“Whether we play well or not, by the way, we always play well, I’m still going to be banging the best lookin’ piece of ass here,” Royce says between bites of apple. “I don’t see why the guys are so uptight tonight; they know I always share the ladies.”

I roll my eyes. “How considerate of you, but I don’t think they’re worried about pulling in the chicks tonight. They want to do well for the tour.” My clipped tone reflects my own growing nerves. Tonight’s show really is no different than any other we’ve done over the last two years, but it doesn’t make me any less nervous. I know we’ll probably perform well and the crowd will love our sound. What has me on edge is the presence of someone in particular this evening. Tonight is Jen’s first night with us on tour, and I’m all twisted up over it.

“You on edge too, man?” Royce asks. “It wouldn’t be because of a certain little spitfire who will be joining us tonight, is it?”

“She’s a pain in my ass. The only thing I care about in regards to her is she stays out of my way so I can do my job and she does the job she’s being paid to do,” I lie. He has absolutely pegged what I’m all worked up about. A tiny blonde with a sassy mouth and witty comebacks which keep me on my toes is who has me in knots. I would never admit it to him, though.

“Glad to hear that, Thompson. I think with a little extra effort and charm, I can get her to use her camera with me in a not so professional way, if you get my meaning.”

I know for a fact Jen would rather live a life of celibacy before she would ever consider sleeping with Royce. If they were the last two people on Earth, she would allow the human race to go extinct. Nonetheless, a spark of jealousy rises up at the thought of the two of them together. My possessiveness for someone who I’m not even with is why I’m not going to give him the heads up about her disdain for him. It will be much more fun watching the humiliating rejection headed his way.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for any of us to get involved with her. It needs to stay a working relationship, at least until the tour is over,” I lecture, knowing full well he’s not going to follow any bit of the advice I offer.

“Yum, wouldn’t mind a taste of that kind of work,” he responds, using air quotes for the word work.

“You’re such a douche,” I say, picking up an orange off the table and chucking it at him. “How you have even found one woman to sleep with you is beyond me.”

He snags the orange, but briefly fumbles it in his hands before maintaining control of the fruit and tucking it into his side and jumping off the table to model the Heisman stance. “It really is a gift,” he says with a crooked smile, pointing to his member. “Women struggle to resist this tuna tornado.”

I notice Jen in the doorway taking photos of the spectacle, which is Royce. I find humor in the whole situation, but Jen looks offended. Royce has yet to realize he’s being photographed, and has now moved onto humping and spanking the air as though he’s king ding-o-ling.

“Well, hello there, Royce,” Jen coos. Royce’s eyes bolt open and he stills his gyrating. Jen waltzes in, the natural sway of her slender hips causing her baby blue flowing dress to move back and forth, hitting several inches above her knees. It’s not the dress I notice though; it’s the jeweled cowgirl boots which click against the wooden floor. I know she’s the farthest thing from country and her boots are merely for fashion, but good God, do they look sexy on her. So much for me being able to possibly play it cool with her tonight.

She walks past Royce and throws him a present. “I figured you might be in need of some kind of reproductive assistance while I’m with you guys.”

He rips open the gift and immediately his brows pull together as he holds up the gift for me to see. “Lady Sally Inflatable Love Doll,” I blurt out, reading the packaging.

“Yup, the triple hole version,” she adds. “Whenever you feel the need to hit on me, I will kindly direct your attention to old faithful Sally, because these lady parts,” she says while circling her vagina, “want nothing to do with your tornado.”

I burst out laughing which only pisses Royce off more. He throws his leftover apple core at me and begins to walk out of the dressing room. He stops at the door and returns to the table, picking up the inflatable Sally. “Thank you for the gift, Jen. I needed a new floaty for the hotel swimming pool,” he quips and walks out the door toward the stage.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? He really will use that at the Holiday Inn. He’s probably already making plans to make me take him to the store to get a swimsuit so he can bring her along to Water World.” I shake my head, picturing the bikini he’ll pick out and the stares we’ll get when he reserves a lawn chair for her. I’m going to have to start my sabotage immediately.

“He needs to know where I stand with him. Sorry if Sally interrupts the groupie prowl.” She snaps a quick picture of me pissed about the groupie comment and takes off out of the room. “See ya out there, rock star. Good luck tonight.”

Yes, the groupie assumption struck me the wrong way. People always assume since we’re in a band, all of us are willing to fuck anyone who shows an interest in the band. That stereotype might fit the notorious Royce, but I resent the assumption. I don’t sleep around, I don’t use my music to pick up women, and it’s disappointing Jen would think so little of me that she would lump me in with Royce.

I do my best to clear my head before grabbing my guitar and make my way to find the others so we can make our group entrance onto the stage. I need to get out there, feel normal again, and use the music to regroup my emotions. Jen has, once again, made a cluster fuck of my psyche.

Sweat is dripping off of me as I walk off stage. The heat of the house lights was almost unbearable during the show, but the crowd was so energizing, I could have stood on the scorching stage all night. Thankfully, Jen was stealthy during the concert, which enabled me to focus on my playing and not her. Now that we’re finished for the night, the up-close and personal shots have resumed. I quickly find the nearest, cleanest towel to dry the sweat off and head toward the dressing room to load my guitar in its case. The rest of the guys lag behind, but Jen hurries to catch up to me.

“So what do you guys do now?” she asks, taking a picture of me wiping my face of the leftover beads of sweat.

“I’m sure you have your own ideas of how the rest of our night plays out; you want to tag along?” I challenge. Other than Royce, our evenings are extremely tame unless Jen considers a few beers, videos games, movie marathons, and camping trips out of hand. Provoking her is a little more fun than telling her the truth, at least for a while.

I open the door to the dressing room, now sans-food, and leaning against the back wall is the perfect person to assist me in my Jen provocation. Stacy has been an uninvited fixture with the band for the past few months. She’s a sweet girl, it’s just too bad she doesn’t value herself more than a musician’s evening companion. She’s offered the goods repeatedly to everyone, but Royce is the only one who has cashed in the offer—repeatedly.

“Casen, there you are!” she exclaims, her voice reminiscent of one of those chicks from Clueless. My IQ plummets each time she speaks to me. She’s jumping up and down and her tits flail about like they are fighting each other to escape the garment prison she’s trapped them in. I use the term garment loosely. Her double Ds aren’t held in place by a bra, although her tiny shirt looks similar to one. She’s paired it with cutoff jean shorts. The pockets hang down out the front, which suggests if she turns around, we’ll be greeted by Stacy’s butt folds. She runs to me, hopping into my arms and landing a kiss on my cheek. I turn with her in my arms to face Jen and, judging from her expression, I was dead-on with my butt cheek assessment. She’s caught so off guard, it takes her a moment to remember her camera.