Page 62 of Ticket to the Stars: Part Two

The TV was off, but that was because, with Cleo, we had all the entertainment we could possibly want. The girl was an expert at talking with her mouth full, much to her mother’s embarrassment. No amount of scolding could stifle Cleo’s excitement over this whole ordeal.

The meatloaf was actually not that bad. I’d never had meatloaf with egg in it—I ate around that part—but it wasn’t bad at all.

My plate was halfway finished when Cleo proudly said, “Mom, did M—I mean Angel—tell you that this was all my idea?” She puffed up her small body, radiating a smugness that was way too strong to come from a twelve-year-old.

“Yes, honey, we all know you were the one who sent in the tape” was her mother’s reply.

“Not about that. About them dating.” That got their mother to glance sharply at her, but she seemed un-cowedas she explained, “I told Angel she should date the band, and look. She is.” Cleo giggled.

Their mom wasn’t too pleased. “And why would you tell her that?”

“Uh, duh, because she’s the first-born, so she needs to pave the way for me to have my own harem of boyfriends.” The way she said it, so matter-of-factly, made Deacon choke as he sipped his drink.

“How do you know what a harem is?” Their mom’s next question.

“Mom, I was raised on the internet. I know alotof things.”

Angel coughed, and before this could escalate any further, she said, “Maybe we should talk about something else? Anything else. Really. Literally anything else would be better than where this conversation’s going.”

Sadly for her, their mom wasn’t going to give it up. She asked Cleo why she wanted a harem of boyfriends for herself, and Cleo’s response was, in a word, hilarious: “One to take out the garbage and do outside chores. One to do inside chores. One to cook. One to make a lot of money so I can buy a lot of stuff. One to massage my feet when I have a hard day at work—”

She went on to list a whole bunch more jobs for her future harem of boyfriends, not realizing that she was also stunning her mom into silence. She’d apparently thought a lot about it, and that’s what made the whole thing funnier.

It was Angel who asked, “So if they’re doing all these things for you, what are you going to do for them? Relationships are a two-way street.”

Cleo gave Angel a look that read:Are you stupid?“I’m going to be the eye candy, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Priest agreed, and Angel elbowed him on the side. “Ouch. That’s going to bruise.” He feigned injury, and then he leaned over to Cleo and comically whispered loud enough for the whole room to hear, “Take notes, Cleo. That’s not how a girlfriend should treat her boyfriend.”

“Actually,” Cleo had a comeback ready, “she can do whatever she wants, because she’s in charge.”

Angel pointed her fork at her sister, mouthing the words,That’s right, which made the girl grin ear to ear.

Cleo was definitely unlike any other twelve-year-old I’d met, not that I’d met lots. Whatever would happen, one thing was for sure. Whoever she ended up with would have their hands full.

Chapter Twenty-Five – Priest

Never thought Black Sacrament would be big enough to book a show in San Francisco. Hell, I also never thought Black Sacrament would have a girl in its ranks, but here we were, together with our angel.

Our angel, and our Angel. Both ways worked. Because she was ours in every single way.

How long had it been since that first awkward discussion of sharing her between us? I couldn’t even remember. It felt like ages, and at the same time, it felt like it was just yesterday. Time had flown, all experiences that were old to me, Bishop, and Deacon became new with her.

And the strangest thing was, I washappy. Happy everything had changed. Happy I was with her. Hell, even happy that my best friends were happy with her. I’d thoughtI had it right: never getting nailed down, always hooking up, no strings attached, being down for whatever—and whoever—strolled my way.

But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong, and all it had taken for me to realize this was a certain white-haired girl.

Tonight was a special night. Our first show in San Fran. We were just about ready, too—but we had a good twenty minutes before we were needed backstage. It’s what I’d told the others when I’d convinced them that we had plenty of time to start a new tradition.

We had our body paint and makeup on. We looked like sexy demons. The guys and I wore all black, save for the white crosses on our masks and skin, while Angel was our angel in white with smaller, more dainty black crosses. On the forehead of her mask. Beneath the corners of the eyeholes. On her chin and lower lip. We were, by all accounts, ready to hop on that stage and rock our fucking hearts out—but first thing’s first. That new tradition.

We were in Angel’s dressing room. The door was shut, a chair blocking it so no one would be able to enter. Bishop had her bent over her makeup desk, her dress bunched up past her ass so he could get at her from behind.

And he was. Going at her from behind, I mean. His pants were on, so there wasn’t much to see, but the grunts leaving both him and Angel were telltale enough. Deacon and I watched from opposite sides of the small room from behind our masks, and I couldn’t stop myself from smirking.

This was my idea, you see. Start a new tradition where we each fucked our lucky star and performed with her cunt’s memory around our dicks, and she, in turn, would perform with our cum staining the panties beneath her dress.

It’d be our little secret. Our sexy as fuck secret. And, hey, it was a great way to get the adrenaline pumping early.

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