The only down side is I wish Emma were here. She'd love these guys, and I know they'd love her, although Rick is an absolute flirt and he'd lay it on thick with her. He's single and she's absolutely his type as he's always been attracted to the smart chicks.
So maybe I'm glad Emma isn't here. Not sure I'd like watching my friends flirt with her and make her laugh and blush. That's my job and I take it seriously.
And Christ... I must already be on my way to getting drunk because there's no other way to explain these emotional thoughts.
Snickering to myself, I polish my beer off and I'm not in the least surprised when a waitress nudges her way into our group with a tray loaded with shots of bourbon.
"Christ," Kenny mutters. "I'm going to be puking tomorrow."
"This is from Tyler," the waitress says, making doe eyes at me as we all reach out and grab a shot glass.
I look around the club briefly and can't locate Tyler. After the concert, we did a short meet and greet, and then Tyler had arranged for a limo to take all of us out on the town. He'd even arranged for VIP seating in the club where we're currently hanging so we have some privacy. I'd last seen him about twenty minutes ago, talking up some chick who was loitering around the roped-off section to the VIP lounge. If I know Tyler, he's probably working his pick-up lines, which he's quite good at admittedly, and he'll probably be banging her in the limo before long. I make a mental note to check the seats before I get back in tonight.
"To friends," Kenny says as he raises a shot glass.
"And to the best damn indie rock star in the mother fucking universe," Rick yells out as he holds up his shot.
"Hear, hear," Frank agrees.
"Drink up, motherfuckers," is all I say, and we toss the liquor back. My head swims the minute it hits my stomach, and I have a brief moment where I already regret doing this because I'm going to feel like shit tomorrow.
Oh, well... you only live once and I see these fuckers only once in a blue moon, so I can't regret it really.
And it's probably a very good thing Emma isn't here because she'd probably end up holding a garbage can under my head all night. I might be a rock star, but I'm not that big of a drinker. At least not with liquor.
Yeah... tomorrow's going to suck.
But then, the day after that, Emma will be here to watch the second Chicago show, and that thought causes a rush of euphoria to rise within me.
A second waitress comes up and nudges her way into our group, and I see Tyler right behind her. Now she's got a tray loaded with several beers and we all reach out to grab one, replacing them with our empties. Tyler has two drinks in his hands, each holding about three fingers of an amber liquid on the rocks, and he's holding one out in front of my face.
I eye it dubiously.
He tilts his hand side to side a little to entice me. "It's your favorite."
"I don't have a favorite liquor," I tell him. "You know I'm a beer drinker."
"Well, it's your favorite tonight," he says as he shoves the drink at me. "I just laid out one hundred dollars for these two glasses of Michter's Twenty-Year-Old Single Barrel Bourbon."
I take the glass reluctantly but politeness demands I do it. "What's the special occasion?"
"This is the special occasion," he says as he waves his glass around the group.
"Yeah, then how come you didn't splurge for us to get some of that bourbon?" Frank demands.
Tyler laughs. "Because you're neither the rock star nor the devoted manager."
"Asshole," Frank mumbles.
Tyler turns to me and holds his glass out. He grins at me big and says, "Congrats, buddy, on a fucking phenomenal tour so far. You're amazing and here's to another two months of the same success."
And man... that kind of gets me in the heart.
It's the Tyler of old.
"Thanks, buddy," I say sincerely and tap my glass to his. "Cheers."
He lifts the glass to his mouth, watching me over the rim. I do the same and take a tiny sip, and damn... that's fucking fantastic.
Tyler can read the look on my face because now he's laughing at me. "Told you it was your favorite drink."
"This shit's amazing," I say as I hold the glass up. "Doesn't even burn and feels smooth as water."
"Right?" he says, holding his glass up to his nose to take a sniff. "I've always wanted to order a really insanely expensive drink and tonight seemed the night to do it."
"Let me have a taste," Frank asks as he sidles up toward Tyler.
"Fuck off," Tyler grumbles, but then he reluctantly hands his glass over. Frank takes a sip, then passes it to Rick, who does the same. Kenny is the last to try it before handing it back to Tyler.
We all agree... finest fucking whiskey in the world.
Or, well... at least that we've drank so far.
"Okay, after we finish these drinks, the limo's on standby and is going to take us to the finest strip club in Chicago," Tyler announces.
"Fuck yeah," Kenny yells, and because he's a true southern boy born and raised in Alabama, it comes out as sort of a rebel yell.
My brows knit inward and I say, "Probably not a good idea, dude."
I'm already feeling drunk, and I don't think it's good press for a famous rock star to hang out in a strip club while inebriated.
"Come on, man," Tyler says as he nudges me. "Let's live a little. No one's going to know it's you. We'll put a cap on your head and you can wear sunglasses."
"Yeah," Frank agrees. "Let's do it."
"I'm in," Rick adds on.
Kenny just lets out another, "Fuck yeah."
I'm shaking my head, which makes me a bit dizzy, but still I remain adamant. "Not for me, guys. If you want to go, you can have the limo all night and my credit card. But count me out."
"Fucking party pooper," Frank ribs me, but he's got a smile on his face.
"Is this because of Emma?" Rick asks slyly, and my chest tightens a little at the mention of her name. Because yeah... a good chunk of my reluctance is because of Emma. Maybe it's all my reluctance actually.
"Leave him alone," Tyler says, coming to my rescue, although I could swear the look on his face right now is sly rather than supportive. "Let's just go back to the bus and party. We're all here to hang out as old friends, not to spend all our money on strippers."
Well, that's an abrupt turn around. From suggesting the strip club to immediately capitulating. Is this the old Tyler who understands me and looks out for me? Or is this something else?
I shake my head, forcing myself to clear away the doubts that are creeping in. Surely, that is the liquor talking.
"Sound like a plan?" Tyler asks as he brings a hand to my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. I examine his face. I don't see anything but brotherly affection for me, and maybe some vague amusement that I'm well on my way to getting shit faced and he's probably the one who's going to make sure I don't puke on myself.
"Yeah, let's head back to the bus after we finish these drinks," I agree, and my tongue feels pretty thick right now.
For a brief moment, I consider calling Emma really quick. I tried to call her right after the show, but she didn't answer. I wasn't too bent out of shape as it was late and I was sure she was asleep. She'd texted me around eight-thirty PM to wish me good luck for tonight's show, and I sent her back a kissing emoji.
I think about calling her right now and telling her I'm hanging out with my buds, and I'm getting drunk, so she could see I was devoted enough to her that I adamantly refused to let my buddies take me to a strip club. She'd be so proud of me, and it would show her just how much I care.
But I'd probably slur my words so badly she'd know I'm shit faced already and would discount every damn thing I say. Plus, there's the very real chance that I could get totally sappy on her and admit I've fallen in love with her, and I absolutely do not want to do that when I'm drunk.
I figure that should be done face to face at the very minimum, and if I'm really on my A-game, I'll write a song to her about
it. That would totally make her melt into a puddle of goo for me, and there's no way she'll be able to hold back the same sentiment.
That's it.
Decision made.
I bring the drink to my lips and take another small sip.
Emma doesn't need to know these messy details about my drunken night out with friends. I'll tell her all about it, of course, but she doesn't need to deal with me the way I am right now.
CHAPTER 24
Emma
The drive from Chicago O'Hare to the Allstate Arena in Rosemont is only about five minutes, and yet it seems like it's taking at least an hour. My cab driver is a nice enough guy, but he's just a bit too chatty for me this morning. I'm totally wired from several cups of coffee since I had to be up so early, and I'm beyond excited yet nervous to see Evan. It's been nine days since I've seen him and while we've talked every day by phone, FaceTimed a few times, and texted several times, there's a part of me that's shrunken back into my reserved shell. Nothing evidences that more than the fact I went with a pair of high-waisted khaki pants, a sky-blue blouse with a rounded collar, and a pair of white Keds on my feet.
So damn lame, yet it was like a protective armor to me.
Perhaps subconsciously I was reasoning that if that spark isn't there... if the chemistry has faltered, I can at least go down knowing I was being true to myself and not an idealized version.
"Where do you want let off?" the driver asks as I see the arena come into view.
"Around the back," I tell him. "There's a fenced area where the tour buses will be."
"Are you a groupie or something?" he asks, his eyes flicking to me in the rearview mirror.
I chuckle. "No. I'm an attorney and also a publicist."
That felt weird to say. The publicist part.
Of course, I'm not about to tell him I'm Evan Scott's girlfriend.
The cab driver navigates us to the rear of the building. Just as Tyler said there would be, I see a six-foot chain link fence surrounding a portion of the parking lot. Inside are the two buses as well as the tractor-trailers that carry the equipment.
Also, as Tyler promised, there's a security guard standing at the gate.
The cabbie pulls up to the gate and the guard comes through, clearly expecting me. I open the door as I pull out my credit card to pay the driver, and the guard asks as he leans in a little, "Miss Peterson?"
"That's me," I say, perhaps a little too brightly.
Damn nerves.
The cab driver gets my rolling case out of the trunk while I handle the credit card transaction, then I show my ID to the guard, who gives it only a brief glance, before he escorts me into the fenced enclosure.
"Mr. Hannity said you have the security code for Mr. Scott's bus," he says.
"Yes," I assure him. "Thank you."
He gives a nod, and then I'm walking across the worn pavement to Evan's home on wheels. My stomach churns and I suddenly have to pee, whether from an overload of coffee or near hysteria at seeing him again, but I walk with my shoulders thrown back and my head held high.
This is it.
Tiny internal squeal of excitement tinged with panic.
And then, the excitement wins out as I remember everything about Evan that made me fall for him. His humor, his alpha ways, his sweet side, and his dirty side. The fact that he believed in my abilities and pushed me out of my comfort zone.
The look on his face and the caring tone in his voice when he told me about my father after Midge called.
Yes, totally excited because I know this man and he's the one for me.
My heart is racing as I key in the security code, and the doors give a whooshing hiss as they slide open. I'm greeted with silence from the interior and there's no rushing puppy barreling at me, so I assume Sirius is in the other bus with Red. Leaving my case on the pavement, I climb the stairs quietly and turn into the living area.
It's a total mess and I'm actually a bit stunned to see beer bottles all over the place. Laying on the floor, stacked on the side tables, and one lying on the couch. An empty bottle of bourbon is also on the couch, along with two empty pizza boxes.
There's absolutely no way Evan caused all this destruction because he's not a huge drinker, and I also happen to know he's not a big fan of pizza. My money is resting right now on Dilana owning the empty bottle of bourbon and Cap calling for the pizza.
With a grin, I stealthily make my way down the length of the bus, wondering if Evan partied hard with his band last night. Chicago was a big show and there'd totally be reason to celebrate.
As I pass by the bathroom, I take a peek inside and my nose automatically wrinkles as I see dried vomit all over the toilet seat along with a crumpled towel on the floor. I'm not sure who that belongs to, but whoever is the culprit is going to have their butt over here this morning to clean that up. That's my bathroom--along with Evan's--and while I don't mind them partying here in my absence, I'm not going to clean their mess up either.
A little peeved, I step past the bathroom and to the door of the bedroom. It's shut almost all the way except for a small gap, and my hand goes to it to push it open.
My eyes land on the bed, expecting my heart to swell when I get a good look at Evan as he sleeps. I love watching him like that as his face looks so young and boyish... almost vulnerable.
Instead, I can barely process what I'm taking in, except that my heart isn't swelling with abandon. Instead, it feels like someone stuck a knife right in the center and then sliced upward, ripping through the base of my throat so I can't even utter a noise.
Evan is lying on his back, arms spread wide. He's naked from the waist up and the top button of his jeans is undone. He's sleeping hard, his mouth open and slack.
And curled into him--hell, partly on top of him--is a woman.
My chest constricts, squeezes so painfully that a tiny hiss of air comes out of my mouth. She's sound asleep too.
Beautiful, long brown hair and a miniscule dress that's showing me the fact she's got a red thong underneath it. Her head is resting on Evan's chest, her arm across his belly.
In my mind, I know they're drunk and passed out.
In my heart, I can't help but see the intimacy of the way she's laying on him. So possessive and intimately acquainted with that beautiful chest that I've often laid my own head upon.
A crushing weight presses down upon me, and I actually feel disoriented from the slicing pain still evident in my chest. I stumble backward, reaching a hand out to catch myself on the edge of the door, but it slams backward into the wall and I almost fall to the ground. Luckily, my butt hits the door when it becomes stable against the wall, but the noise is enough to rouse Evan.
He jerks sort of slowly, and I almost vomit when I see his arm curl around the woman to squeeze her in closer. An involuntary cry of pain escapes my lips. I watch in horror as Evan's head rises from the pillow and he looks straight at me with bleary eyes.
"Emma?" he says, his voice sounded clogged and scratchy.
His eyes look at me in confusion, and then his brows knit inward as his head slowly turns to the woman beside him, who hasn't moved yet. He stares at her a long moment, and then he actually jerks spastically as it dawns on him that I've caught him with another woman.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he growls as he pushes the woman unceremoniously off his chest and scrambles backward off the bed. I watch as he reels, almost falls over, and catches himself on the wall, his other hand going to his head where his eyes squeeze shut in pain. He gets his bearings and opens his eyes slowly to look at me with shame.
"You unbelievable asshole," I hiss at him. My eyes cut to the bed, and I see the woman hasn't even stirred. She may be dead for all I know, but that's not my problem.
"Emma," Evan groans as he stumbles my way, and it's clear he's probably still drunk. "It's not what it looks like."
"Yeah?" I snarl at him as he tries to make his way around the bed toward me, catches a shin on the edge, and then pitches forward to the
carpet. "Because to me, it looks like you replaced me pretty easily in your bed."
"No," he yells at me, and then groans again as he lurches upward, placing his palm on the mattress for leverage. "I have no clue who that is. I have no clue what--"
"Save it, you fucking asshole," I screech at the top of my lungs, a very anti-Emma reaction, but I'm so beyond hurt and pissed at this moment, I've got no control over my actions.
The woman on the bed moans and mutters, "Shut the fuck up. My head hurts."
She rolls over and passes out again.
And then, the tears make their appearance. My nose stings, gets wet, and the tears well up. I spin away from Evan before he can see them, and before they can fall. Stumbling past the door, I careen off the jamb, righting myself as soon as I hit the hallway.
I can hear Evan scrambling after me, but I'm sober and fueled by rage. I take off at a swift run, my feet sure as I make my escape. I can hear Evan crashing after me, cursing as he bangs into stuff.
Hitting the stairs, I jog down them and risk a quick look over my shoulder to see Evan's already in the living area. My foot hits the pavement just as I turn my head back around, but not quickly enough to see my rolling case there and definitely not deftly enough to miss it.
I catch it with my shin, try to step over it, but catch it again with the toe of my tennis shoe, and I go sprawling right over it. I crash to the pavement, my hands coming out automatically to stop my fall, and then get shredded on the pavement.
A cry of pain pops out of me and the tears that had been threatening to fall turn into rivers over my cheeks. I hear Evan's feet hit the pavement and his anguished voice say, "Oh, baby... Jesus, Emma..."
I pop back up to my feet, enraged again, and spin on him. He's walking toward me, undaunted, but before he can even touch me, I snarl at him as my palms smack against his chest to stop his progress. He goes completely still, his face awash with sorrow and guilt and anguish and...
Fuck him!
My hands pull away, leaving spots of blood from my torn palms on his skin, and I tell him, "You stay the fuck away from me."
He leans toward me. "Emma... for fuck's sake, I have no clue what the fuck happened last night or who that is, but I swear I didn't do anything."
My nose wrinkles and I take a step back from him. "God... you stink, Evan."
"I think I threw up last night," he says, his voice sounding so lost.
Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll Page 18