Page 10 of Filthy Rock Stars

Everything about him is adorable. He’s got a round, cute nose, wide brown eyes, and impossibly soft skin, dark brown with glowy warm undertones.

And the look on his face when I got him flustered...

Unraveling together made me hot and hard. I wish I could have taken my time undoing every button of his neat white shirt, listening to the way he would moan or whimper if I pinched his nipple.

So proper, but holding this kinky secret.

As I roll through the city, my motorcycle roaring in my ears, I keep remembering his voice.

Fuck, I hope he shows on Thursday. It’s a horrible idea, and I shouldn’t trust him enough to do that even once, but I want him, so I’ll be there on my motorcycle, waiting and horny.

The band is meeting at this loft our label owns. The building is in downtown Seattle, and it has a back entrance for our anonymity, so I’m spared a bunch of paparazzi and autographs on the way in.

I do appreciate the fans. It wasn’t just Park Guy’s sexy fucking smile that got me treating him special, at least not at first, not when I still thought he recognized me. Whenever I’m down about the band, the fans are one of the things that keep me going.

Forbidden Destiny started off together junior year of high school, Elle playing bass and covering vocals, me on lead guitar, and Adrian banging the drums. Cutter came in a few years later to fill out the sound with another guitar, but even then, we never expected to make it this big.

We tour the world and fill stadiums. Our music is a force of nature, power ballads and crashing chords and unforgettable lyrics. We’re all brilliant with our instruments, and together, we create sounds that shake the world.

At least, that’s the way it felt for our first couple albums. Now, the lovebirds Elle and Adrian run the show. They suck more magic out of our sound with each release, caving to the label and terrified of doing anything interesting, songs just good enough and bland enough that they can still appeal broadly and sell.

On tour, the fans only want to hear our old hits anyway.

I grit my teeth as I walk into the loft, forcing my irritation aside. I’m rich and famous and living my dream. What do I have to complain about? When I get mopey, I want to kick my own ass.

“Shadow, man, what the fuck!”

The rest of the band is already waiting. They’re all gawking at me. Elle is standing by this obscenely velvet couch in a worn T-shirt and jeans with a bottle of beer frozen halfway to her mouth. Adrian is right beside her, a pile of muscles squinting at me.

Cutter, at least, has the same lazy smile as always. He rubs his black beard and admires me as he leans back on the couch. “I think I like it, man.”

“Oh. Right.” I rub my hand over my head. I should probably get a barber to fix it up or something. “Beers in the fridge?”

“What the fuck, man,” Elle complains. “Your hair. It’s part of your look.”

“Right,” I tell her, annoyed. “Mylook. And now I have short hair.”

Adrian sighs, not dropping it. “It’s part of the band’s look, too, don’t you think?” he asks, his voice deep.

“Yeah,” Elle agrees with a nod. “Exactly.”

I screw the top off a beer. “I’m sorry. Is this like when we were in high school and Adrian told me Ihadto cut my long hair to be in the band?”

“Ha!” Cutter yells. “He got you.”

I shrug. “I thought about it more and decided you were right,” I tell them flatly.

“Oh, fuck off, Shadow,” Elle says with a roll of her eyes.

I raise my beer. “Great start to the session, guys. Thanks for all the compliments. But should we get on to the part where Elle and Adrian write songs while Cutter and I get drunk and play ping-pong?”

When you’re mega-famous, you just ask for things, like ping-pong tables, and the label makes it happen.

Cutter raises his beer to mine, but Elle shoots him a dirty look, and he lowers it.

“We need to talk business first,” she says.

I sigh and find a leather armchair, accepting a temporary truce. Elle and Adrian see the band as theirs, and at this point, it basically is.

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