Hopefully, those things were passed down the gene pool because she had no idea what she'd do if she got caught.
Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she walked out the door and prowled toward the drummer's house. Could she actually pass for a groupie in her Keds and Life is Good T-shirt?
The thought made her laugh so hard she snorted. She was a schoolteacher, and bagging a band member was only on her list because her mother told her to try it.
The extent of her efforts would be to shove her underwear in his fence and call it a day.
She loved summer in the mountains with the birds singing and flowers blooming. The weather was perfect, with a slight breeze that carried the scent of pine on it. As she neared Axel’s house, her heart raced.
"You're not robbing the man," she said under her breath as she skulked up and down the block twice before gaining enough courage to approach.
She spent a moment staring at his house. Though she wasn't up on styles, the word Craftsman came to mind. Though it was new, it blended in with the surrounding older homes. The only thing off was the fence. A white picket would have had more charm.
Sighing, she shoved the material inside a link and turned to walk away.
Just as she did, a truck turned the corner and drove past her.
She'd been caught and needed to save herself, or she'd be known as the pink panty prowler, and one scandal was enough for a lifetime. Tugging the underwear free, she moved down the sidewalk, pulling the other pairs from between the links.
Of all people to catch her, it was Baxter and Sosie. He rolled down his window and asked, "Everything okay?"
What could she say? She stared at her hand. How many had been worn? "Disgusting." Her gut response gave her an idea. "Can you believe women leave their underwear on the fence?" She held her hand out like she did a used Kleenex during flu season. "There are children in this neighborhood." She stomped forward, opened the neighbor's trash can, and tossed them all inside. "Somebody has to be the voice of reason."
"Carry on," Baxter said and drove forward.
Mercy couldn't see coming all this way to fail, so as soon as the coast was clear, she fished her panties from the trash can and tucked them into the fence before she ran off.
Her blood pumped so fast she thought she'd pass out. She couldn't call herself a groupie per se but had done a groupie thing and was now part of a crowd that left personal items as a sign of adoration.
"Oh my God, I'm like a cat who left a mouse on its owner's doorstep." She sped up and jogged toward her street.
When she walked into her house, she went straight to her bucket list and lined through the word groupie. Her walk on the wild side was over, and all it cost her was one pair of panties and self-respect.
She texted her mom.
Checked off groupie from my bucket list.
She watched the three dots scroll across the screen.
You are your mother's daughter and quick too.
If only she were as bold as her mother, she might not have settled for less.
I didn't sleep with anyone, just put a pair of underwear in his fence.
The dots scrolled again.
You're not supposed to put them in his fence; you're supposed to leave them in his room. Do I have to come there and teach you?
What a conversation to have.
Nope. I'm in training. You can't expect me to play the guitar if I've never had a lesson.
Dots and more dots.
Oh, is he a guitarist? They have nice fingers … skilled fingers.
He's a drummer, and I don't want to hear about his rhythm or his sticks.
Scrolling …
What about his wood? :-)
Bye, Mom
She tossed the phone into the drawer and walked into the living room where their last family photo sat on the mantel. Leaning in to look more closely at her brother, she realized he had Kenny Loggins' eyes.
Chapter Two
Waiting for everyone to show up, Alex Cruz sat behind his drums and watched the video from the security cameras he recently installed. He promised himself he wouldn't be caught off guard the next time a fan decided to surprise him. He couldn't count the number of times he'd found a naked woman or two in his bed. That was the thing about groupies; they didn't mind sharing.
In Los Angeles, all it took was a hundred bucks to the right security guard, and they were inside.
He couldn't fault them. From the outside, his life looked glamorous, and all they wanted was a piece of the action. It was like they had a bucket list, and sleeping with him was at the top of it.
If he wasn't in town and managed to get into his place, they stole the craziest shit like his soap or his magazines. He'd finally given up wearing underwear because his boxers disappeared faster than a coin from a magician's hand.
He played the footage of a blonde woman, placing a pair of underwear in his fence and then moments later yanking all the pairs left since yesterday and tossing them into the neighbor's trash can. A moment later, she took a single pair out and put them back in the fence.
"Ready?" Samantha asked, drawing his attention from his phone.
Red and Gray picked up their instruments. Deanna, Sam's assistant and all-around savior for the band, walked in with coffee and muffins, smiling at everyone but Red. He got a glare, and Alex wondered what was going on there.
"Let's do it," he said. While his voice sounded exuberant, his brain wasn't fully awake due to the earlier than ordinary session.
Samantha stood in front of the
