Little Black Tank Top

Mike held his glass of rum and coke in one hand as he rolled some dice with his other at the craps table, and shouting in excitement when he doubled his money. But unlike most fools, he knew when to quit when he was ahead. Pocketing his winnings, he decided to migrate through the people and the tables of blackjack, one of which Tre was sitting at with some old woman, talking to her about something or other. Billie Joe was at a separate craps table signing an autograph for a little girl who had been to the concert with her mother.

Wanting something a little less clogged, Mike wandered to the slot machines which we pretty much vacant for a Sunday night...er...well, really early Monday morning. Finding a row of completely empty and devoid of any life but his own, he plopped down with his drink and popped in a twenty dollar bill and began to gamble away.

However, he didn't remain alone for long. An old guy sat down beside him and started to strike up a conversation on why slots where the way to go. And he kept farting. Mike grimaced and politely excused himself, deciding to cash in what he'd one on the slots. Chucking his empty drink into the garbage, he stopped in his tracks watching as none other than the girl in the black tank top was struggling with how to work the machine that gave out the winnings after reading the card a slot machine spits out when your done gambling.

He smirked, then kind of blushed. Here was a fan, who had no idea he was standing right there, or that he had whacked off to her image in his head while in the shower.

"Need help?" he asked.

She turned and then went wide eyed, her undoubtedly soft lips parting. "Uh...y-yeah. I-I can't figure this out for the life of me."

Her voice was kinda deep and velvety, yet kinda light and soft.

"Here..." Mike stepped forward and pressed what needed to be pressed and then out came her money. He looked at the amount that read out on the screen. "200 bucks? Not bad."

She grinned. "I know. It's been a great night."

"I bet," he smiled. "I saw you in the audience, you know?"

She looked surprised. "You did? I mean, I thought you had, but I wasn't really sure with all the people around me."

"No, no I definitely saw you. Hard to miss."

Biting her bottom lip, that he himself wanted to bite, she blushed a little and fiddled nervously with her money that she was trying to stuff into her jeans pockets.

"Uh...so, you're still here? You're not, you know, traveling to the next city?"

He shook his head. "Nah. We're gonna hit the road in the morning. The drive shouldn't be that long."

"Ah," she just nodded, not knowing what to say to this, her musical idol and celebrity crush.

"What's your name?" Mike asked, breaking the short silence.

"Beth."

"Well, it's nice to have a name to the face," he replied, slightly scolding himself, hoping that didn't come out wrong. But the beaming grin on her face told him it didn't. "You old enough to drink?"

"Twenty-two. If you don't believe me, I'll show you my license."

They laughed. "No, I believe you. Let me buy you a drink."

"Oh. Okay, cool." They walked together to the resort's bar and he ordered her a drink and she muttered something about wishing she had a camera, because no one would believe her that she met Mike Dirnt. But he pointed out that the other fans that were still lingering in the Taj Mahal that noticed them walking together would believe it. Maybe even spread the word.

They laughed at that and began to talk, and it didn't take much for Mike to get aroused again. Watching her talk to him nervously, he had to smile and reach out and take her hand to keep her from picking too much at her fingernails which were paint black. His blue eyes locked with her kohl-lined hazel ones. She wore glasses, but they looked nice on her. Actually, he was sure anything would look nice on her. Granted she was tall and shapely as Victoria's Secret models but she was a skinny waif or overweight. Her body was that perfect medium that had his own reacting.

And this time he didn't have his bass to cover that up.

Shifting his weight, he found himself rubbing the back of her hand with his finger instead of pulling it back after taking a hold of it. They looked at each other, and Mike could just about feel the heat rushing to her face. He could sense she was nervous. Not just because she was rambling or fidgeting due to the fact that this was a famous person sharing drinks with her, but because there was a mutual attraction lying out there between them that was going unspoken.

"You live in the area?" he wondered.

"Uh, no. I live in Long Island, but I'm staying with my aunt who lives about an hour from here. That way I wouldn't be driving for four hours each way for the show."

"You don't have, like, a curfew do you?" he asked warily.

She shook her head with a smile. "Heh, no, I don't have a curfew. I'm too all grown up to have one."

This was driving Mike nuts. The voice in the back of his head was screaming at him to take her then and there, right on the table they sat at, in front of all the people in the bar. He wanted to make her scream, to feel what she was like with him deep inside of her. And the discomfort of having a rock hard erection right at that moment wasn't helping the situation any.

"When were you planning on leaving?" he wondered further.

She shrugged. "Hadn't really thought about it."

He narrowed his eyes in a smirk and leaned forward. "Would I come off as a jerk or too forward if I asked you if you wanted to come upstairs to my room to hang out?"

She sat back, taking in what he'd asked and he immediately kicked himself. Fucking loser, he thought.

"Uh...no..." She replied and he met her in the eye. "It wouldn't be forward."

"But am I a jerk?" he inquired, a glimmer of hope hanging over his head.

"You haven't done or said anything to come off that way...yet, anyway."

A grin on his lips, spreading even wider made Beth smile as well. Linking his finger in between hers, they're hand clasped on the tabletop, his thumb rubbing her palm in slow circles. "Wanna go up there now?" he asked carefully.

"Sure. Okay," she nodded.

They stood at the same time and Mike prayed to whatever deity, or all of them, that he'd been able to calm his southern regions as they walked out of the bar and headed for the elevators together.