Free Rock Me Deep by Nora Flite

spite of her words, her plate was still mostly full.
    Why would she be eating so little if she — Oh, I thought, right. Her tongue. I bet the salt hurts on that wound she gave herself. Thinking of that moment on the bus, my fingers holding her cheeks so she was trapped near me, had my pants tightening.
    Nostrils flaring, I started to cut into my chicken. “Here, try some of mine.” Offering the fork to her, the bit of white meat and pineapple glinted between us. I expected her to take the utensil from me.
    Lola swayed over the table, teeth plucking the food right off the end of my fork. My jaw dropped, and it was a miracle the fork didn't, too.
    The fact she had taken it as she had, that she was chewing now with a tiny half-smile, it was sending tremors into my cells. Is she fucking with me now? She'd done something meant for lovers, not brand new band acquaintances.
    Clearing my throat, I shifted on the chair. Her pink lips and pinker cheeks had made my cock swell. The inside of my zipper, even with my boxers, was becoming a cruel enemy. “Well. Do you like it?”
    Lola nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “A little too sugary, but still good.”
    My plate slid her way. “Here, just have mine then.”
    “I—what?”
    Her barely eaten food was still warming the air around it. Pulling it to me, I slapped away her hand when she reached to steal it back. “Just trade with me.” Cocking an eyebrow, I gave her a meaningful look. The corner of my eye warned me that Brenda was peering at us both. “That sugary stuff will go down easier , got it?”
    Personally, I didn't care if Brenda found out about how she'd chewed her tongue up. She'd dealt with worse. There was a good chance she'd roll her eyes and think Lola did it accidentally, if she didn't just shake her head to signal it wasn't her problem.
    But Lola cares. One look at her pale face made that obvious.
    Swallowing loudly, she started chopping at the meal with deliberate motions. “Thanks, Drezden.”
    In answer, I crunched down on a fry.
    Most of the evening went as expected. We ate, we drank, and there was even some laughter. Most was from Porter and Colt, but it still counted.
    Scarlett kept my beer topped off, long after I stopped gulping it down. My skull was tingling with the warm tickles of alcohol. I enjoyed a good buzz, but on tour, I liked to keep it together. That plan was falling by the wayside.
    The dark-haired waitress said something, bending towards me as she did so. “What was that?” I asked. Her smell was like grease and cloying lavender. No doubt she'd been on shift for hours.
    “I said,” she whispered, crouching down to blow on my ear, “I get off in thirty minutes. What are you doing after this? I'd kill to see your tour bus. Seriously, just to get inside, I'd do anything.” Scarlett's meaning was as obvious as a kick to the face.
    My smile was brittle. Across from me, I spotted Lola staring intently. Brenda was babbling at her, yet she wasn't listening. Lola was stuck on me like frost to a metal pole in the dead of winter.
    Was she jealous?
    Scarlett's fingers glided down, touching my knee. I clasped her thin wrist before she dared to go further. “Listen.” My voice wasn't even strained; I'd been down this road before. Fighting off hungry fans after a show was old news. “I can't.”
    “You can't?” She stiffened, gaze flicking from my face, to my grip, then back.
    Letting the waitress go, I leaned in just enough so only she could hear me. “Sorry. I meant I won't.” Grinding the chair back, I got to my feet. “Colt, want to shoot some pool?”
    “Fuck yes,” the drummer laughed, nearly falling from his seat. “I'll beat you this time, too!”
    "One of these days, maybe." Strolling towards the green-felt table in the room, I couldn't stop myself from looking back. Just one small, scant look.
    There were two pairs of eyes watching me; the dark pits of a girl who'd been scorned. And the other...
    Lola's deep