Convincing Constance (The Blow Hole Boys) (4 page)

Turned out Gary Steele from
Music Line did have a job for me. I almost lost my shit when he said Blow Hole was looking for a replacement guitarist to finish their tour with them. Fucking Blow Hole! As in some of my favorite music to play.

I knew the chords to their songs better than any other band. I liked their sound and I’d always been able to pick up their pace right away. I could hardly believe my luck. So when he told me they wanted me to come to their condo in Los Angeles to audition, I was all over that shit.

I called Shay to bring me some gas money, told her why I needed it, listened to her scream on the other line, and then I drove entirely too fast to the address Gary gave me. I pulled up around the corner and changed my clothes in the backseat of my car before going inside the massive building the boys lived in.

When I finally made it to the top floor, I stood in front of the door and convinced myself that ringing the doorbell was the best thing I could do no matter how badly my nerves were jumping around. I’d never auditioned before since I’d never played for any o
ther reason than I loved it, and I couldn’t lie. I was scared.

When I finally worked up the nerve, I reached out and rang the doorbell.
I stood there waiting for someone to answer the door, but no one came. I rang the bell once more, and the door opened quickly.

“Can I help you?” It was Finn, the lead singer.

Everyone who loved music knew who Finn was. His voice was soulful. When he sang, he put so much emotion behind it you could almost believe he was living his lyrics. He was raspy and deep, and I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive.

He was taller in person, and honestly, I expected more muscles, but that didn’t take away from his eyes or those lips that girls seemed to get wet over.
He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. A black shirt with cut-off sleeves covered his chest yet revealed his tatted arms, and a pair of drawstring sweats hung from his hips with loose ties that brought my eyes to his crotch.

Quickly, I looked back up at him and my cheeks turned red when his expression told me he’d caught me looking. Turning away
, I adjusted my guitar case and shook the thoughts from my head. I wasn’t one to get star struck… ever, but Finn was the real deal.

Looking back up at him, the question in his eyes told me I needed to speak or he was going to close the door in my face.

“I’m here for the audition.” My voice cracked and I wanted to slap myself.

I needed to snap out of it.

I adjusted the guitar strap on my shoulder to show him I wasn’t messing around.

“You’re kidding, right?” His right brow popped up in challenge.

I didn’t have time for the whole females can’t play bullshit I knew was coming. So I went in for the kill.

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Is the word jokester tattooed across my forehead? Yes, I’m a chick. I have tits and a clit, but I have bigger balls than any man you know, and I can play the fuck out of a guitar. Now are you going to keep wasting my time, or are you going to invite me in to play?”

His mouth popped open in a wide, shocked smile. Then he chuckled to himself and stepped aside.

“Then by all means, come in.”

The space was sleek and clean considering it was the home of a bunch of rockers. Abstract red-and-black paintings of different instruments covered white walls, and the place smelled like pot and beer.

The place was huge. I followed behind Finn through three sets of doors until we were in a sitting room, and then I s
et my guitar case on the counter that split the living room from the kitchen.

A white, leather sectional filled the room. Eyes stared back at me as I entered behind Finn and instantly I recognized the drummer, Chet, and the bass player, Tiny. Finn left the room, leaving me in a silent uncomfortable moment.

Taking a seat on the edge of the couch, I kept my bitch face on. Chet grinned at me from across the room and nodded at me as he licked his lips. His tongue piercing clicked against his teeth. He was the colorful one of the group. Tattoos and piercings everywhere. I did, however, seriously dig his f
auxhawk.

I’d been looking at him too long, and he was enjoying the attention. He was definitely the playboy of the group. I’d heard the rumors about him and how he stuck his cock in anything wet.
I rolled my eyes and turned my head, and then my eyes connected with the bass player’s.

Tiny’s name was a joke considering there was nothing small about the man. He was huge. His thick tattooed arms were crossed. A look of absolutely no tolerance was plastered on his face. Quiet and mysterious was his game. Every band had one, and I usually dealt best with them, but something about the way he looked at me made me feel nervous.

His dark-brown hair was buzzed short and faded into a set a sideburns that melted into his light mustache and goatee. My eyes shifted to his lips and again, I wanted to slap myself. It was unlike me to even notice the things I’d noticed since I stepped into the den of sin, also known as the home of Blow Hole, and I wasn’t about to let the disgusting pheromones that lingered in the air get to me.

Tiny’s dark
, angry eyes dug into mine and I suddenly felt exposed. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair to make sure I had no strays poking out, and then I turned away from him. Even without looking at him, I could feel his gaze on the side of my face. I didn’t like it.

Just when I was close to telling him off, Finn came back into the room and crashed onto the couch. Behind him, Zeke, the lead guitarist
, came limping in. A cast covered his picking hand and instantly I felt for him. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not be able to play. He looked at me in confusion as he sat down.

As far as I was concerned, Zeke was one of the best guitarist
s I’d ever heard. His technique was unusual, but the sounds that came from his strings were amazing. I’d practiced his sound since the first time I’d heard them play on the radio. I’d once see them from afar in concert at a bar in Los Angeles, but the boys were playing bigger venues these days.

“So where’s the replacement guitarist? Zeke asked in aggravation.

The room filled with laughter like I was a joke, and it pissed me off. I stood and crossed my arms to show them I wasn’t dicking around.

“That would be me
,” I said sternly.

Zeke looked me up and down without a drop of sexual awareness in his gaze
, and I appreciated the fact that he was simply sizing me up, not checking me out. It probably had something to do with the petite blond that had followed him into the room.

“Is that so?”
he asked.

He was acting cocky, and honestly, he had every right to be.

“Yep. Want me to play or what?” I asked.

Everything depended on this job and while I knew some would call me stupid for being such a bitch, I knew the boys would appreciate it. I’d been a part of their world before. I knew all about the girls that chased rockers around with their legs open. I was sure it was refreshing to have a woman in their presence who didn’t drool all over them. I’d definitely checked them out, but I wasn’t the drooling type
. Not to mention, I knew band boys weren’t for me—at all.

Zeke looked around the room at the rest of the guys. “Is this some kind of joke?”
he asked.

Again, the boys burst out in laughter, which did nothing
but make me madder.

“It’s not a fucking joke. Quit being a chauvinistic asshole. Either you want me to fucking play or not. Say something and quit wasting my goddamn time
,” I snapped.

His stern expression cracked into an appreciative smile. “Then play
,” he said with a careless shrug.

Stepping over to my guitar case, I flipped it open and pulled out my baby. It was a candy apple
-red Les Paul from my dad. I barely played it, but I thought of this audition as a special occasion. The boys of Blow Hole didn’t need to see my normal guitar.

I strapped it on, took a deep breath, and began to play. My fingers dug into the strings and I closed my eyes and let go of everything. Rips and grinds filled the condo
, bouncing off the walls and shaking the windows. I mimicked Zeke’s playing perfectly. I even ripped through his unique chords that other guitarist seemed to have a hard time with.

I played an entire song and no one stopped me. When I was done, I unhooked my strap and set my guitar back in its case. The room around me was silent
, and when I looked up, looks of shock stared back at me.

The only girl in the room, the tiny blond
e with ice-blue eyes, began to clap.

“That was amazing!” she said with a smile.

I nodded at her compliment and turned my attention back to Zeke. He stared at me with angry eyes. That was his thing. I don’t think I’d ever seen a real smile from him ever.

“What did you say your name was again?”
he asked.

“I didn’t. No one bothered to ask. My name’s Constance
,” I responded.

He looked around the room and then back at me. The side of his mouth lifted in an almost grin. “Well, Constance, welcome to Blow Hole.”

A week later, after living
in my car and snacking on what I could steal from the gas station, I stepped onto the Blow Hole tour bus with nothing in my pocket, two duffle bags, and two guitar cases—my old guitar that meant the world to me and my Les Paul for the shows.

The boys, minus Zeke, were sitting and playing video games. They didn’t even acknowledge my existence. I crept through the bus and worked my way into the small kitchen space. I tripped over shoes and caught myself from falling. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself in the first five minutes, and knowing them, they’d laugh their asses off and help later.

Smoke swirled around me. The distinct smell of burnt ass filled my senses and took me straight back to the summer I spent on tour with my dad, which of course led me straight to the one memory I spent every day trying to forget. In the back of my mind, I knew going on tour with rock stars was a bad idea. I knew it would do nothing but help me remember, but it’s not like I had much of a choice.

I threw my bags down on a pop-out table and the loud bang made all the guys turn toward me.

“Ah, there she is. Welcome aboard the love bus, baby,” Chet said as he flicked his tongue at me without taking his eyes off the game.

I pretended to gag. “This place smells like ass.”

Chet took an obnoxious sniff of the air around him. “Just how we like it. Ass is my favorite flavor.”

I stepped away from the laughter, taking my bags with me, and claimed the back room, which was also the only room on the bus. Fuck ‘em! They could have the bunks that lined the hallway.

Taking a peek into the one bathroom on board, I cringed when I realized how small it was. Sharing a tiny-ass bathroom with three disgusting males wasn’t going to be fun, but I was getting paid and that was all that mattered. As long as I could make it through the rest of the tour, I was golden.

My eyes follow
ed the curve
in her back. Long blond hair teased her ass crack as she rolled her hips. The sounds of slapping skin filled the small space, and the smell of sweet perfume and lust filled me.

She smiled down and her full lips were inviting. She was beautiful and sexy—erotic. Just looking at her got me hard. My cock pressed against my jeans and begged for release. Reaching down, I palmed my hardness and imagined for a brief moment I was the one she was riding.

Leaning up, she threw her head back. Her face contorted into one of sweet anguish. There was nothing hotter than a woman in the midst of an orgasm.

“Fuck
, yes, Chet. I’m coming!” she called out.

The bus started to shake as she sped up. Chet’s fingers dug into her hips as he took over from beneath her and impaled her fast and hard.

“That’s right, baby. Come all over my cock,” he demanded.

It was then that I turned away and made my way back to the front of the bus. His voice knocked me from my imagination and I couldn’t look any longer. My dick shrunk in my jeans and my balls ached.

As soon as I sat, Constance and Finn came barging onto the bus.

“Where’s Chet?” Constance asked.

She had her hair pulled up in a messy bun. Strands of pink and blond fell down around her face. It was sexy. Of course the cut-up top and holey jeans she was wearing didn’t help. She was thicker than most girls, which gave her curves for days. I wanted to run my fingers down her side and over her hips. I wanted to fill my hands with her luscious ass, but I couldn’t. She wasn’t like the groupie girls that came on the bus and practically rubbed their asses on us. She wasn’t having it, and I was glad because I wasn’t sure I could turn her down.

She waved her hand in the air like she was rushing my answer. I used my beer to point to the back room where the sounds were slowly starting to rise again.

“I’m going to kick both of their asses.” Constance growled and Finn held out an arm to stop her.

“No, I’m going to fuck him up. I thought I said no hos tonight
,” Finn said as he pulled a baggy out of his back pocket and started to roll a blunt.

“Guess he missed the memo
,” I said dryly as I took a swig from my beer.

Jealous
y swirled deep in my stomach. I loved women just as much as the next guy, everything about them, their smell and the way they felt in my arms. And I was pretty sure I’d love their touch, but that was something I shied away from. I hadn’t been touched by a girl in years. Not since before the accident, before the scars.

“In my fucking bed. Now I’m going to have to burn the sheets
,” Constance mumbled as she flipped open her case and pulled out her guitar.

She’d been on the bus with us for three days and already she was fitting in. Although, we didn’t talk much. Finn had taken her under his wing and she seemed comfortable enough with him to allow it. Finn, spending most of his life in foster homes, was good at
taking care of younger girls in a non-sexual way. He and Constance took no time falling into a brother-sister role.

Even though she and I didn’t talk, I loved watching her play. Something about the way she held her guitar and the way her feminine hands looked when she played. It was erotic to me somehow. She’d close her eyes like the music felt good to her, and I’d spring a massive hard-on like never before. Everything about her turned me on, which turned me inside out.

Instead of sitting and watching her play, I stood and went to lie down on my bunk. The bus shifted beneath my feet, and I knew I’d mixed too many pills with my beer. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

I jumped up into my bunk and hummed softly as she played
“Inconsiderate Psycho,” my favorite song from our album. My eyes grew heavy and I fell asleep with her strumming in my ears and pain pills and beer swimming in my stomach.

I woke to silence. The
sway of the bus let me know we were back on the road. The sounds of the cars on the interstate around us hummed, making the ride somewhat soothing, but the bunk dug into my back, making me wish we were back at the condo.

We had to be in New York the next day to set up for our first show without Zeke. I was nervous as hell for Constance, but she seemed pretty confident. She had a good reason for that confidence. She was damn good—just as good as Zeke.

I turned onto my side and my stomach rolled. Heat filled my gut and I knew what was coming. Sitting up quickly, I jumped from my bunk and landed hard on the floor. I moved down the skinny hallway to the bathroom
, knocking my elbows into the walls and tripping over shoes. My knees touched the cold tile floor and my stomach emptied into the toilet at the same time.

Getting sick wasn’t foreign to me. As a matter of fact, it happened at least once a week. When the pain came, I’d shut it down as much as could. And honestly, I took the pills even when I wasn’t in pain. They were my choice of drug. The relaxation and comfort they brought me was needed when I felt like the world was closing in on me.

I heaved and my body twitched as I threw up. It was my body’s warning to never do it again. I didn’t take kindly to warnings. As far as I was concerned, my body could go straight to hell. Of course, my body was already in hell so it wasn’t much of a trip.

I flushed when I was done and sat back against the wall with my eyes closed. If I opened them, I’d get sick again. The soothing movement of the bus suddenly felt like torture.

“Are you okay?” Constance asked from the bathroom door.

Her voice wasn’t soft like most women. She had a naturally raspy voice—a singer
’s voice. It was sexy and seductive. The fact she’d been sleeping made it sound even hotter.

“I’m fine
,” I replied.

“You don’t look fine. Do you want some water or something?”

I heard the water turn on and then I felt something cold in my palm. Opening my eyes, I looked down to see that she’d placed a cold cloth in my hand. When I looked up at her as she was straightening, my eyes landed on her necklace. A man’s wedding ring dangled on the end and I wondered why she had it. But the ring was forgotten when the swell of her breasts came to my eye level. They were large yet perky. They hid behind her white wife-beater that was too thin and left nothing to the imagination.

She wasn’t wearing a bra and her perfectly pink nipples stood on end in the cool air of the bathroom. I turned away before she could see me staring or before I could bring attention to hard-on pressing against my boxers.

“Thanks,” I whispered as I held up the cloth and covered my face with it.

I was starting to feel sick again and her being close to me half naked wasn’t helping.

“I think I got it from here. Go.” I hadn’t meant to sound so rude, but I wanted her gone. She didn’t need to see me all sick and gross, and just being close to her in the tiny bathroom was too much for me.

She didn’t respond, but she left the room. I felt it the minute she left. The door clicked behind her and I heard her bed shift when she climbed back in. I fell asleep on the bathroom floor again, and no one came in and bothered me until morning.

The next morning we were
in New York, which meant we’d be staying in a hotel room for the next two days. Once everyone was up and showered, we went to the venue where we’d be playing. We didn’t usually go that early, but Finn wanted to play an entire set with Constance to make sure she was good to go.

She blended well with our sound, and her personality on stage even matched Zeke’s. She didn’t smile—she stood there like a force to be reckoned with as hard licks and grinds spiraled from her guitar.

I watched her more than I should have. The memory of the night before and her in that thin shirt and hard nipples played in my mind over and over again.

She rocked out with a pair of long shorts, army boots, and a cut
-off shirt that showed off her flat stomach. Every now and again, the lights would hit her belly button and the ring in it would sparkle. Chains hung from her back pocket and shook as she played. No pretty purses for Constance; she was a wallet girl. She was a sexy rocker tomboy combo that was right in my wheelhouse.

Her long pink
-and-blond hair was done in multiple thick braids that kept it from her eyes, allowing me to get a good look at her face. She was beautiful and unique—everything I’d go for if relationships were my thing.

“The way you finger that guitar is hot, Constance. I’d love to see you in some masturbatory action
,” Chet said as he mocked her playing and made orgasm noises. “Ah. Ah. Oh yeah.”

Finn smacked him in the chest
, making him flinch. “Would you talk to Zeke like that?” he asked.

“Fuck no, man, but Zeke’s not rocking that sexy body or those luscious…” he said as he held his hands out in front of his chest like he was groping imaginary breasts.

Again, Finn smacked him in the chest to stop him.

“Damn, dude. That shit hurt!” Chet complained.

“From now on, Constance is Zeke. When you look at her, think of Zeke and what he’d do to you if you talked to him like that,” Finn said with a grin at Constance.

She smiled back and her eyes lit up. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture her as Zeke. Not to mention, my cock had already made his decision on how we felt about the new guitarist.

Four hours of playing and we finally took a break to go grab something to eat. After finding a place for lunch, we spent the first hour signing autographs before we were able to sit and eat. We ended up in the back room of a chicken joint, stuffing ourselves. We were starving and Chet wasted no time devouring his food and jumping right into the personal questions.

“I have to ask
,” Chet said around a mouthful of burger.

He was talking to Constance and I could only imagine what he was going to ask her.

“Ask what?” Constance asked.

She didn’t eat much. Actually, I hadn’t really seen her eat anything since she’d been on the road with us. She always had a bottle of water with her, but maybe she was one of those chicks that
was always worried about her size.

“Are you into chicks?”
he asked with a smirk. “Please say you are.”

Constance roller her eyes and took a gulp from her water.

“If you’re asking if I eat pussy, I don’t.”

The rest of the guys laughed, but I picked up my burger and took a big bite out of it.

“See? That’s why I like you, Constance. You got a filthy mouth just like me. I bet you can do some dirty shit with that mouth,” he said as he took a swig from his beer.

Fire filled her eyes and she opened her mouth to respond, but Finn beat her to the punch.

“Don’t make me beat your ass, Chet. Leave Constance alone. We all need to focus.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I focus just fine
,” Chet said.

“Yeah, you focus on the pearly panty gates of every bitch that passes. That’s about it
,” Constance said.

Yeah, she definitely fit in.

That night, instead of going straight back to the stuffy hotel, we partied on the bus with two girls Chet picked up outside the restaurant. Finn sat in his corner, drinking and texting, and I sat in mine while Chet dry-humped them both. As the night went on, one of the girls somehow landed in my lap.

My eyes met Constance’s across the bus and guilt crept in. It felt wrong doing things in front of her, but things weren’t about to change because there was a chick on board with us.

The girl in my lap shifted. She felt good there, all pressed up against my junk, but every time she tried to touch me, I’d move her hands. It was the usual thing, and as much as I hated it, I couldn’t bring myself to allow her touch.

I always gave them what they wanted, though, and it didn’t take me long to get my hands up her skirt. She wiggled in my lap as I pushed my fingers in and out of her.
No one could see what we were doing, but it was obvious from the way she was thrusting her hips that she was being fingered.