Revelry (Taint #1) (19 page)

Ash frowns. “It’s called fruit, cunt-fuck.”

“Why are you eating fruit? We’ve been on the road for all of five minutes.”

“I’ve decided to make some changes in my life.”

I eye him suspiciously. “What kind of changes?”

“Just getting healthy.” He glances down at the paper while I look over a menu and decide to get pretty much everything. “None of us are getting any younger.”

“Dude, we’re musicians. We spend twenty-four hours a day on a tour bus, and maybe three in concert every other day. How the fuck are we getting healthy?”

Something was up with Ash. He’d been withdrawn, he didn’t party with us anymore, and this new health kick he was on? That wasn’t the Ash I knew. The Ash I knew could down three fucking cheeseburgers before breakfast. He wasn’t happy unless something was covered in sugar or grease.

Ali studies Ash, and then says, “Lay off, Ryan, you’re not eating it.”

I’m gonna be eating something before long
.

I hold up my hands in surrender and Ash smiles down into his fruit basket. He meets my eyes across the table and I know exactly what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too.

This feisty little ranga is going to own my balls and store them in her handbag, and I’m going to let her, because I was a fucking goner the second I saw her glaring up at me from the floor of that conference room. I just have to hope like hell she doesn’t realise it.

Later that night, I absentmindedly pluck at the strings on my Maton acoustic, and stare out the window at the dark Californian countryside. I need a cigarette, or a fucking blow job. I might have screwed my way through my fair share of groupies when Holly had left me, but after I’d dried out from the drink and decided to get my life back on track so I could be a good dad to my kid, I hadn’t felt the pleasure of a woman’s touch for months. Waking up at Zed’s loft with Ali straddling me, her soft tits pushed against my naked chest as she drooled on my shoulder, had been the first interaction I’d had with a woman in a long time. Seeing her every day since, and feeling her come against my hand on the plane had been absolute torture. Apparently I’m a glutton for blue balls, because I find myself picking up my phone and texting her.

Me: You awake?

Ali: No. You?

Me: Nope.

Ali: Some arsehole is playing guitar in the lounge area, making it impossible for me to sleep.

My hands fumble over the strings as I read her text and chuckle.

Me: Yeah, that sucks. You should totally go and blow him. Might make him shut up.

Ali: Nah, he’d probably like that too much.

Me: I’m thinking maybe he’d hate it. You should definitely do it.

Ali: Yes, because all men hate blow jobs. Why don’t you sleep like the rest of the regular people, Coop?

Me: Why don’t you sleep like the rest of the regular people, Ali?

Ali: Because some arsehole likes to keep me awake by playing guitar and sending me inappropriate texts.

Me: You’re right, that would keep you awake.

Ali: Super Secret Squirrel?

I chuckle as I read the text several times.

Me: What?

Ali: Super Secret Squirrel. It means I’m about to tell you something so confidential that you must swear to never tell another living soul. To break the sacred trust of the Super Secret Squirrel is to forfeit your balls forever to the person whose trust you broke.

Me: Okay then, thanks for clarifying that for me. Who knew squirrels were so intense.

Ali: Oh, they’re ballsy little fuckers. The question is: can you handle the power of the SSS, Coop?

Me: Well, when you say it like that it sounds kinky. How could I possibly refuse? Is it wrong that I’m all kinds of turned on right now, thinking about squirrels in bondage gear?

From behind the curtain I hear her laugh. It’s such an infectious sound it makes me smile.

Ali: Yes, that’s completely wrong, you fucking pervert.

Me: Come have a drink with me.

Ali: Hell no. You might molest me. Not to mention that I find your penchant for bestiality abhorrent.

Me: You’re absolutely right. I probably would molest you.

Ali: You would
try
. You’re not winning that bet, Coop.

Me: We’ll see.

I set down the phone and begin playing the first few bars of a song I wrote with Zed when we were seventeen. A song about forgetting who we are and allowing our primal instincts to take over. “Raw” stayed in the charts at number one for a consecutive eight weeks. It helped our first album go platinum, and I know that she remembers it all too well, because I caught her mouthing the words to it the other day as she sat in Zed’s lounge room and watched our jam session.

My phone buzzes again and I check the message.

Ali: Pervert.

Me: You know I’m still waiting for my tits pic.

Ali: http://www.cumontitslover/tumblr.com

I follow the link and let out a strangled gasp when the page shows me an endless stream of GIFs, all of them hot tits decorated in come. I readjust my cock within my jeans and type out a response.

Me: Jesus, woman, are you trying to fucking kill me?

Ali: It would make winning that bet awfully hard for you.

Me: It’s already fucking hard. So, so hard.

Ali: Good night, Cooper.

Me: It’d be an even better night if you came and had a drink with me.

Ali: No, then it would be a terrible night.

Me: How so?

Ali: Because I have no intention of letting you win that bet. And if I came out there now, I’d surely give in.

Me: The bet is irrelevant. The point is you’d be coming.

Ali: Who says I’m not right now?

I glance at the text with a curious expression, wondering what she means because she doesn’t appear to be joining me, but then the unmistakable sounds of her breathy moans fill the front of the bus and I about jizz in my pants.

Me:
Touché. Tou-fucking-ché, Ali-Cat.

C
ooper hadn’t been wrong when he’d said living on a tour bus would be an experience. It was an experience, and then some. We had been on the road for six days, visited six different states, and the boys had played sold-out shows in San Francisco, Portland, Seattle and Vancouver. When Taint wasn’t doing sound check, jamming, song writing, or performing to thousands of screaming fans, we hung out in the lounge, playing Xbox, snacking on chips and American candy, or my personal favourite: snacking on candy while the boys worked out on the bus. When I needed space, I disappeared to my bunk, closing the curtain and effectively shutting out the rest of our little world. Too often, though, Cooper would climb into his bunk and text me. Today was one of those days.

Coop: Hey, look. I’m on top again.

Me: Yes, and?

Coop: Well, how is it for you?

Me: Meh. Kinda boring. You’re pretty heavy, too. You should let me be on top.

I hear him chuckle
.

Coop: I’ll let you be anywhere you want to be so long as you let me win our bet.

Me: Face it, butt munch, you lost that bet.

Coop: Not so fast, kitty. Technically it hasn’t been a week. There’s still time.

Me: What if I wanted to fuck your arse with a strap-on?

Coop: Come again?

Me: You said “I’ll let you be anywhere you want to be so long as you let me win our bet”.

Coop: Right. Well, I meant … within reason.

Me: You know I don’t understand guys and their fear of anal. There’s a very upsetting double standard here. Women are okay with it, and we don’t even have a prostate, so why aren’t you?

Coop: Are you saying you’re up for anal sex?

Me: Well that depends on who is giving the anal.

Coop: Does it now? And who would you let up inside your tight little arse, Ali?

Levi walks down the aisle, whistling loudly, though he knows both Coop and I are sleeping. Or … supposedly sleeping. I hadn’t remembered to turn my stupid new smart phone onto silent yet. The only thing I’d used so far was messenger, and I guess the pinging back and forth of our texts alerted Levi to the fact that we’re both wide awake.

He climbs into his bunk and obviously turns on the DVD player above his bed because the throaty sound of a woman choking on cock fills the bus. I huff in frustration.

Coop: Tell me you’re not gonna let Levi fuck you up the arse
?

I laugh.

Me:
I’m pretty sure that would break me
.

“Dude, put your fucking headphones in,” Cooper says, but Levi doesn’t respond. Only the primal sounds of grunting and the slick slap of wet flesh can be heard from his bunk. I squeeze my thighs together, and a discontented sigh leaves my mouth.

Coop: Feeling frustrated, Ali-Cat? I can help with that.

Me: Nope. I was just stretching.

Coop: Liar.

Coop: Are you touching yourself right now?

Me: No. Are you?

Coop: Levi doesn’t really do it for me.

Me: Who does do it for you?

Coop: Redheads. I can’t be trusted with them.

Me: So Josh Holme is more your flavour?

He chuckles
.