Manaconda(16)

I slid behind Patrick and leaned against the wall so I could hear the conversations.

Two giggling girls came up to him, asking him to sign over the jeans. The taller girl with bleached white hair and lavender roots tapped a nail over the bulge. Challenge lit her heavily-lined, improbably violet eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t stuff a sock down your pants? Or was that photo altered?”

My eyebrows shot up.

Everyone went silent. Hunter’s marker stopped. His shoulders hunched forward, and I had the strangest urge to move up behind him and slip my fingers into the short strands. I liked the peach fuzz of the tightly shaved part of his hair, but had to confess that the much longer top made my mouth water. But right at that moment, I wanted to soothe.

And I wasn’t exactly the soothing type.

Bats tilted his head and leaned forward. He was sitting right beside Hunter with his hands laced together loosely. “Are you expecting him to whip it out right here, darlin’? Slap it on the table for all to see?”

The girl’s smile vanished.

Bats stood and pulled up his shirt, showing off an impressively muscled torso. He drew down his zipper. “Mine’s just as impressive. Maybe a little girthier. Want to suck it right here too?”

Indie came up behind him and slammed him back down in his seat. “Reed,” she growled between her teeth.

He shrugged. “What? I was just doing what she asked.”

Lavender girl stammered and scooped up her magazine. She looked down at it, then to Hunter. He was sitting back in his throne-like chair, fuck-you face in full effect.

Not good.

I moved around the table to the girl. I scooped out a pre-signed magazine from the pile and handed it to the girl. “Can’t hold up the line.”

“We don’t need this shit.” She dragged her friend with her and snatched the magazine away from me. She gave Hunter a scathing look before dropping the other one and twisting her booted heel over Hunter’s face.

That was so ending up on YouTube. Maybe it would be more exciting than our kiss. Reed “Bats” Mason made almost as many headlines as Hunter. Some of his ended in arrests, but he definitely might take the heat off of our little hallway thing.

Maybe.

Please.

Bats threw an arm around Hunter’s neck and whispered something into his ear. Hunter’s deep roar of laughter hit me low. Instead of taking it out on the next person, he smiled winningly at the next girl. She was clutching a copy of their album to her chest. “Who should I make it out to, sweetheart?”

Blinded by that smile and his direct look, she just stood there with wide, disbelieving eyes. I know how you feel, girlfriend. I scooped up the magazine and dropped it on the table against the wall with all the extra merchandise.

“Can I have that?”

I turned to a male voice.

“It’s ripped.”

He nodded, his very obvious Adam’s apple bobbing along his skinny neck. “I only care about page one-oh-eight.”

I thumbed through to find the picture of Hunter crouched in front of a half dozen antique guitars. Battered cases and an amp that looked like it was from the Beatles era filled the picture. His smile was full-on with crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his wide hands were linked loosely. Everything spelled out happiness and relaxation.

He was even wearing the same jeans from the front cover, so it was obviously the same photoshoot. Instead of a bare chest, he was wearing a faded Foo Fighters shirt.

“He’s got a vintage Rickenbacker. I’ve been saving up for ten years to get that guitar.”

Music. Instinctively, I nodded and handed him the folded magazine. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Show him that page, not the cover.” I winked at the kid that couldn’t be older than seventeen.

“I’d rip off the freaking cover.”

I patted his shoulder. “I think the inside page will be enough.” I stepped back into the shadows and watched as the lanky man-boy moved down the row of musicians. He had everyone else sign the inside record sleeve for the album. Finally he got to Hunter and slid the magazine out from under the album.

Hunter’s face went blank for a moment, before the same smile from the photo bloomed across his face. They talked animatedly about the guitar and the hero worship shining from the kid’s face was perfect. Even Bats jumped into the conversation, explaining why his favorite guitar was far more superior.

I’d taken great pains to be up to date on the band, and the people who ran Hammered’s operation, but I hadn’t taken the time to actually read the article. I sat down and opened one of the magazines. The interview was actually very thoughtful and well done. There was actually very little sexual spin inside the magazine.