Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 (4 page)

Okay, well, tell me how you really feel. She’s straight to the point, and fuck me, I like it. A lot.

“Well, sweetheart, why is that?” This was definitely taking a direction that I had expected. Most girls wanted to talk about the band, and me, blah, blah, blah. This chick was cutting me to the quick here, and I was enjoying it.

“Because you want to see if...” She leaned into my ear. I watched as she pushed her weight. The neckline of her T-shirt became dangerously low, and her tits were the most amazing shade of cream and pale pink. She continued, “…these lips can do more than just fill your ears with noise.”

Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it. I have managed to find the one female who wants exactly what I do. Sex. No talking. Just physical pleasure until exhaustion. I must have been goddamn psychic.
Making my way to the bar, I poured us each a Captain and Coke and placed my ass on the black leather barstool. I firmly expected her to walk over to me and prepare to service my every waking desire. So when she didn’t follow my lead, I grabbed both drinks in my hands and stood up from the barstool.
This is not how this works. You, sweetheart, do what I want. If you think I am going to cater to you, then this is not going to end well. I am Synister Fucking Smith, baby; you come to me.
I walked into the main living area and sat down on the couch. I thought,
Well, honey, time to put your money where your mouth is. Or better yet, time to put your mouth on my dick.

Grabbing the drink from the table where I had placed it, she downed the entire thing in one gulp and proceeded to lose every article of clothing with each step she took. All that kept running through my mind was,
Now that’s more like it. Leave the shoes on. Please leave the shoes on.
When she finally stopped in front of me, she was wearing only a red lace thong, garter belt, fishnets, and black FMPs.
He shoots and scores. Wet dream intact.

With our eyes completely fixated on each other, she ran both of her hands down my chest, lingering long enough to dig her flame red nails into my skin, making me suck in my bottom lip to conceal my delight. There was no way I was letting her in on the secret that I liked it rougher than eighty grit sandpaper to the face. Many things impressed me that night, but number one was her resolve to take exactly what she wanted. Dropping to her knees in front of me, she undid my jeans. Grabbing the waistband, she jerked them down my hips without so much as a please.
Well, surprise, sweetheart.
I wasn't wearing boxers, so my dick basically jumped out of my pants like a jack-in-the-box. And she never flinched, just wrapped her hand and delicious lips around my already dripping cock and devoured every inch like it was her last meal on Earth.

I rested my head on the back of the couch while spreading my arms across the top and just enjoyed. Enjoyed the feeling of a woman who wanted more from me than to please me. Not my money, or to hear about my troubled youth. Nope, this woman currently in front of me on her knees was providing the right amount of distraction from life and sexual pleasure that was on the menu. Most women came up for air. Not this chick. I was half-tempted to look down and see if she was wearing a scuba mask because she was ferocious. The only movement she made was when she took her hands and placed them flat on my thighs and lifted up. I immediately thought,
Fuck,
this is going too well
. Well, hell, if I wasn't wrong. The beautiful blonde at my feet lifted her body in the air and deep-throated every inch I had until I exploded in her mouth. Without a flinch, she took every ounce that I gave her. When she stood, she licked her lips, shot me a wink, grabbed her clothes, and was gone.

Wow...okay. That was…perfection.
When I heard my phone go off, I leaned down to grab it out of my pants that were still around my ankles.

Big T: Am I taking this one home?

Me: Yes

Big T: Roger

Standing from the couch, I pulled up my pants and headed to the shower. Tomorrow was another city. Today everything was confirmed. I was prepared to let the accomplishment of watching every fucking dream you had come true. The only thing missing from this celebration was Brooklyn. Pushing the images of her aside, as hard as I tried, I still managed to feel her arms around me.

Get a fucking grip, dude.

Pulling my phone from my jeans, I tossed it onto the bathroom counter and turned on the water. Dropping what little remained of my clothing, I couldn't help but notice the faint red lipstick marks on my flesh. I snapped my fingers in the air.
Damn, I should have gotten that one’s number.
Just then my phone vibrated. I swiped my finger across the screen.

Brooklyn: You made it, babe. I’m hiding in the bathroom of the jet. I couldn't let the night end without congratulating you. You did it, Syn... You are everyone’s rock star now...but you will always be mine. <3 B!

Now I knew that I had made it. Brooklyn’s approval was all I needed in that moment. It was all I ever needed.

Synister
- Five Years, Four Months, and a Million Seconds Later

I knew when I sent the message I would be in the middle of a shit storm the minute Brooklyn walked through the door. It was a punishment I was willing to take. She did not respond to my text. She didn’t need to. I knew she was on her way. No matter how much shit I was in for demanding she do something, I could not handle this news myself. God, I wished she knew how much I needed her. It wasn't to say that I hadn't been given my chance to win her over when her marriage to Royce fell apart. I just had no idea where to start. I didn’t want to be the rebound guy. That never worked. I didn’t want her to think I was taking advantage of her.
Fuck no.
I needed her to know, if it ever came to being honest with her, that I was sincere and genuine. I would not offer her canned bullshit that any dude could pick up in a shitty card. I would only give Brooklyn my true self; I would expose all my scars to her and show her that my love ran deeper for her than the music in my veins.

 What ended up being a week-long bender in Vegas was not enough to make a relationship. That time with her had a safe place in my heart. One that I thought about on particularly shitty nights like tonight. I got to hold her in my arms, comfort her when she needed me the most. I got to repay the favor of being there for her when she most needed it as she had so many times for me. But it was not enough to sustain when reality set back in and I had to hit the road again. So Brooklyn and I were still not us, a regret I take full responsibility for. I knew I could have taken her as mine, claimed her body and heart once and for all, but not like that. Not in a time when she needed me to be strong, to lift her up. The timing wasn't right, or at least that was what I continued to tell myself. But that was three years ago, and she never really talked about it.

Truthfully, what was there to say? It wasn’t like I put myself out there for her to decide what she wanted. No, sir. I kept that shit locked away tight, even from Brooklyn, the one person who stood the greatest chance of winning my heart. My love she already had. So, I guessed we had moved on. Sort of. Well, she appeared to have moved on. I, on the other hand, was stuck on pause, waiting for her to find me right where she left me.

Sitting on the cold bathroom tile of whatever hotel I was in, I could feel the sweat dripping down my back. I was happy that I even knew we were in Chicago. Push was in the middle of a sixty-stop tour, and one place was bleeding into the next. My fingers were cold, and my forehead was burning up. I tried to convince myself that I was getting sick. Maybe the flu. Lies. Hopes. All bullshit. Anything to distract me from dealing with the truth. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I rested my head back against the wall and tried to just breathe. If you would have told me that this was what letting go of all my hopes and dreams looked like, there was no way I would have believed you. Actually, I would have told you first that Synister Smith didn’t get
told
what his outcomes were. He created them. Second, if I had to admit it, this outcome, this spiraling out of control was my worst nightmare. I was a scared little boy when all of the attitude fell away, and I hated it. Hated feeling like someone else was at the wheel. Hated knowing that I was not controlling every outcome. In the pit of my stomach, I knew I would end up surrounded by my failures. Sitting alone, surrounded by people who only wanted my fame and not me, like a junkie dying alone in an alley. This was my hell.
When had I become this person?
People would assume I was another washed-up rock star with too much access and not enough moral fiber to keep it together.

Four hours. Four hours was all I needed to wait until my salvation arrived.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Synister, baby, what are you doing in there? We are getting so bored out here. Samantha brought some blow, and we want to party. Come on, baby, please...” I couldn't tell you the names of the three ladies who followed me to my penthouse. Was it three of them? I had no clue.

Goddamn, the after-party was a complete blur. I was signing autographs and some chick asking me to sign her tits. Seriously, I thought that shit went out with the hair bands. The hotel had set up the after-after-party in the lounge. Zeke had bailed like always. Scottie sat at the bar between two barely legal blondes, doing shots of what I was sure was tequila. At one point, blonde number two mounted the bar, took off her top, and the body shots began. I tried to stay out of the hustle, but when blonde number two’s boyfriend, husband, who the fuck knows, got pissed, I became involved. Shit got broken. Cops showed up. Party over. Big T came to my rescue before the cops were done taking names, and I was out the door and in the staff elevator on the way to the penthouse. Operation Synister Extraction was a success. The last several hours were a blur, but the only thing clear to me was I needed B here with me, and now.

Knock, knock, knock.

“
Synister, baby, don’t you wanna party?” Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard.
Please go away
was all that kept running through my mind. I knew bringing them up here was a bad idea. But, I hadn’t really invited them. I just didn’t tell them no when they followed me. As the female voice ended, I heard the thumps of heels on the floor, and I let out a sigh of relief. They were walking away.
Thank God
.

Pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, I scrolled to
Favorites
and pressed the button for my bodyguard. After banging out the message, I dropped the phone beside me on the floor.

Big T: Make them go away.

Tonight’s show had been amazing. Chicago’s Lincoln Hall
proved to be the perfect mid-tour break locale. When Scottie told me he had booked the place my initial reaction was
why?
It looked too stuffy for a Push show.
Who are we going to draw? Suits and bitches. Two minutes into the first song, when you scream
fuck
for the first time, that place is going to clear out.
Clearly, I was wrong. The crowd killed it, and I was reminded at least a million times during the after-party why I was not in charge of the venue, and why I should stick to what I knew best—beating the skins both on a musical and female level.

Knock, knock, knock.

Goddammit, if it is that whiny ass female again, I am going flip my shit.

“What!”

“It’s just me, boss. The ladies are gone. The redhead was a feisty one, so I sent her to Hendrix’s room.” I could hear muffled laughs from the other side of the door as his footsteps walked away. Oh, that was perfect. I owed that bastard back for his little stunt in Denver when he put glue on my drum stool. First time I stood up, mid-song mind you, I nearly ripped my pants and half of my ass off. This was the perfect payback for his bitch ass.

“Thanks, man. You rock!” I shouted, not knowing if he could hear me.

I could just imagine Hendrix when that redhead showed up at his door looking to party. He would know exactly who sent her because only I would have the stones to send a chick to his hotel room. Oh, the disappointment on her face when she realized that Hendrix St. James batted for the other team—no, rephrase that. He
owned
the other team. As an evil smirk spread across my face, I couldn’t help but feel my mood lift for a moment. Folding my arms across my chest, I was still completely dressed, coat and all. What a rock star I was sitting on the floor of a bathroom, in a penthouse suite, still fully dressed at two in the morning after one of our best shows.
Wow. Living the glamorous life. Not!

I shifted from my left to my right side and realized my ass was cold and my back was aching with the pain of sitting in one place too long. Placing my boots flat onto the floor, I pushed with all my might as my legs, back, and ego seemed bruised. Standing up off the floor, I walked out into the penthouse, took off my coat, and tossed it over the arm of a chair. I needed food. Shouting into the massive suite that would be my home for the next forty-eight hours, I needed to find Tony.