As the song’s last notes ring out, the crowd goes wild.
“Holy shit!” Holly yells in my ear. “You two were so eye fucking each other!”
Pulling my gaze from his, I draw in a deep breath. It feels like I’ve come up from a deep dive. Air rushes out of me. I need to escape before I find myself drowning. “I need to use the restroom.”
“What!”
I have to get out of here. I can sense stares from the crowd surrounding us, the interest in the girl Justin just sang to. “I have to pee.” I grab her arm. “Now.”
“All right. All right,” Holly says, taking my hand and yanking me through the mass as a fast pounding song starts.
We join the end of the long line as I try to catch my breath.
“Girl, you’ve been holding out on me,” Holly says, leaning next to me against the wall.
I shake my head.
She pokes my shoulder. “Then what was that?”
Closing my eyes, I try to figure that out. It’s almost like I imagined what happened. It’s hard to believe reality could involve that much intensity.
“Hey, you okay?”
I open my eyes and nod. “Just a little drunk.”
Holly grins at me. “On alcohol or lust?”
A giggle escapes me. “Maybe both?” We shuffle along the wall with the rest of the herd. “He just likes to flirt, Hol.”
“I call bullshit. What I just witnessed went beyond flirting. He sang ‘Iris’ to you. ‘Iris’ is some serious shit, Al.”
I kind of recall her saying it before, but I want to make sure because I
“Yes, it’s by the Goo Goo Dolls.” When I give her a blank stare, she lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s famous. If it were a painting, you’d know it by sight, the artist, the year it was painted, and the story behind it too.”
I shrug and scoot forward with the moving line.
After the bathroom stop, Holly orders me another shot. Knowing I’ll be seeing Justin soon, I don’t argue and swallow the tequila in one gulp. Liquid courage to the rescue. The thought of dealing with my emotions directly in front of him, without the crowd and the stage to provide a buffer, has me jittery. Each of us with a beer in hand, we wait at the edge of the crowd as Justin announces their next song as something new the guitar player wrote.
“Wow. This is good. Bluesy,” Holly shouts, and takes a sip of beer. “They’re tat worthy.”
“You want me to ink their name above your ass crack?” I absently say.
She laughs. “Maybe along it?”
I can’t help but snort. Leave it to Holly to get me out of the weird emotional place Justin has left me in. I take a gulp of beer and face the stage.
I keep reminding myself of the facts. I’m just watching a band with a gorgeous singer. I’m just out with a girlfriend on a rare night of partying.
That’s all this is.
That’s all I can allow.
Water drips from my flushed face as I stare into the small, chipped mirror above the sink. Confused green eyes stare back at me. My hands grip the edges of the wet, cold porcelain sink. It feels like I sliced open my heart and gave a piece of it to Allie in the midst of hundreds of fans. Since the only pounding I’m usually aware of happens in my dick, I’d been pretty sure I didn’t have a heart. I run a hand down my wet face.
So what the fuck was that?
I try blaming my behavior on the fact that she’d appeared out of nowhere. I was startled to see her below me after I’d been searching for her face in the crowd all night. Shit. It would have to be right before
Pounding rattles the door. “What the hell, Justin? You cuffing it after your little serenade?” Sam yells from the other side.
I grab a paper towel and wipe my face. “To a picture of your mom.”
“Shut up, you sick bastard, and hurry up. Unless you want me pissing on the floor.” After one last view of my troubled eyes, I open the door and Sam flies in toward the urinal. “I’ve had to go since we went back on, asshole.”
“Why didn’t you go out back?” I ask, reaching for my bag on the floor.
“Riley and April are out there, helping Gabe and Romeo load.”
“And…”
“And I didn’t want to hear Romeo’s shit.” He kicks the door shut, locks it, and plucks out a small ziplock baggie of white powder. “You up for a hit?”
I rub the sides of my face. After the shit I just pulled, I have to admit I’m in the mood. The invincible high of cocaine sounds appealing. But then I remember that Allie’s out there. And I remember that cocaine makes me act like a prick—or, depending on the night, more of a prick. I cannot be
Sam wipes the sink edge clean with a paper towel. “Are you turning into some kind of Romeo pansy?”
I shrug. “Maybe. What are you, a pusher?”
Bobbing his head, he shakes some powder on the white porcelain and starts humming that old Curtis Mayfield song “Pusherman.” It’s from the 1970s. I’m not even sure how I recognize the tune—maybe because he’s sung it before. He’s into weird seventies shit. He sings the words to himself while he makes a line with a razor.
He bends with a chuckle and I grab my backpack, knowing I need to get the hell out before the sweet high of indestructible draws me over to the sink.
“Order me a shot and a beer,” he says midsnort.
“Hit the lock,” I say, jerking the door shut behind me as I leave.
I take a step into the room still littered with our shit, and pause. Romeo and his girlfriend, Riley, are against the far wall sucking face. They pull apart and a second later Romeo is staring at me over Riley’s head, his eyes narrowed. “Why does he need to lock the door, Justin?”
I shrug.
Sam likes to party. He doesn’t do drugs daily or anything, but when he parties he mixes it up. Two hours from now, he’ll be out back smoking a joint and almost ready to call it a night. Yet Romeo acts like Sam is a hardcore druggie, and threatens to kick him out of the band every time he gets the slightest whiff that he’s been into something illegal. Maybe I need to grow up, but Romeo needs to get some perspective. One, we’re in college. Two, we live in mid-Michigan. We’re not some drugged-out band on Sunset Strip in Hollywood. Sam isn’t shooting shit into his veins or doing any crazy-ass shit. He’s just letting loose a little.
Riley steps aside and Romeo takes a step toward me, pointing his finger. “Don’t fucking shrug at me. Why did you tell him to lock the door?”
“Don’t fucking point at me like I’m one of your little boxing bitches.”
“Romeo…,” Riley says, reaching for his arm.
I shrug again, more dramatically. “Cause he was gonna take a shit.”
Fists at his side, Romeo looks like he’s going to explode.
I smirk at him. It won’t be the first or, probably, last time we’ll go at it. It’s true he can box. But I’ve been kicking ass out of the ring since middle school. Fighting was another way I tried to get my parents’ attention. It
