Adrenaline surged through the five musicians as they headed back to the dressing room with high hopes. Lance punched the door open to find a dozen strippers waiting. “What the hell?” he laughed. Justin pushed in after him wide eyed. “I know,” Lance grinned. “Who ordered them?” The girls stood there grinding against each other to loud hip-hop music. “For fuck’s sake!” Chris yelled as he forced his way inside snapping the boom box off. “We don’t fucking listen to that pop shit! Y’all wanna dance? Groove to some rock!” Joey shook his head as he wound his way around the naked girls. “He’s a bit touched,” he explained. “Naked women and he gives two shits what you’re dancing to.” The girls giggled as they pushed Joey down to the couch. JC stood against the door wondering if any promoters were interested. He tapped his foot nervously understanding the importance of the night. “Chris?” “What?” “You think they caught my mistake?” Lance watched with one eye as a naked blonde wiggled her way down his body. “What mistake? You fucked up?” He slid a hand around the girl’s waist and pushed her behind him absently. “Did I miss it?” JC nodded. “Dammit! My solo in ‘Wasted’. It was completely off. You didn’t fucking hear it?” Chris sighed. “I think I covered it man. No biggie.” A busty red head rubbed against him, grinding her ass into his crotch. He leaned over and snatched a beer from the table popping the top off and downing a healthy gulp. “Justin was really putting on a show anyway.” He noticed the deepening frown on his friend’s face. “JC! Stop, man. That’s not gonna make or break us.” JC kicked out at the wall violently sending the girls into a pause. JC shook his head ... his blue eyes growing stormy. “Out!” he screamed at the girls. “But we’re paid for,” the blonde said as she wrapped her long tanned arm around Lance’s waist. “And I do mean paid for. The whole night if you want.” Lance raised his eyebrow in amusement. It wasn’t as if any of them were desperate for female companionship. Justin and JC were in moods however, and that meant room lock down. “You better go,” he said quietly. Joey groaned as the girls moved away from him. “Fuck! Can they come back later?” Justin threw a towel at this head, suddenly pissy. “No, they can’t. We’re talking strategy here fuckhead.” The girls gathered their clothes and headed out the door. “If you change your mind,” the redhead said at the door. JC slammed it. “We won’t!” he hissed. Chris slumped down next to Joey and pressed the cool bottle to his head. “So, Whiskey did nothing for us then. Nothing. Is that the vibe I’m getting here?” “Pretty much,” JC grumbled as he knelt down to pack up his cords. “You see anyone here?” “Maybe they’re waiting,” Lance suggested helpfully. “Maybe they’re waiting for us to go back out there and network.” “Mr. Businessman strikes again eh?” Joey laughed. “Go on then.” Lance frowned, sick of being teased. He grabbed his bass and packed it away. “Fine then. I was just trying to help.” “No, no. Lance is onto something,” Chris said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s go.” He slammed his beer onto the table and glared at Justin. “Jay. Come the fuck on.” Justin threw his headband to the dressing table in a minor fit of fury. “Fine. But I am not kissing any more asses. I can’t.” Lance patted him on the back in understanding. “S’okay. We’ll let Chris be the kiss ass tonight. Me and you will just get shitfaced, okay?” Justin stormed far ahead of them all, leading the pack back into the Whiskey. He headed to the bar, waving briefly to several friends on the way. He knew he should stop and talk. After all, their friends had helped them post flyers for the show -- and caused a commotion with cheers and claps -- and sang along to every song so the talent scouts would see what a loyal following they had. But he was pissed off having screwed up his solo. So he ordered a beer and leaned back against the bar to calm down. “Justin right?” A petite woman stood before him with crystal blue eyes and short blonde hair. Justin was suddenly reminded of a young Meg Ryan. He looked her up and down with a disinterested look. “Yeah. Who’s asking?” “I’m Devon Delaney. From Island Records.” She extended her hand to him. Justin paused mid sip and straightened up. He slammed the beer down behind him and wiped his sweaty hands off on his leather pants. “I’m sorry. Hi.” He took her hand in his and shook it firmly. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, wishing to hell Chris was there. Chris always schmoozed the best. Devon laughed. “I did. It was very entertaining. You have quite the group there.” Justin chuckled as he touched her elbow. “Would you like to meet them? I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.” “Actually,” she said slowly, running a finger across his stomach lightly. “I was hoping you and I could speak alone for a bit.” Justin *knew* that look. He *knew* that touch and that voice. He understood what Devon was getting at. No fucky no listen. “Um.” He was stumped. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them fucked for a deal -- for a mere shot at getting noticed. She challenged his gaze. “No, no. I’m not looking to attack you, Justin. I just want to -- talk.” Across the room, Justin made out Lance’s figure laughing at something Joey said. Joey had a girl on each arm. And where the hell were Chris and JC? “Okay,” he conceded. “Back stage alright?” Devon smiled and nodded. She grabbed Justin’s beer and touched his waist as he lead her through the mass of people -- through the friendly pats on his back and smiles from hopeful girls -- through the compliments and winks. Down the long hallway, Justin felt the steady touch of her hand on him. He inhaled deeply wishing he had time to go back out there -- to say, “Lemme grab Chris if you wanna talk shop.” But it was too late now. The door to the room stood before him and he opened it, ushering her in. “So,” Devon smiled as she shrugged off her leather jacket. “Tell me about your group. I want to hear what makes you so special?” Justin sighed silently to himself. Maybe this chick was on the up and up. Maybe, just maybe, Island Records was going to be a home for them. He smiled hopefully and sat down on the couch, taking his beer back from her. “We really should get the guys back here,” he said. “They’d love to talk shop with you and...” It was so sudden, Justin spilled his beer. His hopes dashed instantly as Devon climbed on his lap and pushed him down in one swift motion. Her hands multiplied as they roamed over his body. “Wait! Wait!” he laughed as he squirmed beneath her. “Hold up here.” Devon stared down at him with smiling eyes. “Yes?” And he noticed her hand was still on his crotch -- unmoving. “Look. Not for nothing. I mean, you’re an attractive woman, but I thought this was about the group. I can’t be doing this back here. I mean ...” Her lips attacked his neck fiercely and Justin froze. His body rolled with disgust and he prayed that someone would walk in so he didn’t have to do this -- to go through with this act in the hopes that *maybe* she would sign them. *Maybe* meant shit to him anymore. As if on cue, Lance strolled in, gasping when he saw the scene. “Oops, sorry.” He scrambled to grab his wallet and tried not to look. “No. Lance! Stay.” Lance tilted his head and looked at Justin. The face that stared back at him was one of pleading -- so Lance smiled and sat down opposite them. After all the years they’d been friends -- they knew when they were needed. “So, who’s your friend?” Lance asked casually as he kicked his feet up. Devon struggled to sit up -- quite annoyed that the blonde haired bassist had interrupted them. “Devon,” she said breathlessly. “Devon Delaney. Island Records.” She smoothed her hair down and eyed Lance carefully. “Bass player right?” Justin took the opportunity to slip out from underneath her and down the rest of his beer. Not that he didn’t *enjoy* fucking. Hell, yeah, he did. But under his rules. Not for some twisted woman who assumed all groups would drop at her feet for a chance. No, Justin would rather starve than head down *that* path. Lance stared at her with amused eyes. “Island records huh? I take it you ah, enjoyed Justin’s singing abilities.” Justin rolled his eyes. Once Bass got a sarcastic kick, it was hard to stop him. Devon met his look dead on -- aggravated that this little shit was mocking her. “Yes. I did actually.” She stood up and walked over to Lance -- circling him like a hawk out for prey. “And I have freedom to sign you on the spot. My boss trusts my judgment implicitly.” Lance felt his heart drum inside. His green eyes glanced over to Justin who was greatly interested in this latest turn of events. Devon stood behind Lance while her eyes danced over his neck. “I have a lot of power, Lance. I can really make something of this group you have going here.” “Yeah?” Lance batted back as he twisted his head a bit to catch her profile. “So then do it. Sign us and prove it.” She laughed as her hand rubbed the back of his neck suggestively. “And what do I get in return? I mean, I’m doing *you* a service here. I’m sticking my neck out for you guys.” Justin growled as he rubbed his hand over his scalp. She was fucking with them -- backing starving artists against a wall. He *knew* what she was after. It always amazed him, actually, that beautiful and powerful women got off on this shit. “I’m getting what you’re saying, Devon,” Lance said slowly, playing the game as only he could. “I see where you’re headed with this whole thing.” He leaned back in his chair a bit and crossed his legs. “But I am not going to be fucked over.” Devon giggled as she rounded the chair and leaned over him. “Then we can come to some kind of arrangement?” she challenged, hovering over the bassist. Lance rubbed her leg encouragingly. “Maybe,” he drawled, glancing over at Justin. “Maybe.” |
| WANTED 2 by destiny |