Play Mine (Brooklyn Dawn #3) - Cari Quinn Page 0,33

Hell, she didn’t even seem to mind he was covered in sweat. Rather, she grinned up at him with little hearts shooting out of her eyeballs. “I know. Isn’t he awesome?”

Yep, I’d had just about enough of that.

I snagged another beer and headed for the stairs that led to the dressing rooms in the cavernous basement of the venue. Maybe I should have gone with two beers.

Fuck.

Eight

I was surrounded by a bunch of clowns. That they were some of the most accomplished, ass-kicking rockers in the business didn’t change that one bit.

“No, no, I’m serious.” Jamie’s face was remarkably earnest. “I learned on a pickle.”

“I can’t see how that’d help you, unless you’ve been unfortunate in your sexual conquests.”

Lindsey looked up at Nash, sitting beside her in the huge circular booth with his arm slung around her shoulder. He sipped ice water and smirked at Jamie’s oral sex tales. “Why do you encourage her?”

“Entertainment.” He tugged on the end of Lindsey’s shiny blond curls. “What’d you learn on, duchess?”

She elbowed him hard in the gut.

“Why, how dare you?” Jamie fluttered her lashes. “She was saving herself for Jesus before you, Irish. Turns out just wearing black does not make you a man of the cloth.”

“Absolutely not. Osmond wears black often, and he has never taken me to church.” Daisy giggled where she was cuddled into Oz’s side.

“That’s because you like me best not in black.”

“White then? To bring out your angelic side?”

Lindsey shook her head. “Who gave James alcohol? She’s bad enough dry.”

“Oh, I am never dry.” Jamie leaned back in the booth. “The best part was my grandma taught me.”

The music, laughter, and general revelry in the club post-show was loud enough that I wasn’t sure I heard her. I took another sip of my Blue Lagoon—I was only allowing myself two drinks tonight, due to my loose lips when I veered into three territory—and leaned toward her. My top gaped precipitously, and she wiggled her tongue at me as I grabbed for it. “Come again?”

“No coming was involved, High Tea. It was my grandmother. What kind of family do you think we are?”

Michael Shawcross, one of the guitarists in our fellow touring band, Warning Sign, cocked his head. They hadn’t been part of the benefit tonight because they were based in California, but a few of them were in attendance to show their support before we disembarked for Philly next week. “Now this sounds like a story I need to hear. You’re saying your grandmother—”

Lauren grinned. “Taught her how to blow wood, and not instruments.” She was the wife of Warning Sign’s keyboardist West, and one of their occasional keyboardists herself. She shrugged as her husband gave her the look.

I got the same one often for saying inappropriate things, but not from my significant other, since I was as single as a dollar bill.

But I loved being unencumbered. All the time. When I was at a packed table surrounded by couples, I didn’t yearn. No sir. Whee, yeehaw, freedom.

Lies. So many lies. Maybe I’d take a page out of Jamie’s book and dance on a table to forget all the crap today, incredible show aside.

Since my dancing talents came from enthusiasm rather than actual skill, I drank some more. I wasn’t drowning my sorrows tonight, just marinating them a little.

I didn’t know how bad the damage was to my place yet. I didn’t have stuff to stay at Cooper’s, other than the bag of clothes and toiletries I’d left on the bus, which Cole had retrieved for me. Most of the stuff was dirty, so yay, laundry once we got back to his place after this. And of course, only two bras in my bag because I’d ditched several on the last leg of the tour.

What could I say? Extreme bouncing on stage wore out support fast.

“You guys have dirty minds. It’s not like Gran Zelda told me to suck on the pickle a certain way. But she cut the spears lengthwise and just Hoovered them down.”

“I’m beginning to think the fact that this band has never crossed streams is a very good thing.” Zane popped a fried pickle from the appetizer tray in his mouth, making everyone laugh. Including Jamie.

Suddenly, she stood up and hoisted her drink high. “Let’s do a toast.”

Everyone rose, because sitting when Jamie commanded everyone to toast was a recipe for getting roasted for being old or slow or something much, much worse.

“To being friends. To making kickass music. To being stronger than