Reckless (Forever 6)

"But I didn’t," I replied. I might’ve occasionally hooked up with hot guys that didn’t have a lot of other redeeming qualities, but I wasn’t going to apologize for liking sex.

"You think he’s worth the danger to your life?"

"For one, you’re overreacting. And two, that’s a stupid question," I scoffed. "Did you see him? I mean, really look at him? Because the answer is obvious."

She sighed deeply. "Through one eye, yes, I saw him. He’s attractive for sure, but not hot enough to throw away your common sense. Please promise me you won’t go. I’m not going back there to save you if you get into trouble."

"You’re acting like my mom," I groaned.

"I’m acting like your friend," she responded, her voice somewhere between gentle and concerned. "This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to help you out from trouble because you got mixed up with some tattooed bad boy that turned out to be from prison."

"That was one time!"

"One time too many."

I sighed. She’d been referring to Danny, a guy I’d met online and ended up dating for a few weeks. Ever the worrywart, Jen had looked up his background and discovered he’d done a year in prison for theft. I understood that a guy having a few blotches in his past kind of came with the ‘bad boy’ territory, but there was a difference between dark and dangerous and just plain dangerous. And that’s where I drew the line.

"Look, I’m pretty sure this guy’s not from prison considering he’s a rock star. Worst he’s probably done is some drugs, which is par for the course for a rocker."

"You’re really intent on becoming a groupie, aren’t you?"

"What? No. That’s not what this is—"

"Then what is it? Don’t tell me you’re expecting to sit down with him over a cup of tea and talk about your mutual interest in music when you’re back there."

I stuck my tongue out at her. "There’s probably going to be sex, sure. But so what? I’m not going to sleep with him just because he’s some semi-famous rocker. It’s not like I get a thrill out of f**king famous people. I don’t even know his name!" I exhaled deeply, regaining composure. "He’s simply an attractive member of the male species who has expressed his interest in me, and I’m attracted to him as well."

She eyed me skeptically.

"Okay," I admitted, looking away. "So it happens that he’s also a rock god. But there’s a difference between being a groupie and being a self-respecting girl deciding to hook up with a guy she’s attracted to."

Jen sighed and put a sympathetic hand on mine. "Rye, you know I’m not trying to clam jam. I’m just concerned about you. I know you like putting on a strong face, but I’ve seen you get torn up over one-night stands in the past, and I don’t want to see you get hurt this time—physically or emotionally."

"Ugh." I knew I wasn’t going to win the argument. I appreciated her concern, but if I’d wanted my mom at the Wallabee telling me what to do, I’d have invited her. "Fine, fine. I promise. I’m not going. Happy now?"

She raised a brow. "You sure?"

"Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure. You’re right, Jen. I have a tendency to get myself into trouble when it comes to hot guys, and I promise not to do it this time." I held up one hand as if swearing an oath.

She studied my expression for a moment, probably waiting to see if I’d crack. Fortunately she wasn’t looking behind my back, otherwise she’d have seen my other hand with fingers crossed. "Good. I’m going to use the restroom and to make sure that my eyeball is still in its socket. Don’t go anywhere, okay?"

I gave her my sweetest smile and nodded. "Okay."

Tapping my toes against the floor, I waited impatiently for her to take her leave. I considered eating a lifesaver while I waited but decided against it because they made me sleepy.

When she finally disappeared around the corner, I left two twenty dollar bills on the counter, told the bartender to keep Jen’s ice pack fresh, and began walking toward the large metal door that led backstage.

Jen was probably right about the danger, but what she didn’t know was that I was already in trouble. With the heated ache between my thighs building to a near-threatening level, I figured my body was in danger either way. And given a choice, I’d rather go out with an orgasmic bang.

***

I tried the handle on the door leading backstage, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked. After knocking a few times without a response, I grew impatient. I figured there would be a security guard watching the door, especially considering the fans’ behavior during the show, but apparently there wasn’t. Or at least he wasn’t at his post.

An idea popped into my head.

Fuck it, I thought. What’s the worst that can happen?

I plucked a hairpin I kept in my purse, inserted it into the lock, and shimmied it until I heard a distinctive click. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thanks, internet research. My lockpicking skills had come in handy before—not just for breaking and entering, but also whenever I lost my keys during a wild night out.

After opening the door and stepping through, I found myself in a quiet corridor with lighting equipment strewn haphazardly along the ground. The place looked so abandoned I practically expected a tumbleweed to roll across the hallway. Had the band left already? Was I too late?

The sound of boots echoed down the hallway, and I gathered it was coming from the far end. Realizing that it was the guard returning to his post from a piss-break, I ran in the opposite direction, grateful that losing my heels earlier made my footsteps near silent. I could’ve waited for the guard to return and explained why I’d picked the lock on the door he’d been protecting, but in an environment where crazy fans wielded broken bottles to stab other people, I worried he’d taze first and ask questions later.

I turned the corner at the end of the hall and nearly ran smack into someone.

"Hey, watch where you’re going!" a female voice said.

Two blonde girls with large chests, pencil-thin waists, and long legs stood idly beside a green door. Both wore matching red dresses with necklines that plunged in a "V" down to their waists, revealing ample side-boob. Then again, maybe I was the one who was dressed inappropriately. My little black dress had been ripped along the hem and one strap was broken, leaving me feeling bedraggled and a little embarrassed. After a moment, I realized that the girls were twins, and they were both shooting me nasty looks.