Record Daddy

Record Daddy

“One of the bartenders said a famous music producer from New York is sitting in one of the back booths! You’ve got to put it on tonight, girl!” said Shane, my very gay-licious drummer.

Pre-performance jitters made their presence known at the mention of a famous person being in the crowd.

I was used to performing night after night on this same damn stage, singing the same damn songs, in the same damn set. Nerves were a thing of the past. Until someone like this unnamed music producer showed up.

The nerves stemmed from past failures; I would get so worked up that I always fucked up and screwed up my chances of a music deal.

Tonight was not the night for that. Whoever this music producer was, I didn’t care. I already had a gig here. While not ideal, it paid the bills, and for the most part, my band and I had fun doing it.

“It doesn’t matter,” I told Shane as our bass guitarist, Buzz, walked up.

“What doesn’t matter?” Buzz asked.

“Shane said a music producer is in one of the bottle-service booths, but it doesn’t matter. Let’s go out there and do our thing like we always do!

“Nashville wants a show, and a show is what we’ll give them!” I said confidently, shaking my long red hair out of my face as I pulled my guitar strap over my shoulder.

Shane and Buzz put their hands into the space between us. I placed mine on top.

Kinsley, the keyboard player, ran up to us, smearing red lipstick across her lips. She was likely just cleaning up from fucking a groupie on the side stage. That girl was as free-spirited as they came.

“You good, Kins?” Shane asked.

“Good! Let’s do this shit!” Kinsley said excitedly, slapping her hands onto the stack of ours.

I yelled our mantra, and the band chanted with me, “To the people who came before, to the people who came tonight, to the people who will come tomorrow! Let’s get fucked!”

Shane and Kinsley came up with the chant one night when they both fucked someone on the side stage between sets—those nasty whores. But regardless, I loved the chant! It reminded me of our younger, wilder days.

We walked out onto the stage. I completely forgot about the music producer, and we played one hell of a show. Once we had finished, the band and I headed to the bar for an after-show drink.

Mickey, my favorite bartender, had beers and a whiskey shot waiting for us when we arrived.

“You’re the best, Mick!” I held up the shot in thanks before knocking back the entire two ounces.

It burned in the best way.

“Oh shit,” Kinsley said suddenly, ducking behind me.

I looked around to find out who she was hiding from. “Who’s the unlucky guy?”

She laughed and pulled Buzz closer to my side so she could stand between us and not be seen.

“Well… Technically, he was the lucky guy before the show, but he seems like the type to get easily attached. Plus, I spotted this super-hot guy giving me fuck-me eyes during the show. I’m going to find him.”

Kins grabbed her beer from the bar and Shane’s hand. “Come with me, I need you as a buffer!”

“Only if guy number one swings both ways. Otherwise, I’m leaving your ass to find some tail, honey,” Shane said.

“Deal. Let’s go!” They headed off, leaving Buzz and me standing at the bar.

“What’s your plan tonight?” I asked Buzz.

He shrugged and said, “I’ll probably head home. I’ve got an early shift at the club tomorrow.”

On top of our gigs, Buzz worked as a bouncer for a strip club in downtown Nashville. While it wasn’t the most fun job, he said it paid well. “What about you?”

“I guess I’ll go home too. There’s not much to do around here other than watch Kins and Shane make out with strangers, and I don’t have much space left in my brain for another one of those memories.”

“Ha! Me neither; that’s why I’m going home. Tina’s waiting for me anyway.” Buzz chugged down the last of his beer. “Want me to walk you to your car?”

I looked down at my still half-full beer. “Nah. I’ll stick around for a bit. Thanks, though. See you tomorrow, Buzz.”

Buzz gave me a goodbye nod and pushed through the crowd to the exit, leaving me alone at the bar.

I scanned the crowd, laughing when I saw Shane and Kinsley dirty dancing between two guys. They knew how to have a good time; I admired them for their ability to let go.

Once, I had been as wild as they were, but as soon as I hit twenty-six, the wildness of my teenage years and early twenties just didn’t seem as fun.

Unfortunately, the right kind of guys weren’t usually attracted to women entering their late twenties and still trying to get famous. One day, I’d be that washed-up forty-year-old still singing top country hits in Nashville bars.

Not that anything was wrong with that lifestyle. I loved it. I chose it. But I didn’t want to date another struggling singer.

I wanted a man. A man with his shit together. A man I could rely on and go home to, like Buzz went home to Tina.

I kind of envied what he had: a faithful woman with a desk job who made their hours together work because they respected each other’s dreams. She was amazing.

“Hey,” a deep voice said from behind me.

I turned around and faced the man of my dreams—literally. I had just been thinking about the kind of man that faced me. I had to blink a few times to make sure I was seeing reality and not a figment of my imagination.

He was tall with salt-and-pepper hair. A faint five o’clock shadow lined his jaw. His lips were pursed in a serious, thin line that made him look unapproachable, especially with those hard, narrow eyes.

Those hard, narrow eyes were directed at me. And while I wanted to curl up in a ball and run away from this very stern-looking man, I also wanted to disappear into those dangerously hazel eyes.

I wanted to run my fingers over his stubble, down his neck, and around those broad shoulders… Those broad shoulders that looked super fucking sexy in his sport coat.

He was not the typical customer for a tourist bar in the middle of Nashville. He looked like he would fit in better at some ritzy rooftop cocktail bar.

“Hi,” I finally replied, after taking in my fill of him.

“I’m Grey,” he said, putting his elbow on the bar top and leaning into it.

He didn’t even care about how dirty and sticky the bar was. Why would he? Grey looked like the kind of man who owned twenty jackets and got them dry-cleaned after every wear.

“Hi, Grey. I’m Abby.” I mimicked his stance and curtness. I was not sure who this man was or what his agenda was, but I was certainly willing to find out.

“Nice show,” Grey said, waving at the bartender. “Let me buy you a drink.”

I lifted a brow. Let me buy you a drink. Not a question. A command.

“And if I don’t want a drink?”

He paused and cocked his head. “Then let me take you out for a bite to eat. You must be hungry after putting on a show like that.”

“And if I’m not hungry?” I played along, secretly loving his persistence and wanting to see how far he’d take it.

“Then I guess I should ask what you need right now, Abby. Because whatever it is, I’ll get it for you.”

Mick walked over, slinging a towel over his shoulder, and asked, “What’ll it be?”

Grey looked at me.

“A whiskey. Thanks, Mick,” I answered.

“Make it two. The best you’ve got,” Grey said, pulling out his wallet and smiling at me.

His face transformed when he smiled, and I found myself mesmerized by him in an entirely new way.

Oh my God, this man was probably forty, maybe older. He was totally different from the men I usually went after, yet I found my knees weak and my stomach full of butterflies just from being in his presence.

“So, Abby, how long have you been performing?” he asked, his face turning serious again.

“I’ve been on stage professionally since I was fifteen. What are you in town for?”

I wanted to know if he was just another tourist. Not that I was above chatting up a tourist, but this man had potential… The go-home-to-after-work kind of potential.

“I’m here on business. I often am, but for some reason, I’ve never seen you play. I don’t know how I could have missed you. You’re beautiful up there.”

My cheeks flushed at his compliment. He said it so matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument. The way he expressed it was like everyone could see it and everyone agreed. Yet, no one had ever said that to me, and I’d never thought about it.

Was I a good singer? Yes. Was I a good performer? Most nights. Was I beautiful? More like sexy.

Being called beautiful felt like a flower blooming in my chest.

It was like he saw through all the bullshit and recognized the craft for what it was—art. Although I felt it when I played and sang, I never felt the audience feel it. But this strange older man had felt it and expressed it in such simple words.

“Thank you,” I said, removing all sass from my tone. Grey had just made my night.

Mick set the whiskeys down, and Grey handed over a black card, telling him to close it.

I guess he’s only planning on buying me one drink tonight.

My stomach sank in disappointment. Either I’d just totally ruined it with Grey somehow, or he was just being a gentleman and buying all the women on stage a drink.

“Do you have any plans tonight?” Grey asked, signing the bill and tucking his wallet back into his sports coat.

“No,” I replied, unsure why Grey wanted to know.

“I have a proposition for you, Abby,” he said, leaning back against the bar and drinking from his whiskey.

His voice held power. There was no hint of insecurity or doubt. Just the simple confidence he exuded to the point that it was nearly arrogant. Yet somehow, it wasn’t.

“What’s your proposition?”

“Spend the night with me.”

I nearly spit out my whiskey.

Does he think I’m some kind of prostitute? I’m not that desperate!

“No thanks.” I slammed my glass down and turned away.

A firm hand gripped my wrist, twisting me back around. “The only thing you’ll regret tonight is walking away from me. Maybe I should have told you that you will spend the night with me, instead of asking if you would.”

He tugged me toward his chest. My hands flew up to stop the collision of our bodies, planting themselves on his chest. For a man his age, he was fit. Extremely fit. And firm.

His whiskey breath fanned my face as he looked down at me, still clutching my wrist between our bodies. “I’m telling you now… You’re mine tonight, pretty little singer. I’ll make you sing like you’ve never sung before.”

Oh my god. That sensual promise… And using my talent as an innuendo for all the ways he’ll make me feel.

My stomach was knotted with the aching desire to know what he would do and how he would make me feel. But this man was dangerous. Those eyes might have been light in color, but they held dark promises.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, using my brain rather than my overly excited, under-appreciated lady parts. In my wilder days, I’d tell this guy to fuck me backstage. Right. Fucking. Now.

Grey leaned in and whispered into my ear, “You’re a performer, Abby. Let a man with experience show you how to achieve what you truly desire.”

What was he talking about? How was my performance on stage anything like performing during sex? I attempted to cross my arms and challenge the infuriatingly sexy man holding my wrist, but he held me firmly and nipped my neck.

I nearly crumbled. A heated passion stirred deep within my core. I should have been running for the hills, away from this man, but I found myself relaxing against him, waiting for another bite.

“You feel that? Let me show you more,” Grey murmured, his voice husky.

I failed trying to voice words and instead groaned—literally groaned. I was officially at this powerful man’s mercy.

“What’s that?” Grey laughed as I slid my hands up his shoulders.

Those shoulders. They felt as good as they looked. He was so stiff, so firm, and so immovable. It was like touching a sleeping dragon. It excited me. Adrenaline was pumping through me like it hadn’t in years.

“The back,” I managed to get out, suggesting we get backstage as fast as possible because I wasn’t a total idiot. I wasn’t going anywhere unfamiliar with this man.

But even though it seemed like a bad idea, I was totally fucking him. I was too far gone.

Grey grabbed my hand and pushed me through the crowd to the side of the stage. He ducked under the black curtain I had emerged from earlier. Apparently, he had been paying attention.

His head moved back and forth as he looked around, searching for a private space.

“Follow me.” I rushed past him, nearly jogging to the dressing room.

When we got to the room, there were two women inside, touching up their makeup.

“Out,” Grey barked.

They looked at the man and instantly went pale.

“Please,” I added.

It wasn’t necessary. The two women grabbed their makeup and ran out the door. Grey locked it and turned around. I was facing him, but the look on his face had me backing up.

Is this a bad idea? Is he going to skin me alive and wear my skin around until it gets all dried up and crusty?

The thought made me sick, and I began backing away.

My legs bumped into the couch behind me, and I dropped backward, plopping onto it with an oomph. Grey chuckled and stalked closer. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, the only thing that truly revealed his age.

“Take your dress off,” he commanded, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair.

This is happening. This is really happening.

I struggled out of my dress, and by the time I dropped it to the floor, Grey was unzipping his pants. His shirt was already off, revealing the toned body I’d felt underneath.

Wow. He’s hot. Mouthwateringly hot.

Grey stepped out of his pants and slid his boxers off with them. He was so to the point, wasting no time.

As for me, I didn’t even know what to do. This was not how I usually started sex. But after seeing his length and the hand that stroked his cock to life, I was on board.

Just tell me where to go and what to do.

“Um…,” I started to ask a question, but his hand went to my cheek.

“Don’t talk, little singer. Save that voice for when I’m making you scream.”

Is it possible to melt more than once? Because I just did. I totally liquified.

I nodded and waited for his next move. Grey dropped to his knees and slid his hands over my legs. His tongue followed the line of his thumb, sweeping up between my inner thighs.