Page 66 of Shame Me
Having him curled up next to me now in the bus brought all those memories flooding back, but we couldn’t have sex here and now—and we really did need to sleep. Uncomfortable, though, I was having a difficult time, so I grabbed my phone and started looking at the itinerary I’d saved on there. We’d be in some of the same cities we’d been on during our first tour, sometimes in the very same venue. This time, however, we would be performingin thirty-one shows instead of sixteen in six and a half weeks instead of four.
“Go to sleep, babe,” Zack said.
“I can’t.”
“You’re making it hard formeto sleep.”
He was right, of course, but it irritated me anyway. “Fine. I’ll sleep inmyseat.” With that, I picked up my pillow and blanket and moved to the empty seat in front of Zack.
Still, it was hard to drift off. The seats weren’t made to substitute for beds and, even though the pillow helped, I had a difficult time falling into a deep sleep—and there were a couple of times the bus stopped to gas up that didn’t help. When we stopped at a gas station, some of us would get up to use the restroom and, by the time we returned to the bus, we had to struggle to fall asleep all over again.
Despite a lack of sleep, by the time we arrived in Salt Lake City in the early afternoon, I was excited. I felt like somehow this leg of the tour would right all the wrongs of the first one—less wasted money and time and more exposure to eager fans.
While we waited to get on stage, Cy said, “Who’d a thought a bunch of conservative Mormons would like listening to our shit?”
“All that repression, man,” Zack said. “It’s gotta come out somewhere. I’m glad we can help.”
Braden said, “That’s such a stereotype. Not all these guys are Mormons. There are other people who live here too, you know.”
Cy just rolled his eyes and shook his head as if Braden had missed the joke. But I was on Braden’s side—Cy had seemed completely serious.
The energy that night was undeniable. I didn’t know if it was because of Name of My Killer’s fan base, the location, or just the fact that we were actually excited to be performing again, but all four of us were smiling onstage, having a hell of a good time.From my perspective at the back of the stage, it was fun watching the guys, especially when they did synchronized headbanging to the beat of my drums.
We were a real fucking band, and it was moments like these where I saw it clearly.
At the end of our show and breakdown, I was grateful that I hadn’t pushed for a smaller road crew this time to save money—because a leaner crew would have meant we’d need to help.
And Zack had been so damned sexy on stage, I wanted to touch him right after. Fortunately, he felt the same way. When he knocked on my door, I grabbed his hand to pull him inside. He said, “Nope. Come with me.”
Then when? I needed to feel him inside menow, and I didn’t plan to have sex with him in a truck stop shower stall when we got back on the road. But I definitely wanted to shower and had no idea when I’d get to do it. Mick had it all mapped out but, for now, Zack had other plans for us.
As he led me outside, I caught a glimpse of his face under the glow of the lights—grinning, looking reckless, no doubt fueled by the intensity of an amazing first show. That expression reminded me of when we’d been in high school, when he’d seemed far more innocent than today.
And it wrung my heart.
I loved that Zack of old, and I loved this Zack now…and both needed me. I needed to rescue the old Zack, help him re-emerge to save this version who seemed hell-bent on killing himself.
Pulling me by the hand, Zack led me to our bus, parked next to the monstrousrealbus that had Name of My Killer’s logo on the side. It dwarfed ours, giving us a glimpse of what our future might be like. They also had a smaller van that housed all their equipment.
I had no doubt they had a shower on that bus.
Outside, though, it was cold—but I was still so hot, the cool air felt good.
Inside the bus was a little warmer, and Zack pulled me to the back where it was darker. It was so quiet in there and the only things I could smell were vinyl, leather, and a faint odor of diesel. Zack sat in his usual seat and brought me with him…that same seat that had been so uncomfortable, we hadn’t been able to sleep together earlier that day.
But now I didn’t care. Even though the space was cramped, I wanted him as much as he wanted me—and I’d barely sat down before his lips crashed into mine, messy and raw. When I touched his chest, I could feel the damp sweat on his t-shirt, cooling off now that we were away from the hot stage lights.
He pulled my shirt up, fondling one of my breasts as he kissed me, and I fumbled with the belt looped through his jeans. Once again, I imagined him on stage, now a rock god fueling the fantasies of all our female fans, and he was mine—here and now.
Only mine.
Just as I touched his dick, I heard loud voices outside—and realized they sounded familiar.
It was our road crew.
Shit. Were they getting ready to board the bus? “Zack?”
But he didn’t listen. Instead, he pulled me onto his lap so that my back was against the side of the bus, my head hitting the window. Then he wound around himself so that he was hovering over me as he unzipped my pants.
