ready to wax eloquently about the blow and bottles.
“Yup,” Boston nods, “all over the world. Your chick band doesn’t party?”
“We do, but not like you guys. Julie’s married so she doesn’t do anything without her husband, Maggie is a horndog and leaves with someone as soon as the shows are done, and Blake doesn’t drink,” she sighs. “Our parties aren’t anything to make headlines.” Her eyes narrow at Boston before they turn to me.
“We should party tonight!” Boston exclaims. ”We don’t leave until tomorrow morning, the bus is staying here, lets fucking do it!”
Remember what I said about tequila and truths? Well for Boston, tequila turns him up to eleven every single time. Once while we were in Mexico, he drank a whole bottle and the worm, shut down a club, and ended up in jail for having sex in the street.
“Oh god, can we? I’m sure, there’s going to be something going on here tonight. I can ask Alder what they’re doing.” Bristol says excitedly. At the mention of the asshole from LA’s name, I perk up.
“Oh shit, are they here?” Boston says, looking around like they might be behind him.
“Yeah, I saw the top hat guy earlier.” Bristol nods.
“I’m sure we can find something to do without them.” I say, grabbing the bottle from the table. I’m going to need something a lot stronger than tequila if I’m going to have to deal with her puppy tonight.
“Oh, but it would be so fun,” Bristol yelps, “they were fun in LA.” She nods her head exaggeratedly. Drunk Bristol is apparently down for anything.
I pour each of us one more shot, repeating the process with the lime and the salt. Bristol takes hers like a champ, Boston gags and grimaces again, and I muster through the taste.
“Plight, 5 minutes.” A guy with a baseball hat and a clipboard says at the edge of the tent, he eyes me and then the almost empty tequila bottle in the middle of the table. He rolls his eyes and says something that sounds eerily like ‘fucking rockstars’.
“Oooo let’s do this!” Bristol says, hopping up from the stool she was sitting on. Now one of the worst parts about getting drunk while you’re sitting is when you go to stand up, your body has a tendency to not cooperate. Case in point: Bristol’s feet hit the ground and so does her back. That quickly, boom boom.
She laughs hysterically from her spot on the ground, and I lean down to help her back up.
“You okay, Pistol?” I ask with an outstretched hand. She takes my hand and allows me to pull her back upright.
“Did anyone see that?” She cackles as she wipes the excess gravel from her leather skirt.
“I did!” Boston hoots, raising his hand like a jackass.
“Of course you did, you’re right here.” I quip, as I dust off Bristol’s backside. She has little pieces of gravel stuck to the backs of her thighs so I lean down to pick them out of her sweat drenched skin. I run my fingers across her thighs and goosebumps scatter in their wake. I look up at her, acutely aware of where we are and how close to her ass I am.
“While you’re down there.” She cocks her head and wags her eyebrows at me suggestively. A low laugh leaves her, but I don’t move. If I didn’t think the whole world would know I was on my knees at a music festival ravishing my bandmate, I would throw her skirt up and let her use my face as a stool, but as it is, not the right time or the right place.
“We gotta go, babe, or you know I would.” I growl. The thought of her taste on my tongue while I sing to thousands of people has my dick twitching in my leather pants.
“Well, lead the way,” she says, dramatically throwing her arms in the direction of the theater.
“I gotta take a piss.” Boston says as we stand backstage, the amps and large speakers surround us as we wait our turn.
“Hurry.” I snap.
“Yeah yeah.” he says, waving me off as he takes off towards the men’s room. A roadie walks past me and hands me the mic I’ll be using for tonight.
“Thanks, man.” I nod, rolling the device between my palms.
Bristol stands next to a large speaker with her back braced against it, the noise from the band currently on stage is deafening back here. I watch her as the bass from the speakers pounds, a slight shiver leaves her as the vibration travels through her. Her eyes darken slightly as the heady mix of alcohol and pulsing bass turn her into a needy mess. I take a step towards her and then another, the proximity of my body against hers effectively pushing her body closer to the speaker.