Strung Tight (The Road To Rocktoberfest #1) - Ann Lister Page 0,47

feels like, and I swear only another dude knows how to do that,” Dagger said and smirked. “Damn, I get it, but you’ve got to come up with a plan to make it all work. At the moment, the band and your music has to come first. There’s too much riding on this show, and that means Dallas has to be secondary.”

I nodded in agreement. I knew Dagger was right, but I didn’t like it one bit. I was still going to see Dallas tonight, partly because it was already planned, and I felt almost desperate to be with him again. It’d been a few days since he blew me in my bedroom, and we were going to try to hang out in my room again tonight because Mike mentioned he supposedly had a hot date of his own.

“I can’t stop seeing him,” I said to Dagger. “But I’ll let him know that the band has to come first.”

Dagger lightly slapped me on the back of the shoulder. “I know you’ll do the right thing,” he said, “and for the record, I’m not asking you to break it off with him. Just figure out a way to do both with the band being your priority—and that means when you’re here rehearsing, your brain is on the music and nothing else.”

My guys were beginning to filter back into the room to retake their spots on the small mockup stage that Skully and his crew had made for us. Mike was the last one to come back into the rehearsal room, and he stopped beside me.

“Did Dagger help you get things worked out?” Mike asked me.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” I answered him.

“Glad to hear it because we need your brain working on all cylinders to pull off this next gig,” Mike said with a little tightness to his voice. “This is what they call an ‘opportunity of a lifetime.’ We can’t fuck this up.”

“I understand that, and none of us is going to fuck anything up—especially me,” I confirmed. “We’ve worked too fucking hard to get here, Mike. Do you really think I’d do something to jeopardize that?”

“I know the band is your heart and soul, Fletch. I’ve never doubted that, so if this is about being nervous over the size of this show, then work it out. Or I’ll help you work through it. Whatever you need, just let me know.”

“I’m good. I promise,” I said, and to my surprise, Mike wrapped an arm around my neck and pulled me in for a small hug.

I hugged him back and thanked him before we finally stepped away from each other, then took my place on the stage. I inhaled deeply, then draped my Fender guitar around my neck and adjusted the angle of the microphone.

I can do this. I was born to do this, I thought and leaned into the mic.

“Let’s work on ‘Sweet Spot’ again,” I directed. “From the top. Count us in, Mike.”

Mike tapped his drumsticks together, and we were off again on another blazing version of the song Dagger said would be our first hit single. The tune was undoubtedly catchy with heavy guitar riffs and sexually charged lyrics. Mike wrote the lyrics for this one, and the first few times I’d sang it, I could feel my face heating from embarrassment. He’d wrote the song a year ago and told us it was inspired by a stripper he was banging at the time. I believe her stage name was Jasmine Sparkles, and she clearly made an everlasting impression on Mike.

I’m in a . . . sweet spot!

Got the honey dripping from your core.

And I . . . can’t stop!

Watch the nectar as it hits the floor.

From your . . . sweet spot!

Gotta lap it up, like a kitty with a bowl of cream.

From the . . . sweet spot!

Stick it in, it’ll be like willful sin.

When I’m in your . . . sweet spot!

We played for two more hours before Dagger finally dismissed us for the day. He watched us wipe down our instruments and put our things away and then called us over to him like football players going into a huddle to hear the next play from the quarterback.

“As soon as we’re back to LA from Rocktoberfest, I’ll be getting you into the studio to record some of your songs—especially the songs from your show setlist,” he explained. “We need to capitalize on your appearance and get this record online and in the stores ASAP. Once the