I finish the rest of the Jack in my glass and head to the table so I can refill.
Storm, who’s leisurely smoking a blunt, makes a face as I fill it up to the brim. “You should probably pump the brakes on that shit, man.”
He’s still my best friend, but fuck him and his buzzkill ass.
“We won a Grammy, bitch. I’m celebrating.”
Josh, our bassist—and one of the craziest motherfuckers I’ve ever met—strides over to us.
Before Vic signed Storm and me to Phantom Rock Records, he had us meet with a bassist and a guitarist who happened to be foster brothers.
Like Storm and I, they were from the wrong side of the tracks and got dealt a shitty hand in life, but music was what got them through rough times. The second we started jamming, I got goose bumps and you could practically see dollar signs flashing in Vic’s eyes. The stars aligned that day and it was without a doubt fate.
Josh and Memphis needed a lead singer and a drummer, and we needed a guitarist and a bassist…but what we got was a family.
“Fuck yeah, we’re celebrating!” Josh yells before he grabs the bottle of Jack off the table and takes a big swig.
Visibly annoyed, Storm grunts something under his breath and Josh flips him the bird. “No one likes a party pooper.”
Placing an arm around my shoulders, he points to two hot half-naked chicks across the room. “See those bitches over there?” I’m about to remind him I’m not blind, but then he says, “Those are blow jobs with our names on it.” He waggles his brows. “And I got a bag of coke we’re gonna snort off their giant titties.”
Sign me the fuck up.
“What are we waiting for?”
He kisses my forehead. “And that’s why you’re my boy.”
Since I am his boy, I do him a solid and scope out the surrounding area for his fiancée Skylar. Despite being together since they were kids and Skylar being a sweet little blonde dime piece, Josh cheats on her left and right. The rest of the guys and I have long since given up trying to tell him to knock it off because that fucker never listens.
And Skylar always ends up forgiving him.
But it looks like the tides are changing because I catch her huddled in the corner of the living room, having what looks like a very heated conversation with Memphis.
Josh is so high these days he doesn’t realize his own brother and band member is in love with his girl.
Skylar is far more perceptive, though, because the second we start ushering the girls into the nearest bedroom, she closes in on her man like a vulture. “Josh!”
Despite being loaded, Josh picks up his pace, laughing as he pulls the girls into the bedroom and locks the door behind us.
“Take off your clothes,” he tells the redhead as I escort the blonde over to the first of the two beds in the room.
“Your new piercing is so hot,” blondie purrs. “I love kissing guys with lip rings.”
She won’t be kissing this one.
The chick goes to sit on the mattress, but I shake my head. “On your knees.”
Giggling, she eagerly tugs down my zipper. A moment later, she’s swallowing my cock. Or rather, trying to because she gags and says, “You’re so big.”
I press down on the back of her head. “Suck it anyway.”
And she does.
That’s the great thing about groupies. There’s no bullshit or pretenses. They’re just here to serve, fuck, and suck us like the gods we are.
It’s fucking beautiful.
Until a loud knock on the door makes Josh spill the bag of coke he’s pouring on the redhead’s tits.
“Josh, I swear to God—”
“Relax, baby girl,” he yells. “We’re just talking.” Sucking her nipple into his mouth, he murmurs, “These taste good…but they’re about to taste even better.”
That only makes the frantic pounding get louder.
Ignoring his fiancée’s pleas for him to exit, both Josh and the redhead walk over to me. “Give daddy Phoenix a little sample.”
The redhead enthusiastically holds up her big tit like a shelf and Josh takes out a new bag of coke and pours some on it.
I don’t make it a habit to fuck with the hard stuff, but winning a Grammy calls for a little extra fun.
Lowering my head, I snort the line.
It takes me all of five seconds to realize something’s different about it. “What kind of coke is this?”
Those blond eyebrows dance and he grins like the cat who ate the canary. “The heroin kind.”
Motherfucker. He knows I don’t fuck with that shit.