Page 92 of Anthem of Love and Loathing

He hurries on, but he’ll be back if we’re not out there on time. Anything I want with Kelsey is going to have to wait until we get on the bus later tonight. But then I’ll be amped up and ready to go for hours. Can she still handle me?

“Grab her a bottle of water,” I direct Golden.

He snags one from the ice, his gaze blazing with questions.

Are we going to be okay?

I nod.

I catch it from the air when he tosses it. Twist the lid off. Tipping it to her lips, I order. “Drink.”

For once—in the time she’s been back with us—she doesn’t argue. Her throat flexes as she swallows from the thin stream I pour into her mouth. Her head must be reeling to willingly let me look after her.

Mine fucking is.

33

Kelsey

Did that actually happen? Did the whole fucking band workshop my orgasm? Kodiak’s fingers felt incredible rubbing my clit and stroking my seam. Even through my panties, that was incredible. Bronx’s tongue lapping at my chest while he pinched my nipples... holy shit, I bet my chest is rubbed red from his beard. Golden’s kisses were exactly how I thought they would be, filthy and hot.

But it was Riot’s direction that made the whole situation one of the sexiest things I’ve ever experienced.

“Got to go, Little Vandal,” he says quietly, almost apologetically. He puts me down on the couch and stands. “Time to perform for the masses.”

The others file out after him, leaving me in Jasper’s capable hands. Did he enjoy the show? Or did he turn around like the professional he is?

My cheeks must be glowing, they’re hot under my fingers. The bottle of water in my hand crinkles as I take another sip. My brain is mush. My senses overwhelmed. I can still feel them all around me.

I’m going to be using the memory of that to get myself off for a long time to come.

I want more. I want to go further.

“Do you want to go watch?” Jasper asks.

“Yeah.” I climb off the couch on shaky legs, head still spinning. As I start to walk, my heel hits something. Still in a daze I look down. It takes me a minute to realize what exactly my foot made contact with, but when I do the daze starts to fade and my mind begins to race. Riot’s backpack that he usually takes with him everywhere, including to the stage. My journal could be inside. Or... if not... his lyrics book. Either I can steal my journal back now or barter for it back later. “Yeah... in a few minutes.”

I scoop up the faded black Adidas bag and place it on the couch. Unzipping one pocket, I rifle through it for both books.

Nope.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Jasper asks, with a touch of humor that says he isn’t going to stop me.

“Mind your own,” I retort.

I move onto the next pocket. Then the next. How many damn pockets does one bag need? Weed. Extra guitar pics and wire. Pedals. Spare white T-shirt that I want to steal to sleep in because why are his T-shirts the softest, best scented things ever? I can hate a guy and still sleep in his clothes, right? Microphone. Chewing gum.

Next pocket. Condoms. A cold piece of metal that fits in my palm on a long leather cord.

Awareness has me pausing. I shut me eyes against a tidal wave of nostalgia. He kept it. Breath trapped; I pull the whole thing out. The cross and the miniature skateboard necklace that he used to wear all the time. The one that I bought him the first time we hung out together. He never took it off while we were friends.

He doesn’t wear it now, but he carries it with him everywhere? I drop it back into the pocket like my fingers are burned. What does that even mean? Do I care? Do I want it to mean something? Maybe it doesn’t. What if it does?

As if my head wasn’t already spinning from the events that have happened over the last twenty minutes. Now this... I can’t deal.

I zip the pocket back up.

The noise in the arena ramps up. I was too busy listening to my own heartbeat in my ears to notice the lull that signals the guys being spotted near the stage.