Moonlight & Whiskey Page 5

  On the street below, naked asses appeared; fuzzy and un-fuzzy, dark and light, a couple with a peep of balls from behind. All the while, Kat stood behind me taking panoramas with her smartphone, along with other women in the crowd.

  “This is so epic.” She smiled. I took my jacket and bra from between her knees.

  There were hundreds of beads on the ground around us; and when the dicks had come out; women began throwing them, too.

  Yeah. It was pretty damn epic.

  Chapter 5

  After the peep show, we grabbed a taxi back to The Crescent to drop off my haul, then cut over to Frenchman Street. Strolling along, listening to music floating out onto the sidewalk, I heard the distinct heavy riffs of hard rock spilling from the mouth of an alley. We stopped in front of a windowless blue door with a neon sign hung above. A full yellow moon and a pair of fishnet-clad legs dangling below. Underneath, the bar name was written in blue neon.

  “Whiskey Moon.” I said, raising a brow as a heavily tattooed guy with an ear gauge pulled the door open and a killer drum solo pounded against my chest.

  Kat smiled. “Shall we?”

  Whiskey Moon was one room, three times longer than it was wide, with a stage and lighting rigs at the far end. Lights around the entrance shone against cool gray walls covered in framed pictures of some of my favorite bands: Dropkick Murphys, Three Days Grace, Seether, Avenged Sevenfold, and more, playing on the very stage at the back of the room.

  “Let’s get a drink,” Kat bellowed over the music. We picked our way through the crowd to a diamond-plated bar front that ran the length of one wall. Leaning my forearms on the hammered-copper top, I waited to catch the bartender’s eye and looked over the bottles of liquor lining the antiqued mirror boasting the same logo as the sign outside.

  Finally, a blond woman with a mohawk stopped with a questioning look.

  “Goose and cranberry on the rocks, and Jameson, neat.” It didn’t take long to get our lowballs and I handed Kat the vodka.

  “Booth?” I yelled, and motioned to one of the crescent-shaped booths against the opposite wall as a group slid out.

  She shook her head. “These guys are good. You wanna get down front?”

  I nodded and we started pushing into the mass of bodies hovering near the stage. The music was hard-hitting and the lead vocalist had an edge and rasp to his deep bass that reminded me of a combination of Sully Erna and James Hetfield—deep with a hellish grating—yet rich and full in the lower register like Chris Cornell. That voice…vibrations set off through me like I’d straddled a Harley. Powerful and exhilarating, in a way that makes you think of sex.

  We found a small clearing left of center and pushed between two men who were at least six inches taller than Kat, but with a flirtatious smile from her, they closed ranks behind us. The band’s sound was heavy and entrancing, but with real heart at the core. Complex. In a way that touched the soul. I craned my neck, trying to get a glimpse of the singer. That voice sent shivers along my spine—but he was on the far side, blocked by the lead guitarist.

  And man, was he easy on the eyes. Kat couldn’t look away.

  He wore a tattered, sleeveless T-shirt that exposed glimpses of a long, well-defined torso, a tattoo of some lengthy phrase written over his rib cage. Platinum blond hair stood up in the sweep of a mohawk, the sides lying flat with soft new growth, and that face….Strong blond brows drew together over indeterminate blue eyes that watched his fingers fly over the fretboard while high, sharp cheekbones beaded with sweat. His jaw was sharp and clean. Bee-stung lips that should have been too feminine for his face lent a softness otherwise absent.

  This guy was the handsome Faerie Prince in romance novels of late—masculine, with an ethereal beauty that was nearly absurd. He was a hell of a guitarist, too, coaxing unearthly sounds, and strings of ungodly quick notes from a black and white Les Paul Scorpion.

  As the bass player and lead guitarist switched sides of the stage, I managed a glimpse of the singer’s back. With an ESP LTD slung over his ass, he leaned toward the crowd and belted the bridge in his raw, ragged bass. Shirtless and damp with sweat, with shoulders like a fighter, he was every bit as muscled as one, too.

  An enormous tattoo exaggerated his V-shaped back. Intricately detailed bat wings covered him from shoulder to waist and side to side. The bone structure was dense black, heavy and menacing, as if the ink had weight; yet, the gray shading appeared buttery soft and utterly elegant. In some places, nearly transparent. As a black light rig swept over him, white highlights jumped out, creating the illusion of movement where there was none. It was dark and beautiful. Magnificent.

  He turned to center stage and put his mic in the stand, swung the ESP around, and joined the band as rhythm guitar. Head slung forward to watch his fingering, he settled into the beat on his axe. It was the short, dark stubble on his head that clicked first. I glanced at the hands, spotted the silver thumb ring, the forearm tattoos.

  My mouth fell open on a sharp inhale as I grabbed Kat’s arm.

  “What?” She turned, following my gaze. Her smile was colossal as he looked up and belted the chorus with sweat running down his face.

  Jesus, Declan was even hotter onstage.

  His broad chest had a fine smattering of short black hair that ran down a sculpted torso and into black pants slung low on his hips. Ribs shifted and muscles strained under sweat-sheened skin as his eyes skimmed the crowd. Defined arms and shoulders moved and flexed as he played. Combined with that rumbling voice, Declan was wholly spellbinding.

  “Gravity” was the word. He had gravity, that drew me with no less force than the moon exerts on the tides.

  Kat nudged me mouthed, “Superhot.”

  Yeah, no shit. A deprived ache grew out of control low in my belly as heat spread through my veins, over my skin. Through all of my lady bits.

  The music ended to applause, hoots, and whistles, and he thanked the crowd before the band left the stage. The lights came up. I blinked in rapid succession, my eyes trying to adjust and my head trying to wrap around what I’d seen. I was vaguely aware of Band of Skulls coming through the sound system.

  “You okay?” Kat asked, an amused look on her face. “Your eyes are as big as your boobs.”

  “Holy…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Avery, you’re nippin’ out.” She pointed to my chest, enjoying herself massively. I pulled my jacket closed, tried to clear my throat. “Let’s grab a table.”

  “ ’Kay.”

  “They’re really good, and that guitarist is fucking hot. He got the panties all steamy.” She sipped, swallowed. “I could definitely bang that.” Kat was feeling the vodka. The more she drank, the more she used words like “fuck” and “bang.” I was feeling the liquor a bit, too. And I could sooo sympathize with her steamy panties.

  Looked like Declan had a “gig” to get to after all. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, unable to hold still as I polished off my drink.

  A strange hand landed on Kat’s shoulder, startling her and drawing my attention. “Tell me, is heaven missing an angel tonight?” A smooth tenor threw out the cheesy line and Kat and I both rolled our eyes.

  “That would be hell missing a demon,” I mumbled, drawing a snort from her.

  “Can I buy you a drink, beautiful?” This guy…he was the epitome of a Ken doll trying to pass for a weekend biker. His buddy shuffled up beside him, giving me a nod and a quick wink. Posers.

  “No, thank you.” Kat slipped to the side enough to get out from under his palm.

  One of his hands came down on the table in front of her, the other landed on the back of her chair as he tried to whisper in her ear and Kat attempted to back away.

  His buddy, Douche Two, moved into my line of sight, cutting me off from my friend. Not cool. I met beady eyes that drilled into mine. “Hey, darlin’. How are you tonigh
t?”

  Without breaking eye contact with Douche Two, I raised my voice and spoke to Douche One. “Didn’t your mother tell you it’s not nice to put your hands on strange women?”

  His eyes drew up to mine as he stood to his full height. “Ah, so this is your muscle?” he directed to Kat, then turned to me. “You know, we saw you two earlier tonight. On Bourbon Street? Of course, you wouldn’t recognize us because you had your shirt over your head.” He smirked, I’m sure thinking his words would coy me. Douche Two chuckled and put a palm on the back of my chair.

  “Look, dude, she’s not interested. Why don’t you two go find a couple of girls who are?”

  “She can tell me that for herself.”

  “I’m not interested.” Kat’s voice came out with an angry edge.

  Douche One’s lips thinned, eyebrows pulling together. “You know, you’ve got a mouth on you. Great tits, too. Of course, tits that big never grow naturally on the women that look like your friend.” He tipped his chin at Kat. Great. He didn’t take rejection well. Mommy must have coddled him too much. “It’s a shame really, that all the big homegrown tits end up on the chubby chicks like you, because no way am I a fuckin’ chubby-chaser. Now, Jimmy…” He nodded at Douche Two, who licked his lips with a nauseating grin. “Fat chicks are definitely his kink.”

  Fucking insecure cunt. My spine hardened, my eyes meeting his directly, the words perched on the tip of my tongue as I prepared to fire back.

  “Avery.” Kat’s voice stopped me as my lips opened. “I need a twist.”

  Kat and I had been friends for a long time. We’d handled our share of assholes who couldn’t take no for an answer. More than a few had been as insulting as these two. After the first couple, we’d developed a three-part code for how to handle assholes when they didn’t back off.

  “With a splash” was code for a drink to the face. “On the rocks?” A knee to the balls. Generally, whoever was closest delivered the punishment. Only one other time had we experienced the joy of serving it up to two men at once.

  “A twist? One or two?”

  “Two. For my drink.” Her eyes sparked with evil intent.

  “Two twists coming up.”

  With no hesitation, each of us shot out an open palm grabbing the Douche brothers by the balls with a rough grip. Douche One squeaked like a dog toy in the jaws of a pit bull. His buddy inhaled sharply, eyes going wide, then excitement trickled into his gaze. Jesus. Chubby-chasing wasn’t his only kink. I squeezed harder, twisted a little, and the look fled.

  Kat purred, “Isn’t this what you wanted, baby? For me to fondle your junk?”

  A thundering chuckle sliced through the air behind me. The band’s humongous bass player, still damp with sweat, arms threatening to rip his shirtsleeves. He towered over the Douche brothers. Both assholes looked at the mountain of a man. “Let ’em go, ladies. They were leaving, weren’t you, fellas?” Both men nodded quickly.

  Slowly, Kat and I let go, but not before she tightened her long fingers again and Douche One made his squeak toy noise. We laughed as they hauled ass for the exit and I turned to thank the big guy for the assist, but he was already on his way to the bar, where Declan and the guitar player that Kat was drooling over had turned up and were now occupying barstools while fending off women.

  Gaze following mine, Kat openly ogled the blond guitarist while I tried to focus anywhere but Declan’s back. “Damn, look at that ass, Avery. I’m gonna go talk to him.” She was completely confident as she stood. “You’re coming, too.”

  “No, not this time. You go ahead.”

  “Yes.” She shot me a look.

  I shook my head. I wish I could explain it to her. It had been a roller coaster of a night on my ego. First Declan and his flirting, followed by a brush-off. Then feeling so damn empowered flashing the crowd, and now this little scene.

  I knew those guys were assholes, but still, being told I was fat to my face? Kat wasn’t model thin anymore either, but Kat was Kat and I was still the Ashley Graham next to Tyra Banks. No, I wasn’t feeling the best about myself. As much as it was in my nature to fight back, I still felt the sting. Though I’d always been good at hiding it, it fucking hurt when people treated me that way—like Kat’s DUFF—only attractive as someone’s kink.

  “You’re going to talk to him.” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet.

  “God.” I pulled loose. “Is it Shark Week already? I’m not in the mood, Kat. Let go.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “You want to screw that man. Badly. Till neither one of you can walk straight and your vagina screams for a reprieve. You’re going to at least speak to him, Avery,” she said, overly loud. “Are you seriously gonna let those two fucksticks kill your mojo?”

  “A little louder, Kat. I don’t think the sound guy heard you.”

  “Yep,” a random dude said next to my ear as he passed behind me. I rolled my eyes and they landed on the bar, where groupie girls clamored for the band’s attention.

  “Look at them.” I tilted my chin at the groupies.

  She shook her head.

  “What?”

  “Where are your balls, Avery? He said he had a gig to get to and he did!”

  “I flashed at least a hundred people tonight. I know where my balls are.” Damn her. She knew exactly which button to push. Kat wasn’t going to let me sit and lick my wounds and I fucking hated that she was right. Was I going to let a couple of jerks determine my self-worth? I had to stop letting people like that get to me. Time for a little “fake it till you make it.”

  Kat cocked a hip, crossed her arms.

  I squared my shoulders. “I’ll talk to him. Don’t push, though, okay? Let me find my own in.”

  “You got it.” She smiled, turned, and strutted directly through the fangirls like they weren’t there. The guitar player’s eyes caught on her, and the other women ceased to exist.

  “That’s quite a show y’all put on. Are you guys the house band?” She flashed her dazzling smile and leaned on the bar, cutting him off from the other women, which wasn’t necessary. She had his undivided attention.

  “Kinda, but we do other gigs now and then.”

  “I’m Kat.”

  “Jamie.”

  Declan was holding down a barstool a couple of seats away, with “fuck off” vibes bouncing off his shoulders in waves as he nursed a drink, forearms on the bar. Between him and Kat, the scantily clad groupies began to wander off.

  “ ‘Kat’ short for something?”

  “Katia.” She grabbed my elbow and pulled. “This is Avery.”

  Jamie pulled his eyes from her. “Hey, you enjoy the show?” My breath caught when his cornflower blue gaze met mine with a quick wink.

  “We only caught the end, but yeah, you guys are great. Looks like you’ve got a pretty big following, too.” I pointed at the half-dressed girls limping away.

  He rolled his eyes. “So where are you two from?”

  I listened to them flirt while a plan formed in my head. I couldn’t just stand there all night hoping Declan would notice me. I needed to prove something to myself. Time to nut up.

  I watched him from behind, waiting for him to lift his drink, and as he put the glass to his lips, I shouldered him in the back. Dark liquor splashed on the bar in front of him.

  “What the—” He swiped his T-shirt as he kicked his stool back and turned on me with a dangerous scowl.

  “We’ll call it payback.” I let a slow smile play over my lips.

  The scowl softened; his eyes warmed. Hands on his hips, he looked down at the wet spot on his shirt and turned hooded eyes on me with a sinful smirk.

  “Well, if it isn’t bust-my-balls Avery.” His voice poured over me like whiskey down my throat, burning me from the inside out. Green eyes roamed o
ver me lazily, lingered at my chest, my hips, and then back up to my face. “Looks like you found trouble after all.” He swiped a hand up the back of his head.

  “Oh, I’d say trouble found you.”

  He tilted his head to the side, gaze flashing with the heat I’d seen earlier. “I wondered if you’d find your way here.”

  “We wandered in, but it’s pretty great. The band isn’t too shabby either.” I winked while doing a body-roll in my head—I was flirting and doing it well. Hell, maybe it was the talking rum.

  He chuckled and the hair on my arms stood up. “Still bustin’ my balls. Looks like Jamie’s into her.” He nodded at our friends.

  “All men are into Kat.”

  Emerald green eyes cut back to me, and the scent of whiskey mingled with clean male sweat became a potent combo. “I’m not into Kat.” The intention was unmistakable. His brow lifted with a hint of challenge and my nipples pearled, chaffed at the fabric of my bra as he let a slow grin creep over his face.

  My thigh muscles tightened, my center rubbing together with a tortured ache. Declan was definitely flirting back.

  “You cold?”

  “No. Why?” Shit, can he see my nipples?

  “You’ve got goose bumps on your arms.” He skimmed a finger over my forearm. I jolted and he bit down on his lip. “So, you owe me a drink, Avery.” He said my name as if it was the most important word in the sentence and he savored it in his mouth. Wrapping a muscled arm around my waist, Declan ushered me to his empty stool. When his warm palm splayed across my lower back, I fumbled for purchase, the ache in my belly growing more depraved as chills raced up my spine.

  I was in so much trouble.

  “I guess I do.” I caught the bartender’s eye and she started working toward me as I savored the feel of Declan’s body heat close to my back. I struggled not to arch, to feel him pressed up against me while I rode that jolt of whatever it was each time he touched me.