A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(10)

The song came to an end, and they filed offstage, the crowd stomping  their feet, demanding an encore. Melody had always found this process at  a concert ridiculous-making people beg for an encore that was a  pre-planned part of a set list-but she couldn't deny that it felt good  to hear the screams and claps and thumping of feet on stadium seats.

"Not cool, Bennett," she told Dylan, as she swapped one bass for another.

"Listen to me, sweetheart. I know you loved it," he challenged her. "They loved it."

"They came for a show," she argued, her voice raised because he wouldn't  be able to hear her otherwise. And because she really wanted to yell at  him.

"And we gave them one they'll never forget," he yelled back, excitement  in his eyes. It was the kind of enthusiasm and passion that made women  fall at his feet.

Melody stayed resolutely upright. "Don't ever kiss me on stage again," she warned.

He grinned. "I'll stick to kissing you offstage then. All over your delicious body."

"You're not capable of earning the right to kiss me offstage," she told  him. An inexplicable sadness settled in her heart as she realized the  truth of her words. Come on, Mel; you know what he is. You shouldn't  want him to prove you wrong.

"We're on," Jesper announced, leading the charge back onto the stage.

Melody all but ran after him, desperate to avoid an incredibly uncomfortable conversation.

The final encore was Victory or Death. Despite their brief argument,  Dylan was back in playful form, showing off to the crowd, strutting his  stuff on the stage.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Later, Melody realized that they  had obviously set something up before the show. At the moment the final  note played and the scheduled confetti canon went off, spraying the  stage and the audience with bits of colored paper, another  bucket-rigged, Carrie-style, from the ceiling-showered down hundreds of  oblong objects on Melody's head.

Tampons. So many tampons.

The guys were practically on the floor; even Jesper was unable to  contain his raucous laughter. Melody had to hand it to them-it was a  well-crafted final act (God, please let it be final) to the hazing.  Misogynistic, wasteful, insulting, and a little gross-but well-crafted.

Melody stooped down, scooped up a handful of tampons and tucked them  into the tight pockets of her jeans. She leaned into Dylan's mic just as  he had opened his mouth to give the close. "Aw, guys. You're keeping  track of my cycle. Now I don't have to go to CVS. GOODNIGHT SAN  FRANCISCO!"         

     



 

If looks could kill, Dylan would have murdered her where she stood. She  knew he had an almost psychotic proprietary claim on signing them off  each night. Well, he should have thought of that before he decided to  make it rain feminine hygiene products.

"That. Was. Awesome," Tank crowed as they filed off the stage. He  grabbed Melody around the waist and swung her up in the air. "You are  unflappable. Seriously ice cold. We surrender."

"Good," Melody sighed.

Tank froze and made a face. "Wait...you aren't really on your period, are you?"

Grinning, Melody shrugged. "Like I keep saying, Tank-you'll never know."





4


The brunette was still touching herself, her fingers little more than a  blur between her legs. Her fake tits hardly moved an inch despite all  her exertions. Normally that sort of thing didn't bother Dylan, but  something felt different this time.

"I can't believe you're the Dylan from Dust and Bones," she moaned,  squirming around on the bed. She shot him a sultry look, her breath  quickening. "You like this?"

"Hell yeah," he said. "Keep going. It's hot."

But it wasn't. It should have been, but lately, nothing seemed to be … enough.

The brunette had gone down on him earlier. She'd really put some effort  and enthusiasm into it, and to be fair, she'd been pretty talented. But  in order to get off, he'd had to imagine red hair, bright green eyes,  and an icy calm demeanor. It wasn't fair. He was furious that Melody had  managed to get herself so thoroughly entrenched in his head.

He had never wanted a woman this badly before-and he had definitely  never wanted one who wasn't interested. Because there were no women who  weren't interested; even when he had been a teenager with no fame or  fortune to his name, the Oklahoma girls had lifted their skirts  willingly. In the rare case that they hadn't, he had never let it get to  him, because he'd known there were plenty of fish in the sea.

"Oh God...I've wanted this for so long...a night with a rock star."

Dylan was rather embarrassed that out of the dozen girls available  backstage, he had picked the biggest star-fucker of the lot to bring  back to the bus. Rip had gravitated toward a fellow tattoo addict (his  usual type), and Tank had wrapped his arm around a petite blonde. Dylan  had been half-afraid that he'd crush her, but the girl had looked  thrilled by that prospect.

Then the brunette had approached Dylan, aggressive and sure about what  she wanted. That was exactly what he liked in a woman. It was one of the  many things he liked about Melody-unfortunately, she just happened to  be aggressively sure that she didn't want him.

He'd actually made an effort to look for her after the gig, but Big Mike  had said that she'd gone out on her own. Then he'd asked Jesper if he  knew where she'd gone, and he had told Dylan that she hadn't wanted to  "cramp anyone's style."

How could she be so cool about this sort of thing? It made him want to punch a wall.

The brunette gave a final gasping cry, then went limp beside him. Dylan  noticed his jeans were still unbuttoned, and he surreptitiously buttoned  them. Lesson one when dealing with the fame whores: never leave your  valuables hanging out in the open. Snake had a story about a girl, his  dick, a home piercing kit, and way too much cocaine. Dylan had no  interest in trying to top that tale.

"That was amazing," the brunette sighed, rolling her body toward Dylan's. "You're amazing."

Those words should have been exactly what he wanted to hear. The girls  had always stroked his ego, and he had always let them. Sure, he knew  they were just there for the fame, but that had always been fine by him.  Everyone got what they wanted: Dylan got a release, a way to come down  from the high of a gig that didn't involve the kind of hard drugs he  tried to stay away from, and the girls got their fifteen minutes of  bedroom stardom.

"Yeah, good times," he said. It was a lie, and the fact that it was a lie infuriated him.

"It's a crazy story I'm gonna tell people for years. ‘The night I fooled  around with Dylan Bennett'...it'll be great at parties." She gave him a  serious, measured look that seemed incongruous with the fake, naked  breasts staring him in the face. "I have a suspicion you were thinking  of someone else though; I think you even whispered her name to me. Who  is she?"

Dylan sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"So she," the girl said with inflection, "is a potential lover?"

"Not really. She doesn't seem to like me very much."         

     



 

The girl nodded, seeming unsurprised. "That makes sense."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what. This mystery woman is probably smart, pragmatic,  stable-everything that a wild rock star who's constantly on the run  would desire. Someone solid, someone to come home to. Probably the sort  of thing you lacked in your childhood, too."

Dylan narrowed his eyes at her. Where the hell was all of that coming from?

"But if she's smart," the brunette continued matter-of-factly, "then  she's obviously not going to mess around with someone like you, because  even though you may desire stability, it's really not in your nature to  live that sort of life. Though it speaks very highly of you that you're  in love with a woman who knows better than to get involved with you."

"Jesus! Since when does sex come with a side of psychobabble?" Dylan muttered.

"Call it what you like."

"Where do you get this shit?" he asked.

"I'm a psych major," she said.

"Alright, honey, it was a good time but you gotta go. You'll make a good  shrink though," he said dazedly as he watched her get dressed. This was  by far the weirdest encounter he'd ever had with a groupie-and one of  them had set his car on fire a few years back.

"Thanks for the fun," she said, leaning up to place a friendly kiss on  his mouth. As she turned to go, she bumped into someone-a certain female  someone.

Dylan wanted to crawl into a hole.

Melody smiled tightly. "Hey. Sorry. Crowded in here after a gig. You're the third one I've run into. No offense."

"None taken," the groupie said brightly. "You were amazing out there  tonight. Like, seriously my hero. If I wasn't a zero on the Kinsey  scale, I would have angled for someone else's bed entirely."