“How did you wind up in Riverton?” He asked, tilting his head.
“I was just hitchhiking…I think Old Greg was the one to find me. It’s hard to be certain.”
“Old Greg?”
“Yeah…”
I pressed harder in my head, focusing on the memory. My nose got that slight smell of copper that told me I was on the verge of remembering.
“That’s right…” I smiled. “It’s kind of in pieces…but yeah, Old Greg picked me up on the side of the highway and he brought me back to his bar. It must have been late at night…the place was closed when we got there. I don’t remember much else.”
“You weren’t scared?”
“No, that’s the funny thing,” I recalled. “I trusted him. Without even questioning him, really. Something about that old guy just told me that he wasn’t trouble. Maybe I saw something good and pure in his eyes.”
“Do you think you knew him before?” Trent asked, wondering about the connection.
“Nah. I wasn’t anywhere near home when he found me… He was just some lonely old codger who took pity on some stupid wayward kid in the middle of the night.”
Trent didn’t seem too convinced, but he didn’t try to pry.
“Anyway, my head’s starting to hurt…I think this little trip down Memory Lane is kind of taxing me. How about we talk about something else?”
Concern flickered across his face, but he swiftly brushed it aside. I appreciated that – that he cared, and that he cared enough to not try and force me to open up.
“Of course,” Trent smiled, pulling me into his embrace. “We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.”
My hand brushed against the bulge of his cock, and I grinned wickedly up at him.
“I can think of a few things to fill the time…”
“Oh yeah?” He chuckled.
“That’s right,” I whispered, unzipping him. I could already sense heat emanating from the growing bulge, and I lowered my face as I withdrew his thick, mighty weapon…
Trent
We settled into a fun routine over the following few weeks as our band tour finally wound down.
Working on material while Angel slept.
Chatting, eating together during downtime.
Practicing with the band.
Rocking out onstage.
Briefly appearing at the after-parties.
Finally, taking Angel in my bed.
It was the perfect routine. Out on the road, doing what I love, and coming back to the bus with the girl I had slowly turned into my own, private sex fiend.
She might have been a virgin, but she was making up for lost time. Angel loved fucking everywhere she could, burning through my extensive repertoire of sex positions, and just flat out reveling in our contact together.
Which didn’t bother me one bit.
Besides being physically a challenge in the bedroom, she still contested me mentally. She was always trying to pry into my head and figure me out.
For someone who had been stuck in the sticks for as long as she had, Angel had ideas – big ideas...
To my total surprise, she was fun to brainstorm with. I’d sit in the room and write poetry – pretty much the closest you can get to a song when you lack the instrumentals – and I let her read some of it sometimes.
Angel made solid suggestions, and helped me tighten up some of the lyrics. I’d sing a few parts, here and there, and she’d recommend different tones or help guide me a little in the delivery. The girl was a natural.
Sometimes we listened to recorded jam sessions together when a song was coming along. I played a few studio session snippets, singing some of my lyrics over them.
And the feedback she gave?
Golden.
It was fresh… Almost naive. A new take on the sound.
Where did this fucking girl come from?
Of course, I knew that. I’d plucked her out of that place, thinking she was a challenging, hot piece of ass that I couldn’t bear to part with.
Turns out I’d found myself a diamond in the rough. Angel was proving herself incredibly useful in ways I hadn’t even remotely considered.
She held up to her end of things. She was like a ghost to the rest of the band, but I knew she was getting bored. Restless.
That’s how I noticed her penchant for drumming her fingers. I didn’t think much of it at first, but the more that she did it, I realized that she was pretty good at keeping rhythm.
“Do that again,” I asked her one day.
“Hmm?”
“With your fingers.”
“You mean, this?”
She rattled out a slight beat.
“Yeah. Do that again. Faster.”
She did so.
“Do it four times in a row.”
Angel looked at me oddly, but complied.
“You can hold rhythm,” I observed. “And you’re pretty talented at it, from what I can tell…”
“Is that good?”
“It means you might make a decent drummer someday,” I chuckled. “If Dylan ever drops dead on us, that could be useful.”
We were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Yo, we’re refueling for the road,” Terence called out. “You need anything?”
“Come on in,” I called out.
Terence quietly let himself into the room, smiling politely to my girl. “Hiya, Angel. You enjoying yourself?”
“When someone’s here, yeah,” she smiled.
Of course, out of everyone around us who would be even remotely civil about Angel being around, it’s my bassist. I didn’t overlook that fact as I motioned him over.
“Hey man, take a look at this…”
After introducing Terence to her surprisingly rhythmic skills, we took turns giving her instructions for drumming her fingers. I thought better and drug up a pair of pens, and had her rattle out some cadences against a few surfaces.
“Yeah…” Terence nodded thoughtfully. “Your girl’s good. She’ll need training to take it any further than pens on your countertop, but this is actually pretty rad.”
“Yeah,” I thought aloud. “I definitely agree.”
Since we needed to get going, we left her to her devices for the time being. Taking advantage of the pit stop for refueling and supplies before getting back on the road, I took the opportunity to refill the mini-fridge in my room.
I also decided to treat her to a tablet.
She almost didn’t accept it, until I reminded her how much time she’d be alone while I was working with the band on and off the stage. It was a bit of an impulse buy, but I had the cash to blow, and I wanted her happy while I was gone.
Besides. Chances were, she would stop putting out if I didn’t try to make an effort, anyway.
“Well… okay,” She whispered to me after unboxing the device. “But seriously, you didn’t have to do this. I’ve got books and everything, I could probably keep myself fulfilled anyway…”
Angel thanked me later that night with a ton of fantastic sex; it culminated in the most incredible blowjob I’d ever felt.
After that gesture, I felt better about dragging her along and leaving her trapped in my small bus suite. Most of our stops had decent wifi, and with some movies and books on the tablet, she’d have something to occupy herself.
We were on the tail end of our tour. RipFest was just a last-minute addition that sold tickets – lining our earnings during what would have been a brief lull, while taking an already great lineup and making it better.
But that meant that we were tired.
Tired and volatile.
I know that I should have spent a little more time with them, instead of cooped up in the back of the bus with my little Angel, but I hadn’t anticipated that the rest of the band was growing resentful.
“Look who’s here!” Waylon sneered at me when I walked into the practice session one afternoon.
“Sorry I’m late,” I replied. “Lost track of time.”