Read Online Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself Book 1) by MariaLisa deMora - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: MariaLisa deMora
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stopping them. Benita named herself manager as soon as they’d gotten paid for their first birthday party back in Enoch, which was okay with Ben, it kept her close, and he liked that. Since her dad had tried to have him arrested, they’d been a real couple. As long as I overlook her ‘mistakes,’ he thought and sighed.
Another case slid into view, and he looked up to see Danny eyeing him warily. “What’d Nigel want?”
“Nigel’s his name? Fuck, no wonder I couldn’t remember it.” Ben bent over to lift one end of the case.
Danny laughed. “Fuck no. I can’t ever remember his name, either. I just call him Nigel in my head.”
Rolling his eyes, Ben began pushing the cart while Danny steered. They’d executed this routine so often over the past three years that talking wasn’t necessary. At the van, Danny fumbled with the keys in the back door for a moment, and Ben wrapped his arms around himself, chilled and shivering. “Jesus, Danny.” He muttered this under his breath because the last thing he wanted to do tonight was set his partner off. Danny’d complain to Benita and then she’d be crawling up his ass. Do without any more of that tonight .
With a creak, the first door finally opened, and Danny unknowingly echoed him, with a slight variation. “Jesus, Blake.”
The other door swung wide, and Ben heard a complaining female voice. Peering through the opening, he saw why Blake wasn’t inside helping with teardown. Neck twisted to look over his shoulder at them, his ass never stopped pumping between the spread thighs of the woman laid out on the van’s floor. He hadn’t even aired up one of the pool floats they used as a mattress when they had to sleep in the van. “A minute, guys.” Breathless with exertion, his head snapped back to the woman, and he grunted, “A minute.”
Ben caught Danny’s eyes and they simultaneously shook their heads. A moment later, there was a loud groan, and he glanced back to see Blake’s skinny cheeks clenching, his back bowing as he came. Bending to offload the cart, Ben told Danny, “Get him to help you load the cases in the van when he pulls his pants up. I’ll get the rest of the gear out here. We still need to work merch.” Same shit, different day .
Three hours later, they were sitting in the van behind a twenty-four-hour diner, watching as Benita counted their take. “Four-thirty,” she said with a grimace.
Benny shook his head. “Shit. That’s two hundred less than last time here. It was a good crowd, what gives?”
Mouth drawn to one side, she twisted to glance in Blake’s direction. “We had to pay three hundred in union fees.”
Danny broke in. “You mean in shut-up fees.” Benita shrugged, folding the money and putting it into her wallet. She’d hold it until they needed gas or food, then she’d dole it out, bill-by-bill, making them all work for it a second time. “Jesus, Blake. When will you learn to keep your fucking mouth shut?”
“Fuck you.” Blake’s talents didn’t lie in his oratory skills. “Those guys are assholes.”
“Assholes or not,” Ben shifted uncomfortably on the floor, back to the pile of gear cases, “the manager said he won’t book us again if you keep this shit up. As it is, he doesn’t want you in the building during load-in or teardown. Which means we’ll carry your ass a-fucking-gain.” He reached beside him, picking up a plastic jar with a hand-printed sign taped to it. “I saw a good tip hit the gas money jar.” Ben unscrewed the lid, reached inside and pulled out a small handful of money mixed with scraps of paper. Dumping the mess in his lap, he quickly picked through to separate out the bills, finding what he was looking for.
While he was counting the money in his hand, Blake reached over and sifted through the remaining contents, picking out the pieces with writing on them. Some people used the jar as a trashcan, but a lot of girls dropped their numbers in, hoping for a call the next
Another case slid into view, and he looked up to see Danny eyeing him warily. “What’d Nigel want?”
“Nigel’s his name? Fuck, no wonder I couldn’t remember it.” Ben bent over to lift one end of the case.
Danny laughed. “Fuck no. I can’t ever remember his name, either. I just call him Nigel in my head.”
Rolling his eyes, Ben began pushing the cart while Danny steered. They’d executed this routine so often over the past three years that talking wasn’t necessary. At the van, Danny fumbled with the keys in the back door for a moment, and Ben wrapped his arms around himself, chilled and shivering. “Jesus, Danny.” He muttered this under his breath because the last thing he wanted to do tonight was set his partner off. Danny’d complain to Benita and then she’d be crawling up his ass. Do without any more of that tonight .
With a creak, the first door finally opened, and Danny unknowingly echoed him, with a slight variation. “Jesus, Blake.”
The other door swung wide, and Ben heard a complaining female voice. Peering through the opening, he saw why Blake wasn’t inside helping with teardown. Neck twisted to look over his shoulder at them, his ass never stopped pumping between the spread thighs of the woman laid out on the van’s floor. He hadn’t even aired up one of the pool floats they used as a mattress when they had to sleep in the van. “A minute, guys.” Breathless with exertion, his head snapped back to the woman, and he grunted, “A minute.”
Ben caught Danny’s eyes and they simultaneously shook their heads. A moment later, there was a loud groan, and he glanced back to see Blake’s skinny cheeks clenching, his back bowing as he came. Bending to offload the cart, Ben told Danny, “Get him to help you load the cases in the van when he pulls his pants up. I’ll get the rest of the gear out here. We still need to work merch.” Same shit, different day .
Three hours later, they were sitting in the van behind a twenty-four-hour diner, watching as Benita counted their take. “Four-thirty,” she said with a grimace.
Benny shook his head. “Shit. That’s two hundred less than last time here. It was a good crowd, what gives?”
Mouth drawn to one side, she twisted to glance in Blake’s direction. “We had to pay three hundred in union fees.”
Danny broke in. “You mean in shut-up fees.” Benita shrugged, folding the money and putting it into her wallet. She’d hold it until they needed gas or food, then she’d dole it out, bill-by-bill, making them all work for it a second time. “Jesus, Blake. When will you learn to keep your fucking mouth shut?”
“Fuck you.” Blake’s talents didn’t lie in his oratory skills. “Those guys are assholes.”
“Assholes or not,” Ben shifted uncomfortably on the floor, back to the pile of gear cases, “the manager said he won’t book us again if you keep this shit up. As it is, he doesn’t want you in the building during load-in or teardown. Which means we’ll carry your ass a-fucking-gain.” He reached beside him, picking up a plastic jar with a hand-printed sign taped to it. “I saw a good tip hit the gas money jar.” Ben unscrewed the lid, reached inside and pulled out a small handful of money mixed with scraps of paper. Dumping the mess in his lap, he quickly picked through to separate out the bills, finding what he was looking for.
While he was counting the money in his hand, Blake reached over and sifted through the remaining contents, picking out the pieces with writing on them. Some people used the jar as a trashcan, but a lot of girls dropped their numbers in, hoping for a call the next
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