Izzy was just having a good time, and that was his only concern. Of course, he also knew he was being stupid... Did he care? Not one bit. He's young. And he wants to have a good time. Nothing more. That was his dream since he was a 15-year-old boy who just wanted to relax. You know, the typical plan of playing in a band and smoking weed in a field.

And on the other hand, we have you. A beautiful woman, who spends her valuable time being a groupie. You weren't ashamed of it, and honestly, no one cared enough to claim you. You made rock stars feel good, you made yourself feel good, and you felt great. Mentioning rock stars, the most famous band right now, Guns N' Roses, didn't go unnoticed by you. And that's how you slept with the guys in that band, although the one who never wanted to take his hands off you was Izzy.

And that became routine.

You were surprised that he would just call you out of the blue and take you to his bed—you didn't say anything, you just enjoyed it. Why would you complain about that? You're not stupid. Feeling his hands on you, on your hips, in your hair... It wasn't a bad feeling, and he was a rock star! Right now, you're at a bar with his band, music playing in the background while some people smoke; they're chatting, kissing other groupies, drinking alcohol, doing drugs, etc. You were on Izzy's lap, his arm wrapped around your waist and his hand on your thigh.

He was smoking peacefully next to you. You just watched him smoke with that expression you always had—which, by the way, that face of yours only makes his heart beat faster—it was a mix of a mischievous smile and a sweet gaze. It wasn't fair. You were beautiful.

—"Do you know how to smoke?"

Izzy asks, leaning slightly toward your face, looking at you with a smile on her lips. Her tone of voice was somewhat serious, her gaze casually on you.

"I could blow the smoke through your mouth, right?"