“No, but—”
“No. Exactly.” Putting the smoke out, I stand from the couch. “So, how about you mind your fucking business, Seb, and know your fucking place. Last I checked, it was your job to manage the band and make sure we did what we were supposed to do. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do, so back the fuck off. Now, if you don’t mind…” I shove past him, shoulder checking him on my way out. “I’ve got fans to get to.”
The Meet & Greet takes about an hour and a half. It’s exclusive, only a hundred or so tickets sold for it. We all do our part; chit-chatting with the fans, taking pictures, signing CDs, vinyl records, t-shirts, tits, the whole nine. A couple of them catch my eye and invite me and the band out to a local bar afterwards.
As a general rule, we typically try not to go out to small establishments with fans too often. With how well-known we are, it’s usually a recipe for disaster, but as I mentioned earlier, it’s been a shit week, so I’m doing it. I talk the band’s guitarist and my best friend, Atticus, into coming with me, though he was not too pleased. Honestly, he probably only came to keep an eye on me, but I don’t fucking care.
The chicks we’re meeting at this hole in the wall place are waiting for us at the bar. When they see us, the smiles on their faces look like they hurt from being so wide, and they can barely stand still as Atti and I approach them. They’re all wearing the Wicked Hearts t-shirts that we signed for them back at the venue and cut-off denim shorts. One of them, the blonde one with the huge tits and the tiny waist, has combat boots on, while the other, the redhead with the hourglass-shape body, has on some black and white Chucks that look like they’ve seen better days.
In front of them is a row of shots. The amber liquid filling them to the brim is probably whiskey, and I can’t wait to down ’em.
“Hello, ladies,” I say with arms wide open and a shit-eating grin on my face. They squeal, running over to hug me, before doing the same to Atticus. “These for us?” I gesture toward the liquor on the countertop.
“Yeah, thought we could kick this party of four off the right way,” the blonde one says. The pep in her voice lets me know she’s from the valley. Not surprising since wearein Los Angeles, after all.
We all toss back the shots—I was right, it’s whiskey—before ordering another round and finding an empty booth in the back of the room to sit and bullshit. The liquor flows, the girls ask us dozens of questions about the band and tour, and they tell us a bunch of random facts about themselves that I wouldn’t be able to recall even if I tried.
Last call comes, and I’m nowhere near ready for the night to end. Ignoring the intense side-eye I get from Atticus, I invite the girls back to my hotel room for a little after-hours fun. He comes too, which surprises me. Although, he is hitting it off with the redhead, so maybe he’s looking to get laid. Who the hell am I to stop him? I don’t swing that way, so if blondie thinks she’s getting some of this by the end of the night, she’s sadly mistaken.
I will, however, give her copious amounts of drugs. Which, in my humble opinion, is maybe even better than mediocre sex with a stranger in a hotel room.
* * *
“Where’s Kayla?”
My eyes drag from where they’re focused on the table, up to blondie, whose name I still don’t fucking know. The question came from her.
“What?”
“Kayla,” she repeats. “Where’d she go?”
“Darlin’… who the fuck is Kayla?”
She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “The friend I’m here with.”
“Oh!” I chuckle, sitting back on the sofa. “Redhead. She’s probably in my room with Atticus, if I had to guess.”
The four of us have been chillin’ in my suite for the last hour. We started out drinking, then moved to smoking some weed. Shortly after the joint was gone, Atti andKayladisappeared. He’s probably getting his nut in on my bed as we speak.
She giggles. “Do you think they’re having sex?”
“Well, they’re certainly not having a heart to heart,” I drawl, bringing my attention back to the table in front of me. I’m working on cutting up a little concoction for blondie and me. I’ve only done it this way one other time, mixing H and cocaine together—speedball, they call it—in Singapore, during our last international tour. It was with Cory, our bassist, and a couple of groupies. Shit got me higher than I’ve ever been, but knocked my ass out for an entire day.
Probably not my smartest move, seeing as how we have another show tomorrow night, but I never claimed to be responsible.
With two lines laid out on the table, I grab the rolled-up bill, handing it to her. “You sure you wanna do this?”
She nods. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Have you done this before?”
“Of course, I have.” The way her voice lifts into a high pitch makes me think she’s lying, but I’m not her fucking mom, so who am I to deny her?
“Alright then, darlin’,” I mutter. “Go for it.”
Leaning down, she sniffs the powdered line up her right nostril, her left one pinched closed by her index finger. She groans, wiping her nose, tears springing to her honey brown eyes. Shit burns, I know. With a slow blink, she hands me the bill, resting back, melting into the sofa behind us.
I don’t waste any time taking mine, a euphoric haze flooding my system almost immediately. Relaxing into the couch, my head drops back, eyes drifting closed.
