Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) Read online

“Of what? Thirty?”

  “One hundred and fifty, actually,” I say, suddenly annoyed. “And since when are we pickers and choosers where we book?”

  “I’m trying to get our foot in the door. You do that in the city, where people are constantly scouting out new bands–bands that have already worked their way up to play there.”

  I chuckle. “You’re such an elitist, Yael. Learn that at Julliard, did you?”

  Yael sighs as he looks up at me. “It’s nothing personal, Vanni. It’s just that… we’ve played those gigs already.”

  “Really?” I shoot back. “I haven’t.”

  Our gaze holds for a moment. “Look, man. If you have something that you want to prove–”

  “I do,” I say as I cut him off. “Not just to the people in the neighborhood, but to you too, I guess.”

  “Vanni,” he starts but I’m ready to dig my heels in.

  “So here’s the deal. I get us a gig in the city, a big one, and you do my show in the sticks.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “And where is that?”

  “Sedução.”

  He laughs the minute I say it. “Do you know how hard it is to get booked there without some kind of connection?”

  “Oh, I have a connection.”

  “And who is that?”

  “Tina Nunes.”

  Again he chuckles. And each time he does, it only solidifies my resolve even more. “Sure,” he finally says, and I know now it’s a challenge. “You get us into Sedução and I’ll play your neighborhood dive.”

  “Deal,” I say as I spin on my heel and stalk out his front door. I have no idea how I’m going to make this happen, but I’ve got two months to figure it out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  Because I no longer have any money to wave at Sedução, and it really didn’t work when I did, I know I have to plan another type of attack in order to get Tina’s attention. I enlist the aid of my favorite salesgirl as I stop at the vintage shop to boost my wardrobe. Thankfully she wears a nametag, so I don’t have to confess that I never got her name in the first place. “Hey, Chelsea,” I say with my best smirk. She blushes almost immediately.

  “Hey, Vanni,” she says. And she didn’t even need a nametag to do it. “What are you doing here?”

  I run a finger along one of the shirts near where she’s standing. “Does a guy need a reason to see his favorite shop girl?”

  She giggles and looks away. She seems so young, like a schoolgirl. It’s hard to believe she’s the same girl who practically jumped me in a sexy ménage a trois with her best friend. “So how’s Jena?” I ask, patting myself on the back that I remembered at least one of their names.

  You should always remember your first threesome. It’s just good manners.

  “Good,” she says. “We thought about seeing another show, but a lot of your venues are 21 and over.”

  I stand a little closer, hovering over her, practically inhaling her sweet scent. “There are ways around that,” I tell her.

  Her hopeful eyes widen. “Oh yeah?”

  I smile a little wider. “Yeah. I could put you on the crew to get you into the club. They’ll just mark an X on your hand so you can’t get drinks at the bar. It’s no big deal.”

  “Yeah, but, what can I do?”

  I run a finger down her arm, bared by the sleeveless top she’s wearing. “You can dress me,” I tell her in a lower voice. I clasp her hands in mine and guide her back to the dressing room, which is concealed by clattering beads and panels funky, multi-colored fabric.

  I barely get the door closed as I lift her up against me. She’s so small it makes me feel like a giant. Her arms lock around my neck and she kisses me back as hard I kiss her.

  I didn’t necessarily mean to seduce her in that small cubicle, but seeing our reflection in the mirror make it a temptation impossible to deny. My hands spread large against her tiny frame, molding her to my body, which isn’t looking too shabby given how much time I spend in my makeshift gym at the house. I’ve already outgrown most of my shirts as a result. I watch as she peels my shirt from my torso, discarding it into a heap in the corner. “I know what you need,” she says before she disappears from the cubicle. She comes back with a black shirt that is a size too small. Funny, six months ago it was my regular size. The shirt hugs every contour of my chest as she pulls it down. I reach for her again, but she shakes her head with another grin. She escapes one more time to fetch a pair of scissors.

  She cuts a small spot in the top of the shirt, then uses her fingers to tear it open, like she can’t wait to see what’s underneath. I lift her up until her legs lock around my waist. She’s wearing shorts, which makes fucking her a little more difficult. Instead I just grind against her, so she can feel how hard I am. She moans against me before inspiration hits.

  “I’ve got an idea,” she says as she practically jumps from my arms. When she returns, she’s carrying motorcycle jeans made of black leather. Before I can say anything, she’s unfastening my denim and peeling it from my body. “Every bad boy needs some leather,” she says as she kneels in front of me.

  I feel like a bad boy as I stand in front of her, which I can see at every angle thanks to the mirrors. There’s a smile on my face as I step out of the jeans and into the pants. She bites her lip as she eases the tight jeans up my muscled thighs and around my ass. There’s no hope of fastening them, not in my current aroused state.

  “I don’t think it’ll fit,” she teases.

  “Not yet,” I tell her as I cup the back of her head with my hand. She easily pulls my cock free and I watch her in the mirror as she blows me. God, she’s good at this. “How did a young thing like you get so good?”

  She moans against me, and I’m putty in her hands.

  I stare at my reflection and the New Vanni comes more clearly into view. There’s no trace of a nice guy in that small cubicle, getting blown by a virtual teenager, out in public where anyone could walk in, including her associate minding the cash register some thirty feet away. And he’s not sorry, not in the least little bit. He’s given himself permission to take what he wants.

  If only Tina could see me now.

  Like I promised, I get Chelsea into the next gig that weekend. She brings a new friend with her this time around, someone over twenty-one. I wear the outfit she’s chosen for me, and all I can think about is how hot she looked going down on me in that public dressing room. It lights such a fuse to my performance, even I wouldn’t deny how I crushed it. I nailed the vocals, and I could tell by every sexy girl in the front row that I have made each and every one of them fall in love with me.

  By the time we head to the VIP party after the show, the crowd has doubled. It’s almost impossible to get one of the rooms for myself so that I can treat Chelsea to another magical night. She surprises me again by dragging at least two other girls with her.

  The only girl who gets my number at the end is Chelsea.

  By the end of the week, she’s truly part of the crew, dressing everyone so that we look like we actually belong together. She’s also been by the house a few times to overhaul my wardrobe. I finally fuck in Lori’s chair, but it’s still missing something.

  I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

  I finally head to Sedução that Saturday night. The joint is hopping, with more beautiful VIPs than I’ve ever seen gathered in one place. A guest band performs, so I can see just what kind of talent Ms. Nunes is seeking.

  I have to admit, they’re pretty good. They have a chick for a lead singer, and she’s exotic as hell. Tall and statuesque, with dark skin and short cropped hair. She wears a white leather mini skirt and go-go boots, which gleam under the black light. Her body undulates like a snake as she sings about love, loss and heartbreak.

  “Enjoying the show?”

  I turn my head towards the female voice. It’s the bartender I had bribed to get close to Tina. I smile at her, thankful that she, too, wears a nametag. “Tremendously. How about you, Sasha?”


  “I enjoy all the bands that come through here,” she tells me as she pours me a drink. It’s what I had ordered the last time. Clearly she’s gunning for the same kind of tips I left before.

  I simply tip her with a smile. “Too bad you’re missing one of the hottest up-and-coming bands in Manhattan.”

  “Yeah? Who’s that?”

  My mouth hangs open as I contemplate the answer. I want to answer the question, but saying The Yael Satterlee Experiment: Featuring Giovanni Carnevale is a bit of a mouthful. “It’s a secret,” I tell her instead.

  She grins as she leans across the bar. “Is that so?”

  I nod. “I had to take a blood oath. It was pretty serious.”

  She looks me over. I’m wearing that torn black shirt and my leather jeans. Chelsea has started teasing my long, straight hair so that it frames my face with tousled curls. I stopped just short of wearing sunglasses. The dimly lit club is hard enough to navigate as it is, and despite the New Vanni’s newfound arrogant-assery, even I find that to be too much of a dick move.

  For now.

  I trail my finger along her forearm. “But everything has its price. Under the right duress, I might be persuaded to let my tongue slip.” I run tongue around my shit-eating grin just to make my point.

  “And what’s your price, hot shot?”

  “A drink,” I announce.

  “I’m working,” she says.

  “After you get off,” I suggest. “Or before. Or during.”

  She chuckles. “If this has anything to do with Tina,” she starts, but I cut her off.

  “Fuck Tina.”

  Her eyebrow arches. “If that’s what you’re after, hon, I should tell you I’m not the way to get it. You want her, you go get her. I’m nobody’s stepstool.”

  “I get that,” I tell her, while mentally erasing Plan A from the blackboard in my brain. “I’m just coming on to a beautiful woman. No crime in that, is there?”

  She eyes me carefully. “I suppose not.”

  “Good,” I say as I withdraw a pen. I nab a napkin from the stack right next to her and jot down the address for our next gig. “You show up there. Drink’s on me. No Tina. No problem. What do you say?”

  She glances down at the napkin. “I’d say that I’m working that night.”

  “That does present a problem,” I agree. “I just hope you’re well enough to work the rest of the week. Terrible flu going around. I mean it’s the 24-hour kind, so you should be fine if you take one personal day to yourself.”

  I take her hand in mine, and bend to kiss each finger. I can feel her tremble. She knows she should pull away but I know she can’t. With a smile, I flip her hand over to kiss her palm, darting my tongue in a small, discreet circle until she shudders against me. I toss a twenty on the bar to pay for my drink, then I leave without even touching it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

  I don’t know if Sasha will show up until I see her face in the crowd. By then I know I have her, and I didn’t even have to sing one word. Not only did she ditch work to catch my show, she’s dressed in a short skirt and a halter top, which suggests she’s either on the hunt or wants to be hunted.

  The palm trick works every time.

  I give the performance of a lifetime, singing almost exclusively to her from the stage. During an INXS cover, I shed my shirt and toss it to the crowd. Sasha doesn’t lunge for it like the rest of the girls. She can’t keep her eyes off my chest.

  The feeling is more than mutual. She’s got spectacular cleavage from where I’m standing, creamy tantalizing breasts that invite me to explore with my fingers and my mouth. When she bites her lip, I know she can read my thoughts. But what else was she expecting, really?

  I link my thumb in my front pants pocket, drawing attention to what she’s doing to me.

  Chelsea is nearby, which makes things a little awkward, but it’s not like she’s opposed to sharing. She’s young but she knows the score. That makes things easier considering the New Vanni has got a full agenda. I have less than seven weeks to book Sedução. Assuaging hurt feelings doesn’t quite make the list.

  When I exit the stage, I worm my way through the excited crowd, mostly female, all of whom want to congratulate me for my killer set. I really don’t have to head to the bar if I don’t want to; several girls have purchased drinks for me, from bottles of water to bottles of beer, which they try to hand to me as I pass by. I wave them away with a smile, making a beeline for the bar anyway. I don’t look around for Sasha. Instead I flirt with the girls who surround me. They giggle and blush as they try to wedge themselves even closer to me. I indulge them happily. It is one of the perks of New Vanni’s new life, I can’t lie.

  I scan the crowd, where I spot Sasha easily. She stands near a tall table near the stage. She’s trying her best not to look my direction. My face cracks apart in a self-satisfied smile before I turn to the bartender. “What’s she drinking?” I ask, pointing towards Sasha.

  The bartender grins at me before he fills another glass and hands it to me. I toss some bills on the bar before I disengage from the girls crowding me to make my way towards Sasha. “Give me a minute, ladies,” I say.

  Bobby, my ever-present wingman, wrangles them with the lure of the VIP after-party experience, which allows me a smooth escape.

  Sasha doesn’t even look at me when I approach from behind and set the drink on her table. “Sasha,” I greet warmly. “I didn’t think you were going to come.”

  “Bullshit,” she chuckles.

  “Okay, I was hopeful,” I confess with a grin of my own. “So what’d you think?”

  She nods. “It was good. You all have a really great sound. And you have a hot look.”

  My eyes meet hers. “Hot enough for Sedução?”

  She laughs again. “So that’s the reason you invited me,” she says. “I was wondering.”

  “Part of it,” I shamelessly admit as I glance down her shirt. Up close the view is breathtaking.

  She glances towards the bar. “It isn’t because you’re lacking female companionship, that’s for sure.”

  I shrug. “What can I say? I get by with a little help from my friends.” I stand a little closer. “Would you like to be my friend, Sasha?”

  She shudders. I try not to gloat. “You’re really cute,” she says. “But I’m not exactly the kind of girl who chases after rock stars. If that was what I was after, I wouldn’t need to leave Sedução.”

  I trail a finger along her neckline, stopping just short of the silky, creamy skin of her breast. “Interesting choice of shirt for someone who isn’t out to fuck a rock star.”

  Her eyes never leave mine. “You’re assuming I wore it for you. Maybe, just maybe, I wore it for me.”

  I have to laugh. I like this girl already. “Touché ,” I acknowledge. I look around the crowd. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Her eyebrow arches. “And go where?”

  I lean forward, almost till our noses touch. “It’s a surprise.”

  And indeed she is surprised the minute we walk into the dimly lit dining room at Cynzia’s. She laughs as I pull her to one of the booths. “Hey, Santino!” I holler from the counter. “House special, extra large, extra cheese, extra fast.”

  “You’ll get it when you get it, Joe,” Santino grumbles.

  Sasha grins at me. “Joe?”

  I shrug it off. “He hasn’t gotten that right since I started working for him six years ago.”

  “You work here?”

  “Used to,” I admit. “Might again if things don’t turn around soon.”

  “Tell that to someone who didn’t see that crowd tonight.”

  “It’s good,” I concede. “But it’s not where I want to be. Not by a long shot.”

  “Hey, Vanni,” Alicia says as she stops by our table to pour a couple of glasses of water. Her eyes are still so hopeful as she looks at me, like one day I’m going to whisk her right out of that tiny dining room and off into the sunset like some adolescent fairy
tale. “Did you want some wine?”

  I look at Sasha, who nods. “Just a couple of glasses of house wine,” I tell Alicia, who nods and exits the table.

  I turn back to Sasha. “So let me guess,” she says. “You want to be at Sedução.”

  “To start,” I reply. “I want to perform every big venue from Madison Square Garden to the Hollywood Bowl. I want to sing the National Anthem at Yankee fucking Stadium and have my own show during half-time at the Super Bowl.”

  Her brown eyes are thoughtful. “Small town boy with big dreams?”

  “Anything wrong with that?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

  “No,” she says. “Dreamers change the world.”

  “Is that what you want to do?” I ask. It occurs to me suddenly that I’m interested in the answer. It seems like it’s been forever since I’ve actually talked to a woman.

  She takes a deep breath. “That’s a loaded question.”

  I sit back in the booth. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

  She eyes me carefully before she admits, “Well, I do.”

  I sit up straighter now. “Husband?” I ask. It hadn’t even occurred to me.

  She shakes her head. “Not anymore.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it.

  She shrugs. “Shit happens, what can I say? Anyway, he gets to go have a party and I get to raise a couple of kids. Seems fair.” She tips a glass to her lips and takes a long drink without looking at me.

  In the space of a second, the Old Vanni erupts from my core and I feel like a giant shit. “You certainly shouldn’t have skipped a shift for me.”

  She laughs. “I didn’t,” she confesses with an embarrassed grin. “I had the night off anyway. I was lying because I just didn’t want to spend it in another bar. I already work at two.”

  I eye her thoughtfully. She’s a pretty girl, with brown hair and dark eyes. Only she isn’t really a ‘girl’ at all. Now that we’re in a restaurant instead of a bar, I can see the faint lines around the corner of her eyes. She’s not some young groupie like the girls at the club. It hits me suddenly that she had been absolutely sincere before. She isn’t wearing hot clothes for me at all. She is taking a break from laundry and cleaning and runny noses, and needs to feel like a sexy woman for herself.