Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“This doesn’t have to be weird if you don’t make it,” Marley says, as if sensing the torture I am putting myself under. He gets off the bed, his big dick swinging like a smug sonofabitch. “Blame it on Molly.”
He shrugs, like me sucking his dick wasn’t a big deal. The fuckin’ nerve on this motherfucker. As if my blowie skills didn’t change his entire brain chemistry. Wait, why the fuck am I upset that he isn’t making a big deal out of it? Shouldn’t I be relieved? Why am I not relieved? What the fuck do I want out of this situation? You want the favor returned, that’s what you want. Fuck, no! I shake my head, desperate to rid myself of the image of Marley kneeling before me, gagging on my dick.
“Everything is cool,” I lie. “I’m gonna tune my guitar.” I run out of the back bedroom like my feet are on hot coals.
Marley laughs behind me. “I’ll be here if you feel like a snack throughout the day.
CHAPTER 4
Marley
Irelish the roar of the crowd, their enthusiasm for the music we make, a natural high that nothing compares to, but tonight my mind isn’t on them. All I can focus on is my best friend’s lightning-quick fingers moving on the strings of his guitar. Iggy Donnavan is on fire. He’s putting on a show as if trying to run away from the demon chasing him.
During our shows, Iggy amps up the sexual tension for the audience. He and I pretend to kiss. He saunters to my side of the stage and tightens his hand around my neck, forcing me to my knees to give the illusion of sexual acts. Shit, Cain and Lars occasionally bang onstage. But for the last three shows, Iggy has avoided even looking at me. I’m fucking glad that tonight is a rest night and we get a break from each other and the bus.
The last song drifts off and the four of us walk offstage.
“What the hell is going on?” Kaye demands.
“What do you mean?” Iggy asks.
Kaye points toward the crowd. “These people pay good money for a show. You and Marley are fuckin’ not putting on a show. I’ve been getting calls asking if there are problems with the band.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, cracking open a bottle of water and taking a swig.
Kaye raises an eyebrow and places her hands on her hips. “You very well know what I’m talking about.” Kaye steps forward until she’s in my face. “Give them what they want.”
My eyes move over Kaye’s head, and I meet Iggy’s eyes. “I’m afraid you’re taking it with the wrong person. You should talk to your boy over there.”
Kaye swivels her head, glaring at Iggy who swigs a bottle of water, followed by two more. He probably popped some MDMA and now has a dry mouth.
“I got you, Kaye,” Iggy says. “I’ll make sure they get the encore that will have everyone’s tongue wagging.”
We stand there in silence while the crowd keeps roaring the band’s name or their favorite song that we haven’t played yet. We wait another ten minutes before Cain steps out onstage, followed by Iggy, then me, and finally Lars.
“Thank you, Saint Louis, you’ve been fuckin’ fantastic,” Lars speaks into the microphone. The screams of the audience echo through the amphitheater as Iggy plays the opening chords to our Grammy-winning single “Disruptive”, followed by Cain on the drums. My eyes focus on Iggy again as if he’s the only person in the room as my fingers glide across the keys, adding my distinct sound to the song.
Iggy turns his head and walks toward me, his hand still effortlessly playing his instrument like a maestro. I drop my head, focusing on my hands as if I’ve just learned the song and don’t want to make any errors when, in reality, I can play the song in my sleep. My hands are clammy, and my heart is beating so fast that I think it’s about to burst out of my chest.
Iggy leans in and pulls his mask up, exposing his lips. He places his lips by the shell of my ear, and whispers, “You ready?”
Fuck no, I am not ready. I pretended everything was okay after I woke up to a mind-shattering blow job. All I’ve thought about in the past few days was his lips on my cock. I’d walked around with a hard-on from him being in the same space as me, breathing the same air. That night a few months ago was already a fuckin’ hurdle I had to go through, but that morning created a fuckin’ unbearable pain not only in my pants but also in my already fragmented mind. I can’t understand what Iggy’s hang-up is. I lied and told him it was all on the Molly. What else does he want from me? At least he had the common sense to not be bringing chicks around. I don’t know why, but the idea of him walking off and fucking a bunch of girls ticks me off.