To bridle my cock and corral the fantasies.
I started down the hall, only to stall for a beat when I sensed the movement from behind her bedroom door. I was impaled by the need to press my ear to the wood. Get a little closer.
There I went again.
Such a sick, twisted fuck.
Friends.
Before my thoughts went spiraling again, I scrubbed a hand over my face and hit the main stairway, hand riding the curved railing as I bounded down into the mass of bodies that had gathered to celebrate the start of recording Carolina George’s first major-label album.
A welcome to the family, of sorts.
Considering the place was crawling with the faces of Sunder, the band who’d started it all, it left no doubt that’s exactly what this was.
I’d made it about three-quarters of the way down to the main floor when a raucous voice rose above the others. “Ahhh…there he is. About time, brother. Here I thought I was gonna have to step in for you and show these poor assholes how a real man plays bass.”
Ash Evans, Sunder’s bassist, was all cocky smiles as he lifted his arms out to the sides where he stood near the massive island in the kitchen. His wife, Willow, was tucked to his side, and he had his arm slung over her shoulder.
Two of them were awesome. Tied at the hip. Complete opposites yet completing each other in a way that no one else could.
“Pssh…you were just hopin’ I’d up and disappeared so I wouldn’t come in and show up your ass,” I razzed as I ambled the rest of the way into the fray.
He and I had become friends when I’d gotten the opportunity to play with him during Royce and Emily’s wedding back in Dalton.
Might give him shit, but the dude was probably the best bassist that ever lived. Someone I’d looked up to for years. Admired for his art.
Now he was basically in my arena.
A part of my crew.
Blew my small country mind, that was for sure. Fact we’d really made it. That Carolina George was getting ready to step into a greatness that I didn’t think any of us had quite yet grasped.
“You wish, man. We all know who the master is around here,” he said.
“Yeah…me.” I sent him a smirk.
“Cocky son of a bitch,” he grumbled with a laugh as he stepped away from Willow and pulled me into a hug, clapping me on the back. “Good to see ya, man.”
“Obviously.”
Willow giggled as she gave me a quick hug. “Lord…I don’t know which of you two has a bigger head.”
Before Ash had a chance to crack a joke about the size of his head, which he clearly was gettin’ ready to do, she pointed at him. “Don’t you dare go there.”
Ash curled his arms back around her waist and pulled her tight, leaning down so he could nuzzle his face into her throat. “Oh, Peaches, I’m always already there, darlin’.”
Sebastian Stone moved through the crowd and stretched out his hand. “Rhys. How’s it goin’?”
Sebastian, or Baz like everyone called him, was the owner of Stone Industries. The former lead singer of Sunder had retired from the stage in favor of staying close to his family here in Savannah, but he hadn’t wanted to get too far from the music, either.
I shook his hand. “Doubt things get much better than this.”
I sent an indulgent wave over my head because truly this house was out of control. “I might get used to this and start squattin’. You’re going to have to drag my ass out of here to get rid of me.”
He slung an arm over my shoulder, turning me a fraction to look out over the luxury, lifting his drink out to the room like he was offering a gift. “Nah, man…after this album, you’ll be able to afford two or three of these yourself. No squatting required.”
“Don’t tease me, dude.”
“No teasing to it. Carolina George is about to become a household name,” he proclaimed.
Sure, Carolina George had picked up a faithful following through years of touring and paying to have our albums made in back door studios, but I knew it wasn’t close to the stardom we were gettin’ ready to touch.
Was it considered stumbling onto greatness when you’d strived and hungered and clawed your way to the top?
Funny how it lost part of its luster when you kept losing the people you wanted it for most. When the cheers no longer quite touched your ears. When the music no longer quite touched your soul.
My gaze jumped over the faces in the room. Some I knew and others I didn’t recognize.
All of Sunder was there with their wives.
Local friends and family.
The production crew.
Party private but packed.
It wasn’t close to resembling the ragers I was used to, since almost everyone here was married and had families.