Not Another Player

18.Dinner Drama

One Headlight // Wallflowers

We made a dent.

Lots of them.

I made dents with my fingers all over Char's body. Some of those dents made her moan. A few of them made her scream my name.

If that wasn't the hottest fucking sound I've ever heard, I don't know what is. I practically came in my pants.

I rushed back to work, sweat dripping down my back not only from the heat of the venue but from the hot thoughts running through my mind. I replayed every touch and breathy moan to the point I started worrying I was becoming obsessed.

It's not just the physical attraction, which is stronger than anything I've ever experienced. It's also the emotional connection we've built. The way she's opened up to me. The sense of safety we have together. And the fact that I'm willing to subject myself to the razzing of the C1 guys and the distain of the other roadies...I could give a shit what they say. Char is more important than their opinions.

My shift usually ends when the show starts, but the sound tech guy needs back up, so I spend the entire concert checking and double checking the cords running backstage. I had planned on finding Char and watching the show with her. Or convincing her to find a dark corner. I didn't think she'd need much convincing with how enthusiastic she'd been earlier.

It's fine. We'll have more fun and more time when the night wraps up. Or so I tell myself. But three roadies come down with food poisoning, so I pull another shift breaking down the set.

Three AM rolls around and we're finally packed up, ready to roll to the next venue. Both talent busses and the silver bullet are long gone by now. I'm royally fucked. My stuff is with Char and the roadie bus has deemed me persona non grata.

I trudge out of the venue behind a few other guys, head down and steeling myself with thick skin for what I'm about to endure. Is it really worth all of this just to satisfy my insatiable need for Char?

I don't even have to think for a second to know that hell yes, it is. She's worth the bullshit. 100 percent worth every bit of bullshit I'm about to hear as I eat crow with the guys.

But when I look up, the silver bullet is parked right next to the roadie bus.

Fuck yes. She waited.

I knock on the door. It swings open almost immediately. Char stares back at me with flirty eyes and no shame even with the cat calls we're getting.

"It's past your bedtime. Sugar mama waited up for you."

"Are you getting lucky or getting spanked?"

"That is getting lucky dipshit."

"He doesn't look like the submissive type. Too pasty."

"It's always the quiet ones."

I shake my head as I step inside.

"Sorry about them." I wrap her in my arms. I feel her shrug.

"It's to be expected on tour. Roadies are another breed. I'm not spending time on their opinions. I'd rather spend time with you."

I pull back to look her in the eyes, seeing the smile and contentment there I needed to see.

"It makes my head spin," I confess. "Not even a month ago you couldn't stand my ass."

Char pinches said ass with a smirk.

"Oh, I could stand it. I was in denial mode. Call it self-preservation."