"Watch it, bitch."
"Sorry," Melanie said as she was yanked into the stadium's causeway, her heels clicking rapidly on the cement.
There were many benefits of being friends with Nikki. She was fun. Afraid of nothing. Men liked her. So while they started out at the back of general admission, with several dozen coy looks, a bit of exposed cle**age, and some well-placed hands on the male metal-heads in the crowd, Nikki miraculously managed to work her way to the area just in front of the stage without being punched in the face. Melanie was allowed to join her only because Nikki refused to release her wrist. Along the barrier fence in front of the stage, Melanie purposely positioned herself between two women and turned away from the man hanging over the railing. The thrusting of his fist in the air drew attention to the skull tattoo on his forearm. One glimpse of that bit of body art had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Melanie forced her attention to the stage to keep her gaze from straying to the man’s arm.
She supposed she should be excited to be so close to the stage, but Melanie much preferred stadium seats to the pit. She liked to listen to the music, not defend herself from injury. The pit was hot and sweaty: crowded, loud, lewd, and dangerous. Nikki called it exciting. Melanie called it painful. Nikki spent the next forty-five minutes trying to get the attention of the band's lead singer; Melanie spent her time avoiding elbows in the face by two enthusiastic fangirls and keeping the guy behind her from squishing her against the metal bars of the barrier fence and prodding her in the ass with his junk. How could Nikki enjoy this?
Melanie watched the lead singer—the current object of Nikki’s obsession–prowl the front of the stage. He could’ve been a gorgeous man. Tattoos ruined his otherwise good looks. Had he been dressed in a nice suit and discussing philosophy instead of wearing ripped denim and screaming something about descending into Hell, Melanie might have admired the wide cut of his shoulders and his strong, handsome profile. But, yeah, the ink completely turned her off. She wondered what color his eyes were. He had yet to take off his sunglasses. The stage lights were blinding, but she figured the shades were part of his image. He’d worn them onstage the night before, too, and by the way the two fangirls were screeching Shaaaaade every time he stalked in their direction, she assumed he’d been named after his fondness for eyewear. Melanie had a heck of a time keeping the names of the band members straight even though Nikki had gone on and on and on about them on the drive down from Wichita.
Melanie did enjoy watching Shade and the other band members interact with the crowd and each other. The bassist was surprisingly popular with the audience; Melanie found most bass players to be obscure by default. This one had a softer look than the two guitarists— handsome, even features, a normal haircut sans black dye, a perpetual smile, and gentle eyes. Had he not decorated his every inch of his hard-muscled arms with tattoos and bore piercings in his eyebrow and lip, Melanie might not have crossed the street if he’d approached her in public. Why did these men insist on destroying their looks with permanent accessories? It was a damn shame.
The lead guitarist, who had an inordinate fondness for black, was big on chains and trying to upstage the vocalist. They competed for the crowd’s affection with an active rivalry. The rhythm guitarist, who had a gorgeous mane of long, straight hair and no shirt—much to the delight of any female who didn’t mind a fully inked torso—mocked the competing stage hogs behind their backs. The bassist found his antics so hilarious that he had to pause a few times to catch his breath from laughing so hard. Melanie doubted she would’ve noticed the nuances of their dynamic from stadium seats, so at least she had something interesting to watch as she tried to convince the guy behind her that her ass was off limits and not designed as a pincushion for his boner.
Near the end of the final song of their set list—the same set list they’d played the night before—the lead singer hopped off the stage and walked the narrow path on the other side of the barrier fence, slapping hands with fans in the front row as he passed them. Nikki used Melanie for leverage so she could stretch her body into Shade’s path. She got a hand on his skintight T-shirt, but was unable to keep her hold as he blazed past. He returned to the stage just as the song ended on a long, wailing guitar note.
“I touched him,” Nikki squealed excitedly and covered her mouth with her rock-god-blessed hand.
“Congratulations,” Melanie said.
“God, I want him.”
“What about the rest of the band? They’re all totally your type.”
“They’re my backup plan, but Shade is the one I really want.” Nikki’s eyes rolled upward, and Melanie suspected she was in the throes of an orgasm. Melanie took a deep breath and shook her head at her friend. What was the appeal?
When the band pretended their set was over and the crowd began to chant for an encore, Nikki started tugging Melanie toward the side of the stage. Melanie accidentally stomped more than one toe in the darkness. She spouted a litany of sorries as she was given no choice but to follow her determined friend, who had an iron grip on her wrist. The crowd was bathed in darkness to excite them for the final song as well as let them know the show wasn’t actually over: Sole Regret’s biggest hit was yet to come. Even Melanie had noticed they hadn’t played “Instigator” and they’d blown the roof off the stadium with their high-energy rock anthem the night before.
Melanie had no idea how Nikki managed to see well enough to slip past security, but they were suddenly free from the crowd and standing next to the stage. They were so going to get caught. Melanie clung to Nikki’s hand, hoping they didn’t get chewed out too severely when one of the distracted security guards noticed them. In the darkness, Nikki managed to find the cute roadie she'd been talking to the night before. Melanie wondered if Nikki was wearing night vision goggles. Her own eyes were still trying to adjust to the lack of illumination after she’d stared up at bright stage lights for almost an hour.
"This is her," Nikki said. She tugged Melanie against her and kissed her on the mouth with heated, seeking lips. It wasn’t one of those you're my bestie and I've had a too much to drink, so I'm feeling affectionate kisses. It was more a we go down on each other, wanna watch kind of kiss. Melanie was too shocked to do anything but breathe. And even that was a struggle.
What the f**k? Was this the ruse Nikki had mentioned?
“Oh yeah,” the cute roadie said when Nikki ended her plundering assault on Melanie’s lips. “That’s totally hot, tater tot.” He reached into the front pocket of his mega-baggie jeans and pulled out a backstage pass on a lanyard. He draped it around Nikki’s neck. “I only have one left.”
"Sorry," Melanie said as she was yanked into the stadium's causeway, her heels clicking rapidly on the cement.
There were many benefits of being friends with Nikki. She was fun. Afraid of nothing. Men liked her. So while they started out at the back of general admission, with several dozen coy looks, a bit of exposed cle**age, and some well-placed hands on the male metal-heads in the crowd, Nikki miraculously managed to work her way to the area just in front of the stage without being punched in the face. Melanie was allowed to join her only because Nikki refused to release her wrist. Along the barrier fence in front of the stage, Melanie purposely positioned herself between two women and turned away from the man hanging over the railing. The thrusting of his fist in the air drew attention to the skull tattoo on his forearm. One glimpse of that bit of body art had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Melanie forced her attention to the stage to keep her gaze from straying to the man’s arm.
She supposed she should be excited to be so close to the stage, but Melanie much preferred stadium seats to the pit. She liked to listen to the music, not defend herself from injury. The pit was hot and sweaty: crowded, loud, lewd, and dangerous. Nikki called it exciting. Melanie called it painful. Nikki spent the next forty-five minutes trying to get the attention of the band's lead singer; Melanie spent her time avoiding elbows in the face by two enthusiastic fangirls and keeping the guy behind her from squishing her against the metal bars of the barrier fence and prodding her in the ass with his junk. How could Nikki enjoy this?
Melanie watched the lead singer—the current object of Nikki’s obsession–prowl the front of the stage. He could’ve been a gorgeous man. Tattoos ruined his otherwise good looks. Had he been dressed in a nice suit and discussing philosophy instead of wearing ripped denim and screaming something about descending into Hell, Melanie might have admired the wide cut of his shoulders and his strong, handsome profile. But, yeah, the ink completely turned her off. She wondered what color his eyes were. He had yet to take off his sunglasses. The stage lights were blinding, but she figured the shades were part of his image. He’d worn them onstage the night before, too, and by the way the two fangirls were screeching Shaaaaade every time he stalked in their direction, she assumed he’d been named after his fondness for eyewear. Melanie had a heck of a time keeping the names of the band members straight even though Nikki had gone on and on and on about them on the drive down from Wichita.
Melanie did enjoy watching Shade and the other band members interact with the crowd and each other. The bassist was surprisingly popular with the audience; Melanie found most bass players to be obscure by default. This one had a softer look than the two guitarists— handsome, even features, a normal haircut sans black dye, a perpetual smile, and gentle eyes. Had he not decorated his every inch of his hard-muscled arms with tattoos and bore piercings in his eyebrow and lip, Melanie might not have crossed the street if he’d approached her in public. Why did these men insist on destroying their looks with permanent accessories? It was a damn shame.
The lead guitarist, who had an inordinate fondness for black, was big on chains and trying to upstage the vocalist. They competed for the crowd’s affection with an active rivalry. The rhythm guitarist, who had a gorgeous mane of long, straight hair and no shirt—much to the delight of any female who didn’t mind a fully inked torso—mocked the competing stage hogs behind their backs. The bassist found his antics so hilarious that he had to pause a few times to catch his breath from laughing so hard. Melanie doubted she would’ve noticed the nuances of their dynamic from stadium seats, so at least she had something interesting to watch as she tried to convince the guy behind her that her ass was off limits and not designed as a pincushion for his boner.
Near the end of the final song of their set list—the same set list they’d played the night before—the lead singer hopped off the stage and walked the narrow path on the other side of the barrier fence, slapping hands with fans in the front row as he passed them. Nikki used Melanie for leverage so she could stretch her body into Shade’s path. She got a hand on his skintight T-shirt, but was unable to keep her hold as he blazed past. He returned to the stage just as the song ended on a long, wailing guitar note.
“I touched him,” Nikki squealed excitedly and covered her mouth with her rock-god-blessed hand.
“Congratulations,” Melanie said.
“God, I want him.”
“What about the rest of the band? They’re all totally your type.”
“They’re my backup plan, but Shade is the one I really want.” Nikki’s eyes rolled upward, and Melanie suspected she was in the throes of an orgasm. Melanie took a deep breath and shook her head at her friend. What was the appeal?
When the band pretended their set was over and the crowd began to chant for an encore, Nikki started tugging Melanie toward the side of the stage. Melanie accidentally stomped more than one toe in the darkness. She spouted a litany of sorries as she was given no choice but to follow her determined friend, who had an iron grip on her wrist. The crowd was bathed in darkness to excite them for the final song as well as let them know the show wasn’t actually over: Sole Regret’s biggest hit was yet to come. Even Melanie had noticed they hadn’t played “Instigator” and they’d blown the roof off the stadium with their high-energy rock anthem the night before.
Melanie had no idea how Nikki managed to see well enough to slip past security, but they were suddenly free from the crowd and standing next to the stage. They were so going to get caught. Melanie clung to Nikki’s hand, hoping they didn’t get chewed out too severely when one of the distracted security guards noticed them. In the darkness, Nikki managed to find the cute roadie she'd been talking to the night before. Melanie wondered if Nikki was wearing night vision goggles. Her own eyes were still trying to adjust to the lack of illumination after she’d stared up at bright stage lights for almost an hour.
"This is her," Nikki said. She tugged Melanie against her and kissed her on the mouth with heated, seeking lips. It wasn’t one of those you're my bestie and I've had a too much to drink, so I'm feeling affectionate kisses. It was more a we go down on each other, wanna watch kind of kiss. Melanie was too shocked to do anything but breathe. And even that was a struggle.
What the f**k? Was this the ruse Nikki had mentioned?
“Oh yeah,” the cute roadie said when Nikki ended her plundering assault on Melanie’s lips. “That’s totally hot, tater tot.” He reached into the front pocket of his mega-baggie jeans and pulled out a backstage pass on a lanyard. He draped it around Nikki’s neck. “I only have one left.”
