“So this band is called what?” Kareena wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

“The Devil’s Rejects.”

“And we’re going to hear them because they’re—what—the band most likely to make my mom have heart failure?”

“And your dad too.” Lacey grinned. “That and the fact that they’re supposed to be shit-hot. It’s an all-round result.”

The parking lot to the Brewhaus was studded with potholes and several of the neon letters had blinked out, rendering it the ‘rewha’. Cars had filled it up, however, despite the run-down outer appearance of the venue. Music fit to rip the night apart was sounding from inside. Kareena’s trepidation was matched by her excitement. It poured out through the door and consumed her senses when they entered the shack.

Inside the light was murky-yellow and rock was driving hard. The bar’s atmosphere was electric like the searing guitar being played at the other end of the dingy room. Some of the drinkers were shouting above the noise, but most had given up or were actively enjoying the lead guitarist’s jagged assault on their ears.

“We need some of that brew!” Lacey called over the noise, and Kareena watched as the girl wriggled her lithe form past several uncomplaining guys at the bar.

Small wonder Kareena’s parents didn’t like her spending too much time in the company of her sexy cousin. “That one would lead our girl into all kinds of trouble given a chance,” she’d once overheard her Dad to say, as he’d sounded forth on his sister-in-law’s parenting skills. “Kareena’s a good girl, but she looks up to that one way too much.”

“It’s my damned sister’s influence,” her Mom had sighed. There was an edge to her voice—the resentment of a woman who’d spent her life trying to prove you could take the trailer park out of the girl. The behaviour of Kareena’s aunt suggested differently, and her daughter had long been considered a malign influence by both her parents.

If they could have seen their niece’s progress as she sidled past the Brewhaus’ grungy clientele in that clinging black vest, his worst fears would have been rubber-stamped. The manoeuvre got Lacey swift service, that was for sure.

They’d have been unimpressed with the on-stage entertainment too, with or without the band’s devilish moniker. It wasn’t that her folks were wildly religious, but they did have a suburban sense of decorum, which these Rejects would have stomped into the dirt. The bar had a fervid atmosphere that spring evening and it was drenching the long-haired performers in their own sweat. The crowd, a raucous mix of teens and young adults, couples and rowdy flirty singles, were responding physically to the music’s driving engine, shedding early evening reserve and getting into its rhythms.

Kareena had that all-too-familiar sense of alienation from it all and was glad when Lacey pushed the bottled beer into her hand. She swigged in hope of some swift alcoholic relief from her social unease. As the beer cooled her throat, she noticed that her cousin had brought back two drinks apiece.

“Courtesy of a new friend we made,” she said, smiling back at some unshaven older guys in baseball caps.

“You made,” Kareena said, laughing nervously. “Those guys are all yours and good luck.”

“Share and share alike,” Lacey said as she clanked one of her bottles against Kareena’s. “We’re gonna have fun tonight, I’ll see to it. Nothing else is allowed.” They both downed a couple more slugs, then Lacey’s face set with resolve. “C’mon, let’s get to the front. These guys are fucking hot.”

“What, already? We only just got here.”

“Yeah, and we’re late. We’ve got catching up to do. Don’t waste this.” She indicated the outfit on which she’d advised Kareena. “C’mon, you’re gonna shake it for the band.”

She drained one of her bottles, set it aside and seized Kareena by the arm. There was no fighting her cousin when the party spirit had taken the girl. She allowed herself to be led through the melee to the sweating back of the bar, where The Devil’s Rejects were bringing one song to a crashing finish. The crowd, which included a scattering of dancing t-shirted girls, cheered their approval.

“I’m feeling the love, Springfield, Illinois!” the lead singer yelled as the crowd noise intensified. His accent was—what—Australian? English? “This is the title track of our new album—CD copies available after the gig for the laughable price of five dollars …”

“Laughable,” the lead guitarist reiterated, shaking his head, and there was something in his attitude as he said it that made Kareena laugh.

“Absolutely,” the singer said. Kareena was sure now he was English. “This is Halcyon Days!”

Everyone cheered again, however well or otherwise they knew the song, and they both dived into a jagged intro on their guitars before the lead guy cut loose with a series of high-pitched screams from the frets. The music was immediate and captivating, more so because Kareena knew her parents would hate it, along with knowledge of her presence in this dive of a bar. It was guilty and reckless, but fun too. She wasn’t quite sure what they were singing—something about kicking up back-streets looking for action—but they sang it with such passion that she loved it. Passion appealed, more so when projected by such attractive artists.

The singer was lean and would have been clean-cut in his good looks had it not been for the great wavy mane of black hair and his raggedy black t-shirt. Kareena liked him instantly, but was also drawn by the lead guitarist. Maybe it was the latter’s virtuosity on his instrument, maybe the unpretentious way he went about playing it. Or maybe it was that rock-hewn sweaty torso so much of which was on display under his scant leather waistcoat.God, look at those tattoos. How much must it have hurt to get them done? His long hair was tied back to show off that sweating angular face—not as straightforwardly handsome as the singer’s, but appealing in a harder, more masculine way.

The other band members were good too. Kareena’s understanding of rock music was limited, but she knew this group of guys worked well together. The shaven-headed bassist had his head down, exhibiting an almost grim focus, and the drummer was having a ball. The youngest of the group, he was a fresh-faced guy of around Kareena’s age with blond hair and an attitude that he was simply glad to be there with these other talented players. His joy was apparent in every thrashing blow he applied with his sticks.

The hard sexiness of the music was infectious. Lacey was dancing already, writhing her bottom shamelessly—and directly in front of the band members. She’d knotted her vest around her stomach to show off her slim-fitted jeans to best effect, one which was not lost on the musicians. Kareena’s similar outfit daunted her at first. Like Lacey, her plaid shirt was knotted at her tummy; the absence of a belly-button piercing was the sole source of contrast between them. The denim skirt, her cousin’s present on her nineteenth birthday, was skirting her thighs and clinging to her ass like a second skin. It was hardly a surprise, then, that her hard-wired reserve plagued her as she danced.

“Unbutton some more,” Lacey had urged when the taxi dropped them off, and Kareena was thankful that she’d resisted all prompting to show off further cleavage. With two of the band members feet away and looking down from a raised platform as they played, it was comforting to know they couldn’t see right down between her breasts. She was sure she caught the lead guitar guy trying it on a couple of occasions; it distracted her as she attempted a sedate version of Lacey’s moves.

“So, which one do you want?” her dark-haired cousin inquired in her ear.

“What?”

“These two.” Lacey gazed up with no hint of discretion at lead singer and guitarist as they harmonized on a refrain. “I talked you into coming here, so it’s only fair you get to choose.” The girl was kidding, right? She was merely adding a little more provocation to the evening. “I can’t have both,” Lacey said with a follow-up smirk. “Well I could, but I’m not gonna be greedy. So tell me, which?”

The main singer, Kareena might have expected herself to say if playing her cousin’s game, but strangely the crazy guitarist guy was what sprang into her mind that evening. Not my type came hard on the heels of the first thought, but there was something so damn magnetic about him that all her notions of ‘type’ seemed blown apart. Ultimately she said “Why not let them decide?” even if it was a bit of a side-step.

“They might both choose you with how damn hot you look tonight,” her cousin said, and Kareena’s head spun at the thought of fending off so much masculine delight. She threw herself into her dancing, trying not to appear reticent while wearing such a skimpy get-up, yet looking away sharply any time a band member caught her eye. Lacey had a way of putting thoughts into her head that scared her.

Just because she’s L’il Miss Trouble, she wants me to be the same. But Kareena hadn’t put up much of a fight in coming along to a shady shack like the Brewhaus, or in dressing to match her cousin for sluttiness. Nor did she feel like complaining about their proximity to these sweaty musicians as the guys thrashed their instruments.

Lacey’s body was a sinuous river as she crossed her wrists above her head and shook her ass for the band. The girl’s raven-dark hair was flicking around her face and shoulders, her lip-biting look of concentration an enormous come-on. Kareena tried to ignore it and dance like the music was recorded, but she couldn’t shake the knowledge—that these were real guys mere feet away and her naughty best friend was intent on making a very personal connection.

Shake it, girlfriend! Lacey’s glance was unmistakable in its meaning and something in the music insisted that she take the cue. So she swayed her ass in her little skirt, not quite daring to turn about and proffer it to these Devil’s Rejects, thanking the Lord that her well-developed bosom was grasped tight within the plaid. Check me out—I’m sexy-shmexy, like she is! Her sandy-blond hair brushed her neck as she danced, and the moment claimed her so fully that she began to match the moves of her dance-partner. They were laughing together and bumping asses, shaking it shamelessly, to the obvious enjoyment of the band.

The song crashed to a finish and both she and Lacey clapped and cheered. For a moment Kareena actively soaked up glances from both singer and guitarist along with her cousin.

Then the English front-man asked his lead guitar player, “Dedication time—who’s it going to be?”

“Gotta be the hot sisters,” Mr. Lean-and-Brawny rock guitarist replied, aiming two devilish digits at Lacey and Kareena. “They’re workin’ it harder than we are!”

“Hot sisters it is. This one’s all for you, girls!”

The crowd cheered and Kareena sensed the blush creeping up her neck as the guys launched themselves into a new raucous wave of music. Hot sisters? Whatever. All she could do was laugh and clap and dance along with Lacey, and try to ignore the pissed-off stares from several other girls in front of the stage.

Oh my God, they think we’re a couple of … of groupies!

The thought appalled then amused her. Then she saw Lacey’s gratified smile and achieved ‘appalled’ all over again. They want us, those crinkling lips were saying, and her cousin’s intentions were clear. So were those of the band, if their lyrics were to be taken at face value.

“If you can take it, I can give it. You needn’t fake it, come on and live it … Good-time girl …”

Kareena wasn’t sure whether or not the words made sense, but the spirit behind them was unambiguous. Thank God she and Lacey were far enough out of town that she needn’t worry about being recognised. It’s a game, that’s all, she told herself, as she gyrated in response to the Rejects’ raunchy sentiments. Lead singer and guitarist were grinning to each other, combining voices on the refrain—“Live in this moment … Get it on, good-time girl.” Then the lead guitarist, the guy that was so not-her-type, turned his grin on Kareena, and her stomach flipped.

He transformed in that moment and in doing so, he transformed her as well. He was still every inch the hard-edged rocker; yet there was something so innately likeable in that smile that she returned it enthusiastically. Then she looked away, smitten shy and blushing so she felt it all over her body. I know you’re as scared as you’re sexy, his look had said, and that’s okay. Or maybe she was making that up. For the rest of the set, at any rate, she was dancing for him—hoping he wouldn’t grant that look to anyone else, craving another glance like it. Fleetingly it occurred to her to undo a shirt-button, but that would have been a step too far. She was simply playing, after all, not serving it up on a plate like her companion.

When the guys completed their final song and the bar applauded, she clapped along, with Lacey jumping and whooping beside her. But applause gave way to a vacuum with no more music to fill it. She was perspiration-slick and exposed before guys with no further songs to sing, unable to meet anyone’s eye.

“Let’s go get a drink,” she said to her cousin, desperate to get away.

Lacey was having none of it. She was fixed on the guys as they set down their instruments and chugged beers they’d set stage-side. The lead singer, Kareena realised, was eyeballing the girl in return.

“You are sisters, right?”

“Maybe in some kinky fantasy of yours,” Lacey replied. “Cousins.”

“Close enough. Kissing cousins?”

“There you go again. Maybe that’s what cousins do where you come from.”

“We get up to all sorts of things where I come from. I could tell you stories …”

Kareena could sense that some understanding had already been reached between Lacey and this guy. She was also aware of bitchy female glances from the side-lines and wanted out of the place urgently. The he entered the conversation, mopping himself with a towel. “Where the hell’s all your Brit courtesy, Max? Are we gonna get these girls a drink?” He shot Kareena the same smile as before and she returned a more faltering version.

“You’re right,” the long-haired singer said. “My bad. Why don’t I go with …”

“Lacey,” Kareena’s cousin said on cue.

“Why don’t I go with Lacey and get some more beers in?”

Both girls still had a bottle in hand, but that, Kareena realised with a flash of panic, was scarcely the point. “Good call, buddy,” the guitarist said. “Then I can get to know Miss Shy-but-Sexy a bit better.”

“Looks like they’ve decided for us,” Lacey sang in Kareena’s ear, as Max took her away. The girl’s look was positively glowing.

Kareena was left with the guitar hero; she shifted from one foot to the other, clutching a beer for solace as he towelled himself in front of her. God, there was a lot of him on show. She recalled her earlier impulse to unbutton for him and suffered a terrible fit of nervousness. “Shy-but-sexy?” she managed.

“Yeah. Which one of those are you debating? Not the ‘sexy’ part, surely.”

“Neither of them, I guess,” she said, and then she was laughing with him. God, that smile did things to her for which words didn’t exist. It was warm yet it delivered a challenge. It invited trust and it teased at the same time. “You shouldn’t make fun of me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“No girl wants to be made fun of.”

“I think she does if it’s done right. I can already tell you’re liking it.”

“Oh really?” He riled her, this guy, in a way that only served to increase the other feelings that were brewing. “You don’t know anything about me, Mister.”

“Oh I know more than you think. I know that your friend talked you into coming here and into wearing what you’re wearing. I know that you know you look all kinds of hot in it, and that you’re scared of that fact—that being noticed frightens you as much as it excites you.” Everything he’d said was true. As he stripped away any disguise she’d been attempting, Kareena wanted to beam and be swallowed up by the floor at the same time. “And,” he concluded, “I know that I’m embarrassing the fuck out of you and need to shut up before you slap me.”

“I don’t wanna slap you …”

“Then what do you wanna do with me?”

“I …” She was flabbergasted. “I’m talking, that’s all.”

“And I’m teasing. Forgive me, it’s what I do. I’m Jared.”

“Hey.” So he’d introduced himself. That in itself was kind of sweet. He was all kinds of sweet, in the most inappropriate way. “I’m Kareena,” she shared in return.

“Pretty girl, pretty name. What’s it mean?”

“I think it means ‘loved one’—it comes from all different places, so it means lots of different things, but that’s the one my mom and dad tell me. What does ‘Jared’ mean then?”

“Would you believe it comes from the Latin for ‘naughty boy’?”

“No, I wouldn’t!” She laughed again. “Be serious. I go to college, I’m not some airhead.”

“Then you’ll know that language changes and so do its meanings. And with me, ‘Jared’ means ‘naughty boy with bad intentions’.”

“Hey, stop that,” she scolded. “I guess at least I’m warned.”

“You guess right. But ‘Kareena’? I think that has a new meaning now too.”

In spite of all wariness she asked it. “And what’s that?”

“‘Good girl who wants to be bad, without anyone finding out’.”

Damn you! However well he played guitar, this guy had just overplayed his hand. “Hey, if you think I’m one more girl who’s gonna fall at your rock-star feet and …”

His voice and his laughter undermined her big outburst. “I don’t think that. And thank-you.”

“For what?”

“Calling me a rock star. I’m no more that than you’re one more girl.”

“Yeah?” God, her feelings about this guy kept swinging like pendulum. He’d taken the sting out of her anger, leaving her wary yet aroused. “Then how come you’re hitting on me like you’re some big-shot?”

“’Cos that’s how guys who aren’t big-shots get to be with the girls they like. They use pretence—all smoke and mirrors. There, I’ve confessed it. But I do like you, Kareena, more than the girls who throw themselves at me. I like that inner tension—you know, between what you should do and what you’d like to. You don’t know what that does to me.”

She couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it did. “So then I’m some kind of a challenge?”

“Yes you are,” he said. “A very sexy challenge. Even if I don’t satisfy my bad intentions, talking to you will have been time well spent.”

“It will?” He was trying out lines, nothing more—she was sure of it. At the same time it was impossible to ignore the slow trickle of sweat down his sternum. Or how the pattern of tattoos on his left arm shifted when he flexed it. Or the playfulness in his placating smile.

“I mean it,” he said. “A moment is never wasted in the presence of a smart and pretty girl. And just because I think you’re hot doesn’t make me a bad guy.”

“I never said it did.” He had her smiling again and she wasn’t sure how his magic had worked. “So tell me something about you, Jared, and stop analysing me.” She sipped the remaining beer in her bottle and wondered if she’d successfully steered their conversation from danger.

“What would you like to know?”

She wasn’t sure. Beyond wanting to keep the conversation going, she had no idea what to ask, so she referred to one mesmerising aspect of his appearance. “Where’d you get the tattoo?” It added to his whole aura of masculinity, the tangle of inky thorns which decorated his pectoral and forearm.

“Tahiti,” he said, and she found it a satisfyingly exotic revelation. “Don’t ask me what it means, because I’ve got no idea about that. I was around your age, full of tequila and naked with a beautiful ink-artist called Melina. So I wasn’t really making clear calls on anything that night. Still, I think it worked out okay.”

He was as entertaining as he was wicked, and Kareena felt bad for having huffed at him. Couldn’t blame a sexy guy for trying, right? “I think it worked out fine. I really like it.”

“Thinking of getting one yourself? That why you ask?”

“Well, I …”

“Come on, you totally are. What and where?”

It had occurred to her and who better to discuss it with? “I … I … Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You need to talk these things through. Tattoos are a big deal—they kinda stick around.”

“Yeah, I know. I was thinking of something pretty, a butterfly maybe.” She didn’t dare bring up the topic of where, but knew it would be discreetly tucked away so that her Dad would never know about it.

“Tell you what,” Jared said, with cucumber cool, “there’s a book of designs from a parlour in Chicago in the van. Why don’t we go out there now and flip through it?”

Alarm bells sounded loudly in Kareena’s head. Shit, this guy wanted inside her panties now. Well of course he did, what had she expected? “You could bring it back here.”

“I could, but where would be the fun in that? You and I could chill somewhere on our own.”

I’ll bet we could. Kareena had never experienced such a flagrant attempt by a guy to manoeuvre her into a compromising situation. It scared her. It damn well excited her too. “Hey, you might get that slap after all,” she protested.

“Now Kareena, you’re not questioning my motives, are you?”

I know damn well what your motives are—you’ve been checking me out way too much for any doubt on that score. This is some kind of classic situation I’m in.

The situation was turning her into a frightened rabbit after all the boldness she’d been trying to fake. “Yes,” she said, laughing in spite of herself. “I totally am. ‘Rock guitarist’ and ‘gentleman’—well they don’t go hand-in-hand, do they?”

“You got me,” he said with an open-handed gesture. “I’m no gentleman. But I’m not a beast, either, so I’m going to make you a promise—and believe me, they’re not a habit of mine.”

“Okay, what’s your promise?” This should be good.

“We go to the van, hang out together, enjoy each other’s company, and I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I won’t so much as lay a finger on your pert pretty self unless you invite me—on a point of pride. I’ve got damn-all honour, sweetheart, but I’ve got a whole lotta pride.”

God, it was tempting. She didn’t want to forfeit the company of this rogue just yet. “If I leave with you, everyone’ll think I’m—you know …”

“Fuck what they think. It’s your life, Kareena, so hang with whoever you want. Do whatever you want, don’t do whatever you don’t want. If it ain’t hurtin’ anyone else, what business is it of theirs?” He clinked his bottle against hers. “Now how’s that for philosophy?”

“It’s good,” she said, “as long as you keep your word.”

He didn’t have time to utter another one before Lacey and Max—the lead singer—returned to replenish their beer supply. Her cousin already had an arm coiled possessively around the English rocker’s waist and was snuggling. There was no doubt in Kareena’s mind that he’d be wearing her closer than tighty whiteys before the night was out. “Hey Cuz,” the brunette said, all smiles and insinuation, “you two getting along?”

“Fine, aren’t we, Kareena girl?” Jared answered on her behalf. “I’m about to show you around the ‘Mystery Machine’, right?”

“You not gonna hang out with us?” Lacey sounded disappointed, like she wanted Kareena and Jared to join in with whatever she and her hairy singer had planned. That scary notion made Kareena’s decision for her.

“No,” she said swiftly, reaching out and grabbing Jared’s hand. “Like he said, we’re gonna check out some tattoo designs.”

“Sure, that’s what I heard him say he’d be checkin’ out.” Lacey’s grin broadened. “You go have fun—and don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” Her glance to Max as she said it expressed everything on the ‘would’ list. His return look suggested that he intended to explore that list to the fullest.

“Later, Bud,” Jared said to his fellow band-member, as he led Kareena through the bustle of the bar away from the front entrance. They’d be observing her departure with scathing looks, those same bitches who had been staring at her and Lacey as they danced, confirming their initial opinion that she was an eager little slut. But, Kareena thought, any girl thinking that way was simply jealous she wasn’t getting to be slutty with the hot guitarist. Not that Kareena was going to. She was indulging in some cultural exploration, that was all.

“Where are we going?” She felt vaguely panicked as he took her down a side corridor off of which was storage space and the bar’s kitchen. His return-grip on her hand was light but insistent. Those nimble fingers were strong enough to crush hers, and she wondered how true he’d be to his word about keeping them off her as long as she insisted.

“We’re parked out back,” he said, leading her into the April evening. The air was cool on her still-perspiring skin. “You’re gonna love the van. It’s a real cruise liner of the highways.”

It was parked on scrubby grass at the bar’s rear, and Kareena supposed it had its own kind of dented majesty; it was certainly spacious enough. Her uncle Jack had a Ford van not dissimilar, only his paintwork wasn’t quite as scuffed and patchy with rust repellent, nor had it suffered the same number of dents.

“Wow. It’s …”

“… Got character, exactly what I was gonna say.” Jared’s voice contained as much irony as it did pride. “It’s lived-in, and that’s even before we got our hands on it. Our bassist picked it up from another band and they originally got it from a church, you believe that? Now it’s a religious experience on wheels all over again, only the rock-and-roll type. Got the alternator and the climate control all fixed, so it just needs a bit of exterior work now—paint it up, slap the band’s name on it, make it a bit more Scooby-Doo. Won’t affect you and me for now though, right?”

“I guess not,” she said as he reached up to unlock it. She marvelled at the grungy glamour of the rocker’s life and at how snugly Jared’s jeans gripped his ass. He climbed in first and she was grateful she wouldn’t be proffering him the sight of her denim skirt riding up over her butt-cheeks. His hand reached down to her and up she clambered over the tyre, hauling herself inside after him onto the passenger side as he ensconced himself behind the wheel.

The cab was spacious with two banks of seats, the space not so much dirty as plain untidy. Jared scooped up take-out food cartons and cans and dumped them in the bin on the driver’s door. “Make yourself some space,” he told her, “and pull the door shut. Let’s get some privacy.”

Privacy for what purpose she could only imagine, as she tugged on the door and pulled it tight, sealing them off from the noise of the bar and chill of the night air. The glow from the joint’s floodlit rear spilled inside. Jared must have picked up on her reservations as she lifted music magazines and CD boxes, tidying them into the bin on her side. “So, you’ve accompanied the wild rock star back to his lair,” he said lightly. “Regretting it already?”

“Why, because the van’s so messy? You can tell a bunch of guys hang out in here. It could smell worse though …”

“I meant because I’ve got you in my territory. You got every right to be nervous, but I meant what I said back there.”

“You did?” She watched as he lay back lazily, clutching the cold beer bottles by the neck.

“I did, and I’ll go one better,” he said, handing her a brew. She took it and traced the beats of moisture trickling down the bottle’s curve as he spoke. “You stay here as long as you like and not a second longer—say the word and I’ll watch your cute ass sway its way back to the bar. With sadness in my heart, of course.”

“Hey,” she said, nestling into the corner by the passenger door, “I’m still here, so no broken hearts yet. So long as you’re not going to … you know … pounce.” The thought made her blood pump faster, reassurance that he’d forego such a course of action letting her enjoy rather than dread the notion.

“Even though you’re sitting there showing off those legs and that sexy midriff, along with everything else you got going on? I’m gonna sit here and burn quietly, enjoying it all.”

“God,” she said, her self-consciousness magnifying, “you’re so bad! Like—all of the time.” She wondered if he’d like ‘everything else’ as much as the bits of which he had a good view. Not that he was going to see it. Was he charmed by the innocence of her brown eyes? Did he think her nose was too long with too many freckles scattered across it? She had freckles to match elsewhere if he only knew …

“And yet here we are,” he said, “chatting like old friends in this banged-up old van. You’re a ballsy girl, Kareena. I like that.”

“I’m not ‘ballsy’.” His face was half in shadow, but his eyes were still glowing, piercing through the darkness. She saw so much life in them, so much experience for a guy—what—only ten years older than she was?

“Gotta disagree with you there,” he said. “You got way more courage than most of the girls who were flaunting themselves in front of that stage.”

“And why’s that?” She sipped from the bottle and marvelled at how each thing he said subverted her expectations.

“Because it’s their instinct to do what you just did … leap into a van with a guy who’s one more sweaty rock-star wannabe to them, right? But you flew in the face of a whole bunch of instincts. Go on—tell me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re not wrong,” she admitted, wishing he’d ease off on his scrutiny. She knew how much her Dad would deplore what she’d chosen to do, and how that thought had compelled her as much as held her back.

“You obeyed one instinct and ignored the rest,” he said. “I respect that. So here’s to it— embracing adventure.” He held up his bottle and she tapped hers against it. Exactly how much adventure was she ready to embrace here?

He put the keys in the ignition and calmed her fear before it could properly take form. “I’m not taking off with you in an empty van,” he assured, as the engine growled into life. “Taking the chill off, that’s all—plus we’ve got some music now.”

The music in question was growling and guttural, full of static interference and weird sound—a distant relative of what she’d heard on stage that night. “Yep, maybe Nine Inch Nails isn’t the best choice,” he said with a wry grin, cutting it short and replacing it with another disc in the van’s player. Jangling guitar and plaintive vocals replaced the dark grind. “Counting Crows give a better mood?”

More melodic, less serial killer—it relieved her. “Much,” she said.

“See how thoughtful I can be?”

“Oh yeah, you’re one big ball of thoughtfulness,” she said, as his eyes lingered on the flat of her belly. There was a stirring there in the lower part of it and she searched for a subject that would distract her from the sensation. “So when did it all start with you and music?”

“Oh God, when I was younger than young,” he said, settling back and shifting his tight-jeaned lower body onto the seat. “Courtesy of my dear old dad. He played, you see. Papa was a rolling stone. You know that song?”

“No. Maybe. I think so. How does it go?”

“Wherever he laid his hat was his home,” Jared said, his voice sing-song without competing with Counting Crows. “And when he died, all he left us was … well, in my case a Fender acoustic.”

“I’m sorry,” Kareena said, with an impulse to reach out and touch him.

“Why? It’s a fine guitar. Got it in the back of the van right now.”

“I meant your dad.”

“What? Oh God, no—he’s not actually dead, that’s just the song lyrics. I’m sure the philandering old bastard’s still out there somewhere shooting craps and telling his dumb stories. I like to think he is anyway—been a while since I heard a thing from him.”

Lord in Heaven, the tattooed musician was actually endearing himself to her. What were the odds of that? “You miss him?” she inquired.

“Miss him? I hardly knew him. Know him. But I did like to hear him play when I was little.”

“That’s a nice memory.”

“It is. But I’ve made even better memories since them. Like the one on the Tahitian beach the night I got this tattoo.” The smile he flashed her in that moment wiped away the heartfelt sentiment and replaced it with a whole different kind of intimacy. One connected to the lean brawn of his chest and his ribbed stomach. One that was all about the kind of memory he’d like to create with her that Illinois April night. “So let’s talk tattoos,” he said, “since it’s our reason for being here. Isn’t that right, Kareena?”

“Yeah,” she said, not believing it. “What have you got to show me?” She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but Jared did not leap on the opportunity for innuendo as she’d feared he might.

“It’s in the glove-box,” he said, and she reached in to fish around. “This?” But her hand had found a sketchpad rather than a book of designs.

“I’ll take that,” Jared said, tossing the artist’s pad onto the bank of seats behind them. “You’re not ready to look at it yet.”

“Look at what?” She went reaching for the item, intrigued.

“Leave it alone.” His voice was mock-stern. “I’ll let you know if and when you’re ready to see what’s in that pad. Trust me, it’s not for sweet innocent girls.”

“I’m not a …” She caught herself and glared at his satisfied grin.

“That remains to be seen. It’s this you’re looking for.” He’d reached past her so he could draw a slim pamphlet from the compartment. Tribal Dan was the name of the establishment which had produced the booklet; she flicked through the pages, admiring its contents from the simplest patterns to detailed mythological illustrations. “It’s a great place. The templates in the book are only suggestions—any tattoo shop worth its reputation will take whatever idea you have and run with it, and Dan’s a bit of a wizard. Robbie our drummer got a tattoo done there a couple of weeks back. He’s the blond one who was ready to hit on you if I didn’t—did you check him out? English guy, around your age. You’da liked him. Plus he wouldn’t have been as pushy as me. Just as horny though …”

Good Lord … This guy did nothing to spare Kareena’s blushes, but everything to flatter her nineteen-year-old ego. “Here’s a pretty one,” she said, brushing aside his most recent comments. “Hummingbird.”

“Seeking out pollen. I know exactly where that one should go on your sweet body.” She took a sharp intake of breath at his audacity and found him leaning in to her, peering at the book rather than her exposed flesh.

“Hush, you. I’m serious about this.”

“I’m being totally serious. Gotta ask, are you squeamish about the gun? Some bits of you will be more sensitive than others.”

If this was another cheap opportunity for him to be dirty she ignored it as such. “I’ll be fine once it’s started.” Then doubt occurred. “How sore is it?”

“Tiny pinpricks. Bite your lip and think about how pretty and sexy it’ll look.”

“What about yours?” She gazed on the network of curving bladed shapes that adorned him. God, they were pretty. And sexy. He brushed his waistcoat from his shoulder and let it fall away so she could view the full effect in the yellow light from the bar. How beautifully he was muscled, the tattoo a rich enhancement floating on the surface. “Was it sore?”

“Yeah, but my Tahitian tattooist kissed it all better. Not that I’d have asked Tribal Dan to do that, but I’m sure he’d be glad to if you were his client.”

“Stop it, you,” she chided, staring closely, fascinated despite her nerves. “Can I touch it?”

“Be my guest.”

Her fingertips were tentative as they reached out and brushed his upper arm and shoulder in all their solidity. The maze of bladed shapes had been inked all the way to the hard expanse of his pectoral muscle. She lost herself in the exploration and the pads of her fingers stroked perilously close to his erect nipple. Oops. “It’s so smooth,” she said in awe. “Patterns under the skin—and you wouldn’t know except to look at them. What do they mean?”

“Mean? God, I have no idea.”

It disappointed her. For all his teasing and bravado she’d figured there’d be some kind of spiritual significance. “Really?”

“I was nineteen and a bad-ass rock guitarist. I wanted something that looked—you know—exotic and tribal, like I was well-travelled and cool as fuck. So it means ‘naughty boy who’s tryin’ way too hard’.”

She laughed, fingers still upon him. For all his egotistical posturing, he had a self-effacing quality to him and it made her like him all the more. “Well, I think it’s cool,” she said.

“As fuck?”

He was draining the last of his beer when her eyes met his and his lips were wet with it when she kissed him. His breath and the taste of him were fresh and delicious nonetheless. Her boldness lasted only a moment before she broke contact. “Yeah,” she said, panting. “As that.” Oh God, he lied to me. He’s gonna jump me after all.

But Jared didn’t. He reached once more into the glove box and drew out a glass flask. “This is the good stuff,” he said, unscrewing the cap and swigging. “I can’t lay a finger on you, but I can try and get you a little more drunk.”

The trickle of sweat down his chest inspired a secret trickling of her own and she wondered if alcohol was even necessary for what he had in mind. He set her beer bottle on the dash, replacing it in with the flask, and observed closely as she tilted the bottle at her lips. She winced at the sourness on her tongue. “God, it’s poisonous! How do you drink that stuff?” She sipped some more in order to work out the drink’s appeal, this time letting the whiskey spill a sharp path over her taste-buds and down her throat. “Oh wow, you’re a really bad influence on me.”

He laughed at her expense and she giggled, not minding. She minded so little in fact that she kissed him again, a fuller more prolonged union this time. He was cool as fuck, this guy, his tattoo and everything else about him. And she fancied the fuck out of him. Alone in a van with a horny musician, locked at the mouth with their tongues stroking … What would her parents think? As their lips parted, the thought only served to increase Kareena’s desire for him.

“How bad?” he asked her. “How bad an influence am I?”

She supped some more of the utterly horrible whiskey and hiccupped. “I’m not sure … yet.”

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

He shrugged the waistcoat off his other shoulder so that her vision as she stared at his torso was unimpeded. “I’ve shown you. Now you show me, Kareena.” The way he breathed her name made her shudder.

“I don’t have any tattoos.”

“Show me what you do have.”

“You said …”

“I said I’d behave as long as you did. Now are you really here because you want to behave? Will that tattoo be just for show, or is it gonna represent a newer badder version of you?”

His fingers held back from teasing at her buttons, but that stare was enough to shock her entire body. Of course she wasn’t there to behave. And his tattoo remark was right on the money. Behaving all the time was getting old. Modesty aside, she knew he’d like what she had to offer beneath her plaid shirt—and she did want to make this charming bad-boy happy. Her own fingers were doing the work his wanted to, unknotting the shirt tails, undoing one button at a time from neck down. His gaze met hers, then it dropped lower, observing the gradual reveal of the cleavage between her big peachy tits.

“Oh, whoa yeah.” Her dirty rocker was smiling his approval as she pulled apart the shirt-front and showed off her bosom, suspended as it was in the skimpiest of white-lace brassieres. She knew from the sensation of engorging flesh against fabric that her big rose-pink nipples were nearly peeking over the hem of the cups. “That’s it,” he said, taking another sip of whiskey from the bottle. “I knew it was all going on there when you were dancing. Now set those beauties free for me, sweetheart. I want to see everything you got.”

She’d been on display for two other boys in her life and elicited awe from both, but never under duress of such a bold demand. “I didn’t think you were gonna tell me what to do,” she said, her breath short.

“That’s fair,” he said, dividing his gaze between her face and her breasts. “So it’s your call—cover up or show me. Which do you want?”

She knew. His stare was holding her in thrall; he was as good as stripping her himself. Without breaking a second of eye contact she peeled the shirt away from her body. Then she reached behind and unclasped the brassiere; his eyes were intent upon her as it sprang free of her skin. God, this is so slutty … She held the garment there a moment, its straps loose on her arms, then let it drop away from her breasts.

“There,” she said with a shred of resentment that he had got his way. “Are you happy?”

“I’m getting happier by the second,” he said, ogling her. “That’s an amazing set you got there. I’m impressed.”

“Nicer than all the other titties you get to look at?” In her semi-nakedness she was turning both bold and petulant.

“You’re fucking spectacular,” he told her, “by any standard. Shame I can’t touch them, I made a solemn promise.”

“Yeah you did,” she said, gratified at his reaction and regretful now that he couldn’t be more proactive. “And you’re a man of your word, right?”

“Yup. So … you’re gonna touch them for me.”

“I’m …”

“You heard right. Touch those gorgeous tits for me, Kareena, while I watch.”

Her breath was stilled in her throat, nipples growing harder right before his gaze. Her fingers were twitching, palms closing in on her breasts, when passers-by distracted her with their laughter. In a rush of panic she froze, pink-lacquered nails hovering at her stiff areolae. “They’ll see me …”

“I see you,” he said. “That’s all that matters right now. What I’m looking at. Now you’re gonna do what I tell you to do. You know why?”

“No.”

“’Cos it’s exactly what you wanna do. Now give me a show, Kareena.”

She cupped the underside of her breasts and caressed them tentatively, watching every flicker in his face as she squeezed. There was tenderness in his eyes along with the lust and the mockery and it all combined to thrill her. Her bosoms were full ripe fruit under her touch, her nipples the pointed tips of their rosy crests. She pinched the hardened peaks between her fingertips and began to play for him, every twist and tug secretly moistening her pussy. She was scarcely able to believe her own actions.

“That’s good,” he said, his palm sliding down over his stomach to glide on the tight-stretched crotch of his jeans. “That’s so fucking sweet, girl. Squeeze those pretty boobs for me. It looks so nice.” So she squeezed, palms full with her own soft flesh. She loved the sound of his voice as she did it, and how he directed her every movement. When he told her “Suck your thumbs”, she made to carry out the action, but stalled a moment when he changed his mind. “Wait, let me do it. Please, I’d like to.”

Her pussy moistening even more than before, she held her thumbs to his reaching mouth and let him suck on them luxuriously. He captured the fingers of both her hands as well, bathing them with his tongue, staring at her the whole time. “Thanks for letting me help,” he said. “Now let me see you wet those nipples.”

“Oh God …” How much she wanted to please him now. Scarily so. “I don’t do this,” she told him piteously, as she spread his saliva over her hard peaks.

“I know. That’s what makes it so fucking hot. Don’t stop, get them nice and wet.”

While he massaged the bulging crotch of his pants, she sustained the attention to her now ultra-sensitive breasts, awaiting new instructions with bated breath. Her bad-boy rocker did not disappoint her. “Now see if you can lick your nipple,” was his next demand.

Panic flashed again, but doing what he said was more important. She wanted to be naughty for him like she had for no one else in her life. Fondling her left breast she raised it to her reaching tongue, staring at his reaction. He loved it—the delight was there in his glinting eyes—as her pink tongue slipped out from between her lips, extending lasciviously until it barely stroked her areola. She waggled her tongue-tip there a moment, before giving up.

“I can’t reach,” she said, a note of apology creeping into her voice.

“Don’t sweat it, baby, even you tryin’ is so damn sexy. You know what you’re doin’ to me? You got any fuckin’ idea?” She had some, but sensed the limited degree of her knowledge. It made her heart race, however, to have him praise her. She’d accessed some scary zone where nothing mattered as much as gaining his unabashed approval. In that spirit she tried again, teasing her tongue as close to her pink crest as she could manage. “That’s such a beautiful sight, baby,” he told her. “I’m fuckin’ lovin’ it.”

His appreciation relaxed her and she began to crave the sensation of her tongue on her own nipple. Her right hand lifted and squeezed the other breast and she transferred her attempt there, flicking the other peak with a pointed tongue-tip. She moved back and forth between the two engorged points, flickering on each with a fully-thrust tongue, alert all the time for his approval. He attended manually to his own growing excitement and did not scrimp on expressing admiration.

“Hell, baby, that beats the fuckin’ band. Squeeze those tits together. Go on, do it for me.”

Her tiny hands struggled to encompass her breasts, but for him she managed it, squeezing them together into a tight cleavage, then pulling them apart and repeating the move. So naughty, so hot—acceding to his male whims, embodying his tawdry fantasy. The alcohol had affected her to the point that she hardly cared she was at a van window anymore; the panes were starting to steam up anyway. At last she was really letting go, grabbing her tits and kneading them in their fullness, tugging hard on her nipples. Biting her lip and staring into his wicked face, letting moans escape her throat.

“That’s it, squeeze them, gorgeous, make it a good show. That’s so fucking hot. Don’t take your eyes off me.” How mesmerising those eyes were—steely-blue and drilling into her. Drawing out things which had been lurking deep within, awaiting discovery by the right guy. The deliciously wrong, right guy. Steadily she massaged, fingers pressing deep into her yielding orbs. “That’s it. That’s beautiful. You my naughty girl?”

“Yeah,” she replied breathlessly. “I guess I am.”

“Then you gonna let me have a suck on those?”

Oh God. Oh my God. “Uh-huh. Yeah.”

“Bring ‘em here, baby,” he said, sitting up to receive her.

She shuffled her denim-clad ass across the leather seat to meet him, legs working unsteadily beneath her to bring herself the distance. Her palms still clutched soft flesh and she pushed her chest out, cupping her breasts, wantonly offering them to him. His neck stretched and his mouth closed on one nipple. As his lips locked on its hardness and sucked, she cried out; her heightened receptiveness to sensation had triggered a shock of electricity that ran through her entire body. Involuntarily she thrust her chest further into his face so that her tit-flesh pressed firmly into his nose and chin. His tongue circled and lashed, mouth sucking, broad hands reaching to relieve her delicate palms of their duties, caressing and squeezing in their place.

Oh God, oh God this is happening! I’m letting this happen! Jesus … The days she had spent in Bible Class at her parents’ church made it as much a prayer as a profanity.

He set about her other breast with his lips and tongue, hands moulding her softness. She loved it—the roughness of his mouth on her, the greed with which his palms and fingers explored her tits. Her head fell back and she moaned aloud, feelings both physical and emotional rushing her body in ambush. God, I want him. Oh fuck, I want him so bad …

Forget squeezing, he was grappling her breasts now, accentuating her nipples and flicking his tongue back and forth between them, staring at her close up with a hint of madness in his eyes. When he pressed and pinched with his thumbs she uttered a squeal and it only served to make him laugh. Rather than relent, he slapped his hands harder to her tits and fondled them roughly, his former cajoling expression transformed to one of sheer wicked exultation.

“No one’s ever done this before, have they?” he said.

All she could manage in response was a yearning moan. The one boyfriend she’d ever properly dated had always insisted that she looked too innocent to be treated like anything other than an angel. Jared exhibited no such reluctance in the face of her moans. “Want me to stop?” he asked, lust glinting in his eyes. “Want me to leave these titties alone? I’ll do it if you say.”

It confused her, the roughness and the demands, along with the acknowledgement of his promise, but much as he frightened her, she did not want him to stop. Some part of her demanded to know what would happen next. “No,” she said. “Please no. Please don’t stop.” Damn, she’d done it now—foregone the opt-out. His mouth plunged onto one nipple, tongue thrusting, while his hand scooped the other and fondled it like he was venting some serious tension on a stress-ball.

“Fuck!” Oh God, she’d actually said it aloud. He eased his grip and caressed her once more, a sense of achievement on his hard handsome face.

“So you got a naughty mouth after all,” he said. “Sweet girl, naughty mouth. What’s not to love about that?” Her whole body felt like it was groaning under his two-handed clutch on her tits. His face softened and turned playful once again. “Tell you what—let’s share. I suck one nipple, you play with the other. Deal?”

There was a delicious look of enticement on his face. She’d uttered a trembling “Yeah” before she knew it. His lips claimed one huge stiff nipple and sucked hard. Her eyes rolled at the ever-increasing pleasure and she had trouble focusing, as she clutched her own breast and massaged herself. He was watching, this dirty guy, to see whether she would follow through on what she’d agreed to. She did what she’d been told, clenching her dainty hand into a fist and pulling on her stiffened peak.

Laughter remained in Jared’s eyes as they shared her breasts—God, how crazy did that sound? Her nipples were as rigid as bottle-tops, so engorged with blood that it hurt. Still the pair of them tugged with mouth and hand respectively, the situation so damned naughty it nearly blew her mind. Never before had she felt so dirty and sexy—never in her life had she shared herself in such a literal way. She realised in the midst of their joint playtime how utterly saturated with moisture her thong had become; the juice from her pussy was starting to trickle down her thighs. Both her nipples had numbed from the intensity of their actions before they were done.

Jared released her from his mouth and instinctively she let go with her hand. He seized her body then and kissed her with such force it robbed her of breath. His tongue pushed against hers, hands reaching around to grip her back and pull her tight to him as the probing kiss extended in time.

For a moment her hands dangled motionless at her sides. Then as she gave in to the caress of his mouth, they rose to explore and grip his body, to slither over that ripped torso in the increasing heat of the van’s cab. His palms were exploring too, gliding about her waist and her back, fingers teasing through her hair to her scalp. Her breasts were plumped against his chest, nipples grating against his as their bodies moved together. His skin was hot under her fingertips, his tongue probing harder and deeper as their lips remained locked. Then his mouth relented, retreating from hers and gliding over her neck to her ear.

“You know what you do to me, baby?”

That question again, only less rhetorical this time, more demanding of a response. All she could manage, however, was an incoherent moan.

“You wanna see?”

No ambiguity now. Her body was so hot with desire she felt likely to explode. “Yes,” she said, although uttering the words terrified her. She wanted to see. She wanted more of whatever this was. “Show me.”

TO BE CONTINUED