Chapter 8

Everything changed for us within a year. We signed that record deal, and ten months later, I was still in shock about the 180 in our lives.

We went from doing everything ourselves—booking our shows, hauling our gear, working on our demos—to having a full-time manager, a recording studio, and a road crew to set up our concerts. Which meant more time to play, rehearse, write songs (Brodie), and party.

And fuck, did we party.

Suddenly there were press events and invites hosted by the biggest names in music. And we were the ones that music journalists were clamouring to talk to. People stopped us for selfies and autographs everywhere we went. It was crazy, heady, and everything we’d ever dreamed of.

Our first album was set to release and we were finishing up a cross-country junket to promote it, ending up tonight in LA, at a party hosted by our record label. Or rather, at a mansion somewhere in the Hollywood hills. And we were accompanied by Ivan Cross—Van—our manager. After Bandit Music signed us to a five-year deal, Van was assigned to look after us. Basically, to run things and deal with our rockstar antics. We lucked out. Our manager was a rarity in our business: he was trustworthy, and he knew his shit. Van played too, which was important. He understood not just the business, but the creative drive behind our music.

“Now remember, there’s no formal press at this thing, and NDAs all around,” Van started. “Still, watch what you say.”

Van turned to look directly at Brodie and our lead singer rolled his eyes.

“Don’t bother with the lecture, Van. You know that I say what I want, when I want, and nothing, not a record contract or a warning from Greg, is going to change that.”

Van leaned forward and tapped Brodie’s knee. “Just try not to piss anyone off this time, okay? Our PR team can only handle so many issues at once.”

“I can’t help it if people don’t like to hear the truth. And you know that reporter in New York was being an asshole. He called us overhyped. You think I’m not gonna respond to that?” Brodie snapped and gripped Van’s wrist in turn. “Stop worrying. I know what I’m doing.”

He did. Brodie was snarky but that’s what made him memorable. And quotable. He’d already gone viral for his sarcastic comments about the corporate side of the music biz, not to mention his biting responses to questions about our talent and criticism about his uninhibited performance style. He was also quick to fight when trolls hated on us for being openly queer. Brodie was never going to hold back and that’s why he was loved. By us, and the fans.

Van nodded and pulled his hand back, running it through his thick brown hair. The guy was forty and had hardly any grey hair to speak of, but I had a feeling that was about to change thanks to managing Brodie. And his runaway mouth.

Unlike Faise, who was all but silent on the ride over here. Probably nerves. We’d landed in LA and driven straight from the airport, no time to decompress, AKA drink or get high. Okay, we had champagne, but we needed real liquor. And maybe a spliff to relax.

I looked over at Faise’s profile, something I never got tired of studying. He was dressed in tight, bootcut jeans, and a white linen shirt that was open to his waist, all his golden skin on display, along with his nipple rings. Then I glanced up at his face, his black hair tousled, falling into his eyes. I didn’t miss the clenched jaw, and the way he bit his lower lip. He was nervous for sure.

When Faise turned to me, I saw the worry in his amber eyes. They were always so expressive. The part of him he couldn’t ever hide.

“Are those real?” I whispered.

“Are what real?” he asked.

“Your eyelashes.”

Faise said nothing, but his eyes widened. He stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

“They’re like, beautiful or something,” I continued.

Beautiful? WTF? Shut up, Ronin. Stop talking.

I tended to blather when I was nervous. And holy fuck, since when did I care about shit like people’s eyelashes? Obviously, Faise wasn’t the only one who needed to relax. He shook his head and turned away. Thankfully, ignoring my inane chatter.

The limo came to a sudden stop a few minutes later.

When the back door opened, we stepped out, and were greeted by Greg. The CEO of our label owned houses in Nashville, LA, and New York, to name a few, and he was a big deal in entertainment circles. Still, he was a corporate suit, and we were definitely not.

“Come on in, guys, everyone’s dying to meet you,” Greg announced. “Including my wife.”

“Which one?” Brodie quipped.

Greg’s face flushed, but he shook his head and motioned to the front door of his mega mansion. Van and Brodie headed up first, me, Holls, and Faise following.

Van gave Brodie an arm squeeze in warning. Brodie looked over his shoulder and gave us a wicked grin.

Faise stepped up ahead of me, and for some reason, my eyes were glued to his slim form, catching on his tight ass in those jeans.

Until Holloway nudged me and started talking. I was grateful for the distraction. My eyes had no business following my BFF like that. It was probably just frustration. I needed to get laid.

We entered the Spanish style house, and the boom of music and chatter filled the air. Greg guided us into the living space and introduced us to his wife (number three as it turned out), and several famous musicians and actors.

The booze was top notch and there was also plenty of drugs available. It was LA after all, and no party here would be without. Faise scored some coke, and we all took a hit. After a long-ass plane ride, the kick of energy was welcome.

“Thank fuck,” Faise muttered and wiped his nose. “Now I’m good.”

Faise had outgrown most of his shyness, but occasionally, in social situations, it still reared up. Not that I could blame him. It was weird to go from being anonymous to a face people recognized everywhere we went. Add to that, the barrage of media, which was something we were still getting used to.

I looked across the room and spotted a well-known TV actor headed our way.

“Fuck, is that—” I started.

“Yup, it’s Reed Larkin,” Holls whispered. “Wow, he’s hotter in person. And fuck, he’s coming over. To talk to us. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

Faise snorted. “Way to be cool, Holls.”

“I can’t help it.” Holls ran a hand through his hair. “I’m still not used to the celebrity thing.”

Brodie shook his head. “You’re one of them now. So, like Faise said, be cool.”

Reed walked right up to us and held out his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you guys. I’m a big fan of your music.”

Brodie thanked him and did the intros. We all got to talking about our favorite bands and then the Hollywood scene.

“Can I get you a refill?” He asked Faise.

Faise stared at his empty glass and nodded. “I’ll go with?”

Reed smiled at him, and yeah, the Hollywood actor was gorgeous. I watched my BFF wander off and a weird, unsettled feeling swirled in my gut.

“Looks like Faise is getting lucky tonight,” Brodie commented. “I better be next.”

“I think Van’s gonna beat you to it,” I replied and motioned to our manager with my drink. “That woman’s all over him.”

Brodie downed the rest of his drink in one go, slammed the glass on a nearby table, and took off into the crowd.

Holls and I were approached by a couple of guys, Sarin and Jayme. Both men were models and actors based in LA.

Jayme was all over me, but I was distracted, looking around for my BFF.

Faise was still talking to Reed, their heads close together. And I recognized the look on Faise’s face, the dimples that only came out when he was smiling hard. When the two of them walked out of the room together, my heart pounded so fast I was afraid I was gonna faint.

Must be the coke.

I picked up my drink and downed it one go. Then I flagged down a server for another.

Jayme and I flirted, drank, and smoked pot for over an hour. I was finally relaxed.

“Come back to my place?” Jayme offered, his lush mouth curled in a seductive grin. “I want you to fuck me.”

I was all for fucking but I wasn’t in the mood to leave this party or my friends. “How about here and now?”

Jayme licked his lips. “You’re on. Follow me.”

I had no problem doing just that as he sauntered through the crowded room. We walked down a set of stairs, and along a wide hallway to another crowded room packed with partygoers.

Only, this room had no windows. And it made sense.

Because everyone in this room was having sex.

I spotted Holls and Sarin frotting on a nearby couch, several guys watching them, jerking off.

Brodie was leaning against a wall, getting sucked off by a couple of guys taking turns.

There were other groups of people fucking in the center of the room, being watched by others. The whole scene was sexy, heady, exhilarating. My dick pulsed hard and hot in my jeans.

Then I looked over and spotted Faise having sex with a big ass dude. Not Reed Larkin. I was relieved, and yet, still unsettled. Whoever the stranger was, he was bent over a chair and Faise was railing his ass. And I couldn’t look away.

Faise had his shirt off, his head thrown back, his arms and neck rigid as he fucked into the man at a frantic pace. The scene turned me on more than any of the other filthy sights and sounds in the room. But watching the look of bliss on the other guy’s face made me furiously angry for some reason.

Fuck, that coke must’ve been laced with some weird shit.

I turned to Jayme, determined to screw this odd feeling out of me. “Get naked. Show me that hot ass of yours.”

Jayme stripped off his clothes and turned around, bending over the nearest couch, his pale cheeks on display. I reached into my pocket for the packet of lube and a condom. Once my fingers were slick, I slid them over his crease, teasing his asshole. Jayme spread his legs wider, and took his dick in hand, jerking off.

I pushed one finger inside him.

“You prepped,” I grunted as I added another finger and shoved them deep, the glide smooth.

“For a party with rockstars? Fucking right I did,” Jayme hissed. “Now shut up and get your cock inside me.”

I quickly unzipped, suited up, and added more lube to my covered dick. As I pushed my cock inside the model’s ass, my attention snagged on a loud groan from across the room. I looked up, my eyes locking with Faise as he came long and hard. And yeah, I knew he was coming. Fuck, I knew his orgasm sounds as well as my own.

An angry pressure swelled up inside my chest that needed to be let out. I fucked into Jayme with fast, hard strokes, the model making dirty sounds that should’ve had all my attention.

I could’ve been fucking my fist for all it mattered.

And I didn’t want to think about why.