K. Linde - Take Me for Granted

Grant had given me vague directions on how to get backstage, so I waved good-bye to my friends and walked around to the back of the building. There was a side entrance with a guy standing nearby, absentmindedly texting on his phone. I wasn’t sure if I should check in with him or not. Grant hadn’t mentioned it. I decided to throw caution to the wind and just pretend like I was supposed to be here. I was sure there were going to be other girls backstage. As little as I wanted to look like some groupie whore, it would probably be easier than explaining myself.

The guy barely glanced up at me as he muttered under his breath, “Who are you here with?”

“ContraBand,” I said stiffly.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug.

Top-notch security. Seriously, top-notch.

I walked through the employee-only door to backstage. Grant had been right. This was nothing like being backstage at The League. The room was massive with enough space for a medium-sized theater production. Band equipment was everywhere from drum sets being assembled to keyboards being wheeled into position to several thousand-dollar guitars lying haphazardly across couches. I knew Grant would never treat his baby so carelessly.

Amidst all the chaos of bands, groupies, and staff, I was somehow supposed to find Grant. My eyes roamed the room, but there were simply too many people for me to pick him out. I shot off a text asking him where he was and then started to wander around the room.

I’d made it halfway when I spotted Miller and McAvoy off in a corner. McAvoy was in a short-sleeved shirt showing off the intricate tattoos that ran up his arm and across his chest. He was flipping his drumstick in one hand and smoking. Miller, as usual, was dressed nicer in a clean polo with his brown hair pushed off his face.

“Hey, guys. Have you seen Grant?” I asked as I approached.

They both turned to look at me.

“We thought he was with you,” Miller said.

“Nope. I left a while ago, and he said he’d meet me here. I haven’t heard from him.”

“Strange,” McAvoy said, looking surprisingly with it today.

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be here already. Vin…well, we expected him to be late but not Grant.”

“Try giving him a ring,” I told them. “I’m going to do another sweep, and I’ll meet you back over here.”

I was lost in thought about Grant being late for the band’s assigned meeting time. He wasn’t a forgetful person. What had held him up?

As these thoughts swirled in my head, a hand reached out to stop me. I turned around and shook the guy off of me.

The last thing I would consider myself was someone who got muddled by a pretty face. I’d held Grant off long enough after all. This guy was rough around the edges with a soul-searching look that made want to do what he asked. He…was beautiful. Straight-out-of-a-magazine, model-worthy beautiful. One look in his green eyes told me he knew it, too. Tall, trim but muscular, perfect skin—probably better skin than me—with flawless tousled hair and full lips. A guy like this made me feel flat and dull.

At least I still had my charming personality.

“Can I help you?” I snapped.

“I think you can.” His eyes shifted to my chest.

I’d worn a low-cut top for Grant, and I suddenly felt exposed. “I really don’t think so.”

I started to walk away, and he cut me off. “You are truly striking with the most incredible lips.”

“Is this a walking Little Red Riding Hood joke?”

That startled him. “No joke. You’re beautiful. Did you want to come meet the rest of my band? I’m certain you’ve heard of us.”

Doubtful. “Nope. Just looking for my boyfriend.”

“Perhaps he shouldn’t have left you unattended.”

“What is this? The seventeenth century?”

The guy laughed again and then stuck out his hand. “I’m Donovan Jenkins. I sing lead in The Drift.”

Oh. Well, damn. I actually did know who they were. Worse yet, I actually liked their latest single.

“Ah…so you have heard of us.”

“I think everyone has heard of you. As nice as it is to meet you, I am really just looking for my boyfriend, Grant McDermott.”

“Oh, Grant?” Donovan asked. “Yeah, he’s cool. He’s hanging out with us.”

“What?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Come with me,” Donovan said, slinging an arm across my shoulders.

I shrugged him off again but followed. What would Grant be doing with The Drift?

We rounded a corner, and then Donovan opened a door to a private room. It was like walking into a crowded nightclub. Music was blasting, booze was everywhere, and smoke coated the air, making it nearly impossible to see in the dim lighting. A few girls were dancing on the center table while others were draped across every available space in the room, and a couple was making out in the back corner. I was pretty sure I saw someone snorting a line of coke on the bar.

I coughed to clear the smoke from my lungs, and Donovan closed the door behind me. He draped his arm across my shoulders again, but there wasn’t enough room to wiggle away, and he was already walking us away from the door. I hoped this wasn’t some stunt, and he actually knew Grant, or I was going to be pissed.

Donovan easily maneuvered me through the crowd. Everyone knew him, and people seemed to part like the Red Sea in his wake.

Then, he stopped and whispered in my ear, “That your boy?”

There was Grant—sitting on a couch, drinking whiskey straight out of the bottle, a cigarette hanging between his lips, chatting and laughing with two guys sitting across from him. His arms were resting across the back of the couch, and two girls were cozied up beside him.

One of them I even recognized. Kristin. What the fuck?

“Hey, Grant!”

Disoriented in the smoke-filled room, I glanced up to try to see who had called my name. Jesus fuck, the room is fucking spinning. How much of this did I drink? I glanced at the bottle and saw it was more than half gone. I couldn’t have killed that all by myself.

I slammed the bottle back down on the table, pulled a drag on my cigarette, and then stubbed it out in the ashtray. A girl pulled on my arm, but I shrugged her off and stood. Then, I caught sight of who had spoken—Donovan.

And he had his arm around my girl.

Then, I got a glimpse of Ari. Oh fuck! She looked smoking hot. She was wearing a short fucking skirt that hugged her body, her tits were on full display, and she had on sexy black boots that I wouldn’t mind her just leaving on as I fucked her. Fuck, I’d been inside that.

Why the fuck is Donovan touching my girl?

My anger fueled me forward, and I managed to surge toward them without stumbling. “What the fuck is this?” I growled.

Ari’s eyes smoldered. I knew what that look meant. Even in my haze, I knew that the girl I’d fallen for, the one who had drugged me and then laughed in my face at the suggestion of ever seeing me again, was about to rear her head. My mouthy little thing looked about two seconds away from punching me in the face. Instead of infuriating me, it only fucking turned me on. Is there a dark corner around here?

“Hey, man. I found your girlfriend,” Donovan said the word like he didn’t understand what it meant. And the way his hand slid down her arm to her waist made it seem like he might actually not believe in the word.

I hadn’t believed in that word before Ari. And if he didn’t back the fuck off, I was going to lay his ass on the floor. I didn’t give a shit that his loyal and dedicated fans and bandmates surrounded me. I was going to knock his ass into tomorrow. But I didn’t get a chance because Ari was already squirming away from him.

“Cut it out,” she said, slapping at his hand. “I’m not a groupie. Go grope someone else.”

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into my chest. “Yeah, she’s not a fucking groupie. You lay one more hand on her, and I’ll fucking destroy you.”

The people around us were getting wind of what was happening, and the noise was dying out.

Ari smacked me on the arm. “You don’t touch me either!”

“Princess…”

“Don’t even start that shit with me,” she growled.

“You’ve got a live one, McDermott,” Donovan said.

Ari shot him a death glare, but her anger was really directed at me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Having a good time,” I offered lightly.

Apparently, that had been the wrong answer.

“Having a good time? Because it’s a great time to get wasted and high with a bunch of girls who have probably fucked every guy in the room.”

“Babe, it’s normal to be jealous,” Donovan said with laughter in his voice. “This is just the life.”

“Why don’t you stay out of this?” she asked. She turned back to me. “You left Miller and McAvoy out there without a word right before your set. You’re trashed. How are you supposed to perform?”

I just shook my head. She didn’t need to be laying this shit on me right now. “I’ve fucking performed blitzed out of my mind before.”

“You’re acting like an idiot. You’re not this person. These guys are feeding into your personality, and you’re just sitting idly by and letting it happen.”

“I’m just having a good time, Princess.”

I was starting to get irritated. I wasn’t a child. She didn’t need to lecture me. Why shouldn’t I get to hang out with another band? Another very successful band? I wasn’t ditching my boys. I wasn’t ditching her. I was just meeting new people and getting drunk.