Page 20 of Naughty Dreams
Roy knew the ploy for what it was, but reached out. DJ clasped his fingers with the uninjured arm as Roy helped him slide over. When he put one foot on the pavement, his hand on the door frame, their bodies brushed.
Roy kept looking around, but his muttered threat was directed at DJ. “Grab my ass, and I’ll file a sexual harassment suit.”
“I’d rather you just punish me.” As Roy’s gaze flicked his way, DJ was ready with a slumberous look.
The limo windows were black, and their near nose-to-nose proximity, as well as the limo door, would mask Roy’s response. In his job, it wasn’t the first time sleight of hand had been necessary. But he’d never welcomed the need for it as much as he did now.
He snaked his hand back into the shadows of the car and gripped DJ’s buttock. The kid’s ass was tight as Tal’s drums, but Roy knew how to make it hurt. One brutal, bruising squeeze, and his grasp was back on DJ’s elbow.
“Behave,” he said shortly.
DJ’s expression flipped from shock to pain to lust and back to shock, an intriguing loop. When it turned into an uncertain smile, it was far more potent than an arrogant retort. Kid thought he might have actually gotten into trouble and wanted to be sure Roy wasn’t really pissed.
Roy helped him straighten to his feet. With two of his team in front, two more ready to fall in behind them, and Roy on his right, he had DJ in hand.
“Let’s go,” he said brusquely.
DJ took care of his fans first. The afterparty winners waiting in a private room were a half dozen teens and two twenty-somethings, all excited but well behaved under the watchful presence of Henry’s team. They accepted the signed T-shirts and caps with delight. The girls wanted hugs and some of the boys, too. Roy knew DJ had to be feeling every embrace through his shoulder and the connecting muscle layers, but his smile never faltered and he didn’t flinch.
Just as Moss had anticipated, DJ gave them thirty-five minutes, not fifteen, and learned their life stories before he allowed himself to be shepherded away.
He joined the main party and spoke to reporters, executives and local influencers. He was relaxed, articulate and enthusiastic about their music, but reserved about the band’s personal lives, including his own, providing mysterious appeal. Though they were here to see all of Survival, DJ was the band member who delivered the sound bites they craved. They flocked to him first, then tracked down the others for filler and color.
Before they reached the second hour, Roy could tell DJ was getting more uncomfortable. Because of the demands of his guitar playing, he had a bedtime prescription for muscle relaxers, which he didn’t seem to use regularly, but Roy saw him slip one. He refused offers of alcohol, though it was pressed on him frequently. Sometimes, wearying of the polite refusal, he’dtake it, and discreetly transfer the bottle or glass to a waitstaff tray.
Roy went to find Moss. “It’s time to get him out of here.”
Moss turned away from the tattooed and pierced YouTube influencers he was schmoozing and glanced toward DJ. “Yeah, he’s good to go. But good luck convincing him. He won’t leave until he’s given everyone who expected personal time with him their money’s worth.”
“Tonight less is more.”
Moss shot him a sharp-eyed look. “Didn’t know nursemaiding was in your bailiwick.”
Roy didn’t take the bait. “How well do you think he’ll play without giving that arm a rest?”
“You saw him do it tonight. After you popped it back in. They feel no pain up there.”
“He’ll feel it tomorrow.”
When Moss waved him off, accepting, Roy returned to DJ. He was talking shop with the guitarist from Blue Mod, who was fingering an invisible guitar to show DJ a technique. DJ watched intently while perched on a stool at the wet bar. His own fingers were moving on his knee, keeping pace with the guitarist.
The awed and fascinated attitude of the partygoers watching fairly shouted, “I can’t believe I’m getting to stand this close.”
In one of his interviews, DJ had said he embraced the moments where he could remember he was in it for the music.Otherwise you’re just another burned out asshole, whining about how hard your life is, which is when someone should stick a gun to your head and put the rest of us out of your misery.
As Roy spoke into DJ’s ear, he gave the other guitarist a cordial nod. “Moss said you’ve covered your bases. How about I call the limo to get you back to your hotel?”
DJ’s grateful nod confirmed he was running on fumes. He brought the conversation to a close, telling the guitarist they’d hook up and jam sometime. As he rose, he hitched up his black jeans one-handed. Backstage, a roadie had helped him slide on a loose shirt and button a couple buttons over his bare upper body, then don a long black coat over that. It was one of those rock style creations with zippers and laces decorating the sleeves and lapels, but the fleece interior would be providing warmth to the abused shoulder.
The black platinum ichthys shifted against his bare chest as he moved. A few more handshakes and parting comments and then they were clear of the rooftop club. Roy used the freight elevator for a nonstop route to the parking deck. When the doors opened, his team were there to meet it. They escorted DJ out through a side entrance of the building.
Roy chose to ride in the lead vehicle, one of his people handling the limo. It would be sent back to the club for the rest of the band.
Once they arrived at DJ’s hotel room, Roy nodded to the men posted on the door and took DJ inside. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few functional words since they’d left the afterparty, and as he turned and faced DJ, Roy still didn’t say anything. He waited.
DJ’s cheeks tinged an intriguing rose color. “Thanks for putting the shoulder back in. Sorry for the kiss thing. Instant pain relief screws with my impulse control.” When Roy stayed silent, DJ rubbed his left buttock. “You got your revenge, though. I’m going to have a mark.”
The kid trying to behave told Roy he was too tired to do otherwise. Proving it, when DJ started toward his bedroom, he stopped and looked back. He did it by turning toward him, rather than using his neck. “Know it’s not your job, but can youhelp me out of my shirt and coat? Or does that sound like a come on?”
