“That’s a stupid analogy, bro.” Sean rolls his eyes.
“Fine. Come out with us or I’ll stay home and Snapchat our entire bedtime beauty routine.” Austin pulls out his phone and scrolls through the apps.
“But I don’t have one.”
“You will tonight. Be ready for face peels, mani pedis, and puppy dog filters. We’ll be freaking fabulous!” Austin bats his lashes.
“You’re a douche.” Sean gives Austin a shove.
“You love me.” Austin turns and squeezes Sean in a bear hug that soon becomes a headlock.
“Come on fools, let’s grub.” I shove them both toward the stairs, and Austin releases his hold on Sean’s neck to jog up first.
Sean hits the fourth step before he stops and looks back at me, his brows pulled into a frown. “But I’m the peanut butter, right?”
I burst into laughter and jog up the stairs, pushing him ahead of me. “Yeah, Sean. You can be the peanut butter.”
My only hope is once we get on this tour we won’t need glue to keep us together. Three Ugly Guys has eight solid years under its belt and there’s no breaking up what we worked so hard to attain. This is the life. All we need to do now is ride the wave and enjoy the journey. I’ll sure as hell relish the last week of LA bunnies and hookups, but the wanderer spirit inside can’t wait to hit the road. Headlining our own fucking tour. Yeah, this is the life.My life. I’ll do another week of partying, but bring on the tour.
“Hot damn.” Austin lets loose a long whistle as we take the final step and drop our bags in the center of this oasis on wheels.
This fucking rocks. Bedo hooked us up big time. Our tour bus, the same one we traveled on during the Justin Hill gig, has been pimped the fuck out. Black leather couches, stainless steel appliances and black granite mini kitchen with a table for at least six is all top of the line. Most notable is the new carpet, a dark gray with that faint smell of glue hanging in the air that could almost get a person high. Iz will be ecstatic.
Austin goes straight to the fridge, pulls out four beers, and places them in the center of the compact kitchen table. Sean’s like a kid at Christmas, scurrying around the bus, opening every storage space, door, cabinet, and drape, while expletives roll out of his mouth with his apparent approval.
Bedo appears at the front of the bus. “So, what do you think of the improvements?” He saunters to the kitchenette, slides into the short end of the L-shaped padded bench and pops the top off one of the beers.
I join him, sitting at his side on one of the single chairs and stretching out my legs to rest on the bench across. “This is awesome. Thank you.”
“Only the best for the best.” He tilts his drink to me in a salute before he takes a long pull.
Drink in hand, Austin plops into the booth and slaps my shins. “Dude, feet down. Don’t disrespect the bus.”
“That bedroom is kickass. I call it,” Sean says when he walks out of the hallway to join us.
“You can’t call the bed. We aren’t children,” Austin retorts with a glare.
He’s just pissed he didn’t call it first. I am too.
“Yes, you are. But I’m gonna play daddy,” Bedo announces and it’s all we can do to keep our snickers at a minimum. His lips pull with a frown. “Not like that. You all need your heads checked.”
“You love us!” I grin.
“I love my paycheck.” He smirks back. “So, here’s how it’s gonna go. The tour is thirteen weeks. You each get the private room for four weeks and we’ll let Iz have it the last week. That’s the only—”
“Then I’m first!” Sean interrupts.
“Not this.” Bedo rolls his eyes.
“I think it’s only fair that I get the room first. I’m the oldest band member. I get seniority.” I sit up a little straighter. I’m the tallest, too, and fix my face in a superior stare.
“Nah, man, I get it first. It was my idea to name the band Three Ugly Guys,” Austin brags.
“Only because you’re the ugliest,” I retort.
“Fuck you!” he yells back.
“Fuck you!” I lean forward and puff out my chest.
