Wild Licks (7 page)

“Go!”

They fled. They ran to a gray hatchback and drove away.

Chino was digging through the now-cold pizza as I came in the door. “What, did they not have the bottled tea you like, or did something else ruin your ever-sunny disposition?”

“Fans,” I barked, and set the assortment of drinks I'd bought onto the table next to the stack of pizza boxes.

“What, out here?” We were in a nowhere part of town, not a place we'd expected to be found. Chino looked toward the front windows but they were completely tinted in and had blinds to boot. Back when this had been a small gym, the people working out hadn't wanted to be ogled by those driving by.

“Yes.” I took a cold piece of pizza for myself and tore into it with abandon. Apparently running the fans off had worked up my appetite. “I told them don't come back or there'd be hell to pay.”

The others gave me shrugs of agreement. Even if my stalkery ex wasn't out there, none of us wanted to deal with a horde of girls at the door every day. Most of our fans were wonderful people, and we quite enjoyed them, but some bad apples could do annoying things like steal pieces of our cars (not kidding), and even the presence of our best fans could be a kind of a pressure on the mind. The last thing I needed while working on new material was an audience standing right outside. Plus, if we let them gather, it would only be a matter of time before someone made bootleg recordings from a mic on the window. And the equipment—some boyfriend or desperate family member could decide our instruments and gear comprised a pot of gold waiting to be swiped. The alarm system on the building was a joke.

But then I mentally began kicking myself. If I wanted to find Excrucia again, I needed to be friendlier to those girls. They were probably my best chance of finding her again.

You're cracking up, Mal,
I thought.
Pressures of fame are getting to you. This is a warning that you should forget her and stick to your rules.

I've always been good at playing devil's advocate, though.
Just once. I'll see her just once more.
I rationalized that if we'd had more time, I would've gone farther with her, done more, that one time.
So if I see her again, that's all it'll be. It won't go any farther than that.
I wondered if perhaps she might show up at the Basic Records Beach Bash and—

No, don't be stupid. Put her—and Gwen Hamilton while you're at it—right out of your mind before someone gets hurt. Find some new biddable young body to torture.

I channeled that hidden inner angst into my songwriting. It had to be good for something.

We arrived a little early to the Monteleone fund-raiser without our dates because Ricki wanted me to meet another guest: a talent agent named Simon Gabriel, who was there shepherding one of his clients, Jolene Hingham. I had met Jolene before, at the post-Grammy party at our house, but hadn't met her agent.

I got the message. I needed an agent and the way to interest a good one wasn't e-mailing my résumé cold. It also wasn't good form to just plow right into pitching myself as the next big thing, so I refrained from talking business, sticking to safe topics like recent film releases and the Dodgers.

Then Mal and Axel arrived and we had official photos taken at the backdrop in the lobby. Mal had his hair back in a long braid threaded with silver, highlighting the silver ring through his ear and emerald held captive on it. His shirt and tie were dark satin-silver and his tux jacket and pants were matte black.

I was never going to look that suave or sophisticated. I felt lucky I didn't fall off my Jimmy Choo heels. Although maybe that would have been nice as we posed together, if I fell against him…? Lucky for me the photographer was the one who suggested I put my hand on Mal's chest and that he put an arm around my back. Even with the heels, I was shorter than he was, and his pecs felt comfortingly solid. His hand found the crook of my waist and the sunny smile I put on for the photo was entirely genuine. His hand on me felt
right
.

I reminded myself not to overdo it, though. Slow and steady was going to be better than antagonizing him and losing the chance to see him again.

Once we were seated, I met the last two people at our table for eight, a CTC shareholder named Dr. Lionel Torres and his wife, Tyra. Mal was seated at my left, Dr. Torres at my right. He was brazenly gray haired and handsome, and his wife had a gracious smile.

“A doctor?” I asked as I shook his hand. “I didn't know we had many doctors as majority stockholders.”

“I'm sure you don't,” he said with a smile. “Except maybe the big money plastic surgeons.”

I took that to mean he wasn't in plastic surgery. “So what type of doctor are you?”

“Originally I was an endocrinologist, which led me into fertility for quite a while, and I ended up in the business of what is politely known as ‘men's lifestyle' medicine.”

“You're a
dick doctor
?” Axel said from Ricki's other side, causing laughter around the table.

Dr. Torres grinned. “No, that's a urologist, but I do specialize in fixing erectile dysfunction. In fact, I was doing it before it was cool,” he said, polishing his nails on his lapel.

“You mean before Viagra?”

“Yes, and let me tell you, the existence of the little blue pill hasn't put me out of business yet.”

“That's fascinating.” I ended up asking him a ton of questions about what he did and whether he could write prescriptions for porn and a bunch of stuff like that. (“One needs a subscription for porn, not a prescription, dear.”)

We were done with salad and they were serving the main course when I realized suddenly that I had been completely ignoring Mal. The waiter put a plate down in front of each of us and I turned to him guiltily. “Um, hi.”

I didn't know him well enough yet to be sure if the tightness across his mouth was him being disapprovingly unhappy or him hiding a smile of amusement. “Nice to make your acquaintance,” he said dryly, and I still couldn't tell if that was a rebuke or a joke. He picked up his steak knife. “Hmm. What are the chances this is edible?”

I looked down at my plate. They had given us prime rib. Mine was swimming in blood and looked like it might have been still mooing when it was sliced. His was the opposite, with a rich, dark crust on the outside and gorgeously marbled with fat. “Do you by any chance happen to prefer it rare?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, brightening right up.

“Because I like mine more done.” I gave him a hopeful smile. “Want to swap?”

“You are a goddess among women and feel free to remind me I said that,” he said as he deftly switched our plates.

“I'll get it tattooed on,” I joked as I picked up my own knife. I could see Axel was smirking, too. I guess it wasn't the first time Mal had wanted the rare stuff. I was about to ask if there was a story there, but Ricki struck up a conversation with Tyra then and I concentrated on eating my meal as neatly as possible.

I was wearing red again, a different dress with a mini, high-cut jacket. I'd wanted to wear black, because I'd known Mal would like that, but I had also already planned what I was going to wear to the Beach Bash and it was black. It'd be a much better disguise if he didn't associate that color with me.

When Mal finished eating, his hand landed casually on the back of my chair. He appeared to be paying attention to the emcee, who was introducing the banquet speaker, but my heart leaped into my throat. Did he even notice he was doing it? I wanted to lean closer to him, maybe tuck my shoulder under his, but I didn't dare unless he was intending it to be flirtatious. Or at least look flirtatious…?

Oh, Gwen, you have it bad.
I stayed still, enjoying the fantasy that any moment now that hand would move from my chair to my shoulder, and then he would lean down to whisper something lovely and intimate in my ear. I didn't care what. Something.

There wasn't much of a chance to talk once the speaker got going. When he was done, the auction started, and while that was droning on and on, dessert and coffee were served. Axel and Ricki kept themselves amused by feeding each other spoonfuls of chocolate mousse.

I glanced at Mal more wistfully than I intended, then looked away quickly, but he had noticed. He misinterpreted what I was longing for, though, and pushed his entire cup of mousse in my direction. “We're even,” he murmured in my ear.

“Thanks.” I dared to peck him on the cheek before he could withdraw. Something flashed through his eyes when I did and it didn't look like anger. I scooped the mousse cup into my hand and picked up my spoon, pretending to ignore him now.

All eyes were on the podium—except maybe Mal's—and I took the opportunity to test his resolve, carefully licking every trace of chocolate from the spoon before dipping it for more, and then doing it all again. I sucked the whole spoon into my mouth and hollowed my cheeks. I didn't dare check whether he was actually watching me but I sensed him shift in his seat. Impatient? Or were those tuxedo pants getting a might tight? I could hope.

His napkin landed on the table and he barked, “If you'll excuse me,” before he hurriedly stood. As he stormed away, a waiter shied back out of his path and I wondered if perhaps I had overdone it.

I took far too long to return to the banquet hall from the men's room, but what else could I do? The Need had to be quelled. In boarding school I had perfected the art of wanking silently in the restroom, but it took time.

Gwen Hamilton had to know what effect her tongue-and-spoon games had on me, didn't she? Maybe she thought my gift of the mousse had been intended to provoke such a display from her? I'd merely meant to be kind.

The fantasies her mouth inspired! Sweet angels. I imagined her under the table, hidden from the glitterati and moneyed folk around us, alleviating my boredom with a talented oral exploration of my equipment.

In my fantasy world she was chained there, her hands behind her back, her mouth available for my use. When I would grow impatient with her teasing ministrations, I would grasp her by the hair and fuck her mouth, bringing myself to the edge before letting go, allowing her to continue her slow, sensuous stimulation of my cock.

To reward her for her excellence, I would stimulate her in return, pressing a polished shoe between her legs, giving her something to rub herself against, the poor neglected slave girl. I would challenge myself not to come until after she did, but when she did, when she would choke down on a cry of release, then and only then would I paint her lips and cheeks with my seed…

I came with a series of harsh breaths, into the toilet, my hand shaking as I wrung the come from my cock.
Mal Kenneally,
I thought,
you are not a man—you are a savage beast.

This was a terrible sign for my self-control, the Need gripping me like that. I thought I had left fantasizing so vividly about sex—or about women in general—behind with other teenage behaviors. And yet here I'd lost myself in a full-blown adolescent porn fantasy. About my best friend's girlfriend's sister. This was not what I considered wise.

Was I encouraging her without realizing it? Before she had picked up that cup of mousse, I had been holding my fantasies in check by sheer force of will. During the photographing, it was all I could do to control myself. She had a gentle but intoxicating scent and each time she was near, I found myself wanting to pull her even closer, to bury my nose in her hair or seek out her pulse points with my tongue.

I'd tried to tell myself my lust was misplaced. The only reason Gwen was attracted to me was because of that blasted film we'd seen together, and surely she had recovered her senses by now. It was only me who hadn't.

But when she had made love to a cup of mousse with her mouth, I had fled before I did something inadvisable like…take that delicate hand of hers and slip it into my trousers under the table. My thoughts were at least less lust-clouded now, but I felt ill equipped to discuss this with her.

I could hear applause from the ballroom. At the very least to save face, I had best bid her a chaste good night. I hurriedly cleaned up, washed my hands, and made sure I was presentable again before I exited the washroom.

The crowd was already streaming through the lobby, apparently as eager to escape as I had been, though undoubtedly for a different reason. I ducked into the banquet hall but I could see the table was empty.

I caught sight of Axel, though, with Ricki on his arm, Gwen and the others behind them. I made my way through the crowd toward them, hoping to at least salvage a polite good-bye and to try to prove to Gwen I had been unaffected by her toying with me.

I had almost reached them when Gwen's heel caught on the carpet and she nearly fell, except that Dr. Torres caught her by the arm.

I felt the oddest thing—a surge of heat. Anger? Jealousy? Possessiveness? All of the above: a strange rage that I had not been the one whose arm was around her.

A photographer stepped in front of the group, impeding their way to the exit. He picked the wrong moment to do so. I strode forward with my teeth murderously gritted and he fell back hurriedly, the leech.

Outside the venue, I helped Gwen into the back of her limousine, Axel doing the same to her sister on the other side of the car. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” I said, unable to come up with anything original to say that wouldn't betray far too much of what was churning inside me.

“Likewise,” she said, patting my hand before letting go.

I would like to think that I played it cool, but unfortunately I suspect that she knew exactly what she had put me through.

I knocked on the door frame of the entrance to Ricki's office. The room had been our grandfather's office before he died but she'd brightened it up a lot. The bay window overlooking the grounds was now full of potted plants and the walls were a tasteful pale yellow. “Got a minute?”

She looked up from her computer screen. “Sure, what's up?”

“I just figured I'd pop down here to talk to you instead of e-mailing you from across the house,” I said, plopping myself into one of the armchairs facing her desk. “I can't do the video filming this Saturday, but how about Monday?”

“Oh, I'm sure that's fine, too. Let me message them.” She tapped on her keyboard quickly and then looked up at me again. Her phone rang seconds later and she put it onto speakerphone. “Hi, Mandy, what's up?”

“Nothing much, I just figured I would call instead of sending ten more e-mails back and forth. Is Gwen there, too?”

“Yep, right here,” I said.

“Great. Let's see.” Her voice was tinny through the phone speaker. “Monday, Monday…three p.m. All right? I expect it'll take about two hours to get the footage I want.”

“That works for me.”

“Perfect. Oh, Gwen, while I have you on the phone, I went looking for photos of you online to grab to make the storyboard with. Did you set up a Facebook fan page?”

“No, I haven't. Should I?”

“I thought you hadn't, but I came across one. Well, I guess that means you have a fan out there.”

“Huh. What's on it?”

“Nothing much, just a couple of photos.”

Ricki grinned. “See? Things are already starting to take off.”

“Ha. I don't think one Facebook page is exactly the world beating a path to my door, but whatever.” I got up. She hadn't even asked me what I was doing Saturday, which was good because that meant I didn't have to hide the fact that I was going backstage with a couple more superfans of The Rough.

I'd made this plan before the Monteleone fund-raising dinner, and now I was glad that I had. I was pretty sure I'd gone too far there and I was kicking myself a little about that. When Mal had stormed away from the table in a huff I had just about died. I didn't want him angry at me. I'd figured the worst that could happen was he'd ignore my flirting and teasing or tell me to stop. Apparently it didn't take much to drive him away. Overall, I considered the publicity dating plan to have taken two steps backward. Meanwhile, the next dungeon party wasn't for a couple of weeks. That left going backstage as my best current option, and still my favorite.

I had decided on a Gothic Lolita look this time. You wouldn't believe some of the amazingly great costume and tutorial videos there are out there. I found out about wig clips and sewed them into the wig: one video swore if I used them he'd be able to tug on my fake black hair during sex and it wouldn't come off. Black lipstick, double-layer fishnets, a skater skirt with satin waist-corset to make my hips look big and my boobs busty—neither of which they were—and I was all set.

Either it was going to work or it wasn't.

I met up with some of the other girls I had e-mailed with at a Target and we carpooled from there to the Beach Bash. One of them said she was definitely on the guest list, one of them claimed she knew Nick—the band's head of security—really well, and the third one had a friend who had supposedly been “picked” for sex once before. I didn't tell them I had been, too.

You might think that groupies would be competitive with each other, tearing each other down and hissing with jealousy. But it was not like that at all. A lot of these fans knew each other and they seemed to have a really supportive community, as if when one girl “won” and got to meet the band, they all won somehow. I was a little surprised to learn the ultimate goal for each of them wasn't necessarily to sleep with a rock star, even though they talked about sex openly. Some just wanted to meet the guys, be near them. Some had already met the band multiple times. Having grown up inside the world of celebrity instead of outside it, I was amazed and fascinated by the whole thing.

It turned out that in this group, each one of us had a different favorite. “Okay, but seriously,” said April, the one who was driving, “what's this I hear about Axel being off the market these days?”

“I'm telling you,” said Monica, the one who knew the head of security, as she applied fresh lipstick in the passenger seat. “He did not sleep with anyone this whole tour.”

“That's unnatural,” April said, shaking her head. “How does a man deprive himself like that? Especially a guy like him.”

I put on my best funny-girl voice. “You know? There's this thing I heard about called masturbation?”

That made them all laugh. I hoped it was true, too, that Axel had been staying true to Ricki. It was certainly good to hear.

April didn't seem at all disappointed by the news. “That's actually really sweet. Only makes me want to meet him even more.”

“The rest still party hearty, though?” asked Della, who was in the backseat with me. She had blond ringlets and her makeup made her eyes look huge. “Right? Chino didn't pair up with somebody and I missed it?”

“Nope, honey, he's still quite the party boy from what I hear,” Monica assured her. “Speaking of party boys. Vera,” she said to me, using the name I had picked off a designer label, “we knew you were a Mal girl the second we saw you.”

That boosted my confidence. “He likes the vampire type?”

April snickered. “He
is
the vampire type.”

I played dumb. “Oh, really? What have you heard?”

“Girrrl, I hear he is a cruel bastard. Kinky as fuck. A real hurts-so-good type. Which is totally okay if you're into that, you know?”

I looked at my fake black-tipped nails and said coolly, “I think I can handle him.”

They all laughed. Then April said to Monica, “Are you still really into Ford? Even after all the rumors that went around?”

“Rumors shmumors,” Monica said. “Just because nobody on the fan sites or bulletin boards has sucked his dick doesn't mean anything. Maybe he's just more discreet. He's obviously the sweetest of the bunch. Boy next door. Maybe he likes a quieter sort of girl.”

“Or boy,” Della stage-whispered, making us laugh again.

“You really think so?” Monica said. “I mean, I know he and Samson do some crazy stuff onstage, but I didn't think it was
real
.
”

“Do you think they do that stuff to start rumors about themselves?” Della said, her eyes wide and intense as she leaned forward. “Or do you think the rumors are true and they do that stuff to make it seem like that's the source?”

Monica waved her hand. “Psssh. No need for a conspiracy theory. I just hope he remembers me from Phoenix.”

At the show things went smoothly: April was on the guest list and a quick discussion between Monica and the roadie I remembered from the Forum resulted in all four of us being given passes to a VIP area. Yes! Nick didn't apparently recognize me, which was a good sign.

The Basic Records Beach Bash was a big promo concert where each act was only playing thirty to forty-five minutes, and in the parking lot beyond the stage I could see dozens of trailers had been set up. Our VIP area was very close to the stage, but to the side and slightly behind it.

“Aurora!” Monica and April recognized a friend among the cluster of folks standing around and they introduced me as Vera. I remembered her from the premiere; in my head she had become the Disney Princess from Colorado.

“You guys, you guys, you're not going to believe it. I actually got an e-mail from Mal,” Aurora said excitedly.

“Really? That's awesome! I thought he was really aloof online,” Monica said.

“He is, but here's the thing. He's trying to contact a fan who was at the Forum show. And I have no idea who he's talking about.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “That party was huge. There were probably fifty people from the fan club VIPs alone. Usually I know everyone, but not that night. What did she look like?”

“His description was, get this, red hair and fishnets.”

April snorted. “That narrows it down to like…a quarter of the people there.”

My heart leaped into my throat. Mal was looking for me. I mean, he didn't know it was
me
me. But still. I kept quiet, afraid if I jumped into the conversation my voice would be shaky. Why would Mal be looking for me if he supposedly never did the same groupie twice? I had a crazy thought: What if he knew it was me? But that made no sense. Then again, my mind had been turned into a complete jumble at the news.

Monica gave a shrug. “Sorry, can't help you.”

“Well, whatever, I told him I'd ask around,” Aurora said with a sigh. “I tried. Vera, your corset is so cool! I love it!”

I tried to pull myself back to the moment, but it was difficult when Mal was a hundred percent of my thoughts. All I could do was cling to the possibility that this meant his rules were bendable after all and carry on. “Oh, thank you!” I said automatically, then looked down to check what I was wearing. I chuckled. “This thing looks like a knee brace on me. I really don't have the figure for corsets. You do, though.”

Aurora put her hands on her hips. “You think so? I've always wanted one.”

“Oh, definitely. The more you have, the more there is to shape. I have these fantastic catalogs at home.”

Monica chimed in. “You could get an electric blue one to match the streaks in your hair. You'd look amazing.”

“Corsets are great for your back, too,” April added. “And they're so much easier to find now than they used to be. I used to have to go to the renaissance faire to get one.”

The chatter about how fetishy fashions were mainstreaming carried on without me for a while as my thoughts returned to Mal. Would he like the corset on me? Would he like the “Vera” look? I felt certain he would. Even my lipstick was black. I'd warned the staff this time that I was dressing up and, even with the warning, our head of security Reeve had reacted when he first saw me like he was seeing a burglar. It wasn't until he recognized my voice that he'd stood down.

When a band I didn't know began to perform and it got too loud for conversation, I went to check out the beverage situation and found there were a couple of large drums full of ice and cans of energy drinks for us. I dug down and found some bottled water in there, too, thank goodness. I was nervous enough without getting pumped up on Red Bull.

I saw Monica talking to Nick and gesturing in my direction.

After the next act had performed and I was starting to get restless, Nick approached me and asked me to come with him.

I followed him around the tent of port-o-johns to the other side where we had a tiny bit of privacy. “Look, your friend said you're interested in Mal. I'll be honest, I am Mal's scout.”

I nodded, hoping this meant he was about to lead me to Mal.

“I don't know what you've heard, but I have to check. Are you sure you're okay with him being kind of rough? I don't know how to put this exactly, but…listen. I've known him for years, and he's a very good guy. But I want to avoid a situation where you get in over your head.”

“I've heard about Mal,” I said. “I'm okay with it.”

He still looked unconvinced.

“I've got a dungeon in my basement,” I added.

“Okay. You looked like the type who could handle it, but I just had to be sure. Lately he's been—” He broke off with a shake of his head. “Okay. Here's the deal. The last song they'll play is ‘Kidnap My Heart.' When they're about halfway through the song, I'll take you to his trailer. I'll warn you. He's in a mood, really loaded for bear today.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. You sure you don't want to back out?”

“Sounds like a man who needs to blow off some steam.” I raised an eyebrow. “That only makes me more interested.”

He nodded. “Just remember, if it does get to be too much? He's not a jerk. Just say stop and he will. You know that, right?”

“Safe words, blah blah blah, you mean?”

Nick breathed a sigh of relief. “See, I knew you would know how to handle yourself.”

Uh-huh, that's why you took me aside to give me this little pep talk,
I thought. But I smiled and said, “Thank you for checking, though. It can't be an easy job…”

He shrugged. “It's part of the job. Mal's tricky. If I bring him somebody too timid, neither of them has any fun.”

“Timid doesn't really describe any of the women here,” I pointed out.

“You're right.
Timid
isn't the right word. Well, anyway, you're perfect.” He checked his watch. “They go on in ten, and like I said, last song, we go straight to his trailer. If you can, be as close to the edge of the corral as you can, at the rear.”

“Will do.”

He ran off to his next task and I wandered back to the gals, giving April a smile and a thumbs-up when she gave me an inquisitive look. She hurried over. “You lucky duck! If Nick gave you ‘the talk,' then you're definitely in.”

I nodded. “My heart is beating a mile a minute!”

“It should be!” She hugged me. “Good luck! You want us to wait for you?”

“Oh gosh, I guess so?” I hadn't thought that far ahead. “You don't have to, though. I can get an Uber back to my car.”

“I've heard sometimes he can be really wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am. If you're quick, we'll wait. If you're taking too long, though, we may split. I think Della and Monica are somewhere right now trying to write Chino's name across Della's cleavage in lipstick. Nick told us we'll probably get a five- or ten-minute meet and mingle after they come offstage.” She bounced a little as she said it. “God, I'm excited and all I'm going to do is take selfies and get autographs!”