I knew there wasn’t much that he couldn’t buy for himself, so I’d opted for something personalized that he probably wouldn’t buy for himself, and got him a new, brown leather bracelet. The one he always wore was getting worn. And maybe I was optimistic that he might wear the new one in the future. Maybe onstage? Part of reinventing himself as a rock star—Cary 2.0—if he ever managed to do that. I could feel it when we talked; as much as he protested it, he wanted it, too.
The bracelet was plain, like his old one, with a simple pattern stamped into it, but on the backside it said: Heart of Gold.
Because, you know, he had a heart of gold. And he liked that song.
I hoped he’d like his new bracelet.
I spent the rest of the night in the poolhouse, alone for the first night in weeks, barely sleeping.
By late the next morning, when I still hadn’t received any response from Cary, I hauled my ass over to my best friend’s place so I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the weekend alone, indefinitely. Danica and Ash often went to their house on the island on weekends, but they’d stayed in town this weekend because I told her I might need her. And need her I did.
It was now Saturday night, and we were sitting in the living room of their downtown condo. Me, Danica and Ash, plus Matt and Xander. Courteney stayed home to work. Apparently, she was working on some mysterious, top-secret book, which I only found out about tonight. I didn’t even know she was a writer.
I had a feeling she was maybe a little bummed out herself about what happened yesterday. But when I texted her to ask if she was okay, she’d replied, Just really want to get some work done.
She’d also assured me, again, that Cary just needed some alone time. So I was doing my best to give him that, rather than plaster myself to his windows and beg him to speak to me.
My plan was to spend the rest of the night drinking chilled vodka shots with dill pickles and hunks of pumpernickel bread, with my best friend and three rock stars. Xander was well-versed in the tradition, so he explained it to the rest of them. Which was good because I didn’t have the will to do it. I was too sad, preoccupied and using my entire life force to keep breathing through my devastation.
Right now it was just me, the support of my best friend, a bunch of booze and one moment at a time to get me through this.
I could barely digest anything else, mentally or physically.
I’d done my best to choke down some fried chicken when Danica ordered in for us and forced me to eat. I’d washed down the bakery treats she served up for dessert with the wine she poured. Then Ash cleared off the coffee table and we convened around it for the vodka drinking.
As I arranged my ass on the floor by the coffee table, Ash put some music on, and Xander complained, “Enough Snoop Dogg already.”
“What’s wrong with Snoop?” Danica said, plunking down next to him on the couch.
“Not much,” Xander said, “if I didn’t have to hear it every time I come over here.”
“What do you want?” Ash said. “‘Moby Dick’ on repeat, so you can jack off to Bonzo?”
“Who’s Bonzo?” Danica said. “Isn’t it Bono?”
“She’s so cute,” Xander said, and patted Danica’s knee.
“It’s John Bonham’s nickname,” I informed my best friend. “Led Zeppelin’s drummer.”
“Oh.” She laughed.
“Don’t patronize her because she doesn’t know the names of every famous drummer,” I said, flicking Xander’s knee.
“What? I’m not patronizing. She is cute.”
“Aw,” Danica said. “Thanks, Xan.”
“Hey, yahoos,” Matt interjected. “You’re all irrelevant. Taylor gets to choose the music tonight.”
“Why?” Xander blinked at him.
“Can’t you see she’s bummed? She’s literally sitting on the floor in pajamas, drinking wine from the bottle.”
All true. I’d put on my sweats before dinner in my commitment to doing nothing of importance with the rest of my day—and these sweats were clearly of the jammies variety, not workout gear.
They all looked at me. Ash was still standing, phone in hand, mid music selection. The rest of them were sitting on furniture, properly dressed and drinking out of actual glasses.
“I’ll get a glass.” Danica popped up to get one. She passed it to me and I poured a glass of wine.
They were all still looking at me as I took a deep swig. I’d only told Danica the reason for my funk, and she was sworn to secrecy. They all seemed to be waiting for some explanation, but fuck no, they weren’t getting one.
“Fine,” I relented. “I’ll have Twenty One Pilots, ‘My Blood,’ please. And if you love me at all, you’ll just put it on repeat.”
“Done.” Ash put the song on for me in the background and came to sit on the floor across the coffee table from me.
Matt, who was sitting on an ottoman, pulled up to the table and poured us out a round of vodka shots. “So, we each get a shot, a pickle, and a piece of bread?” He slid a shot across the table toward each of us.
“Really not important.” I threw back my shot to wash down my wine, not even waiting for the rest of them. “Vodka’s the important part. Pickle and bread are at your leisure.” I glanced at Xander on the couch. “Amiright?”
“Yup. Nailed it.” He lifted his shot, the rest of them toasted, and we all helped ourselves to pickles and bread as desired.
“That wasn’t bad,” Danica remarked. “I thought it would be stronger, but it’s so cold and thick, it slides down nice.”
“That’s what she said,” Xander quipped.
I snorted.
We had another shot.
Then we briefly argued over whether or not to drag our asses out to the bar. Matt’s weather app said there was a ten-percent chance of rain and Xander decided we were too lazy, I decided I was too pathetic, and Danica suggested we play a game instead.
Then we argued for a while over which game to play—or not play.
We took a break from the vodka to have a round of wine and beer.
Then we started playing “The Game of Things…” which basically consisted of one person, the “reader,” saying a topic, then all of us including the reader writing down a (usually crass) response to that topic on a piece of paper, along with our name, then handing the papers to the reader, who read them out loud.
We then went around the circle and had to guess who wrote each twisted response. It was seriously the simplest game that even me, drunk, could follow, but with this particular group of people, it was dirty as fuck.
No one owned the actual game, so we also had to make up our own topics, which didn’t help.
And we ran repeatedly off topic. Like way off topic.
For example, the topic “Things you should never say to a woman after you fuck her” somehow ended up in an argument over whether or not men should be allowed to wear bikini bathing suits.
I had no idea how we got there. The vodka was going down too easy.
Incidentally, all of us said yes to that particular question, except Xander. But then again, all of us were sexually attracted to men, except Xander.
“You’re just saying that because your man is fit,” Xander challenged Danica. “I’m saying picture, like, the average man, and if that’s not enough, picture the very unattractive, unfit, aging, hairy man in that same bikini, and tell me your answer is still yes.”
“I’m not here to body shame anyone,” Danica said simply. “Age and body hair are not a crime. And beauty is in the eye of the beholder. So my answer is still yes.”
“Should only fit women wear bikinis in public?” I challenged Xander.
“Can’t wait to hear this,” Matt said.
Ash chuckled.
Xander considered, then concluded, “I’m not answering that. This room is too hostile.”
We laughed and did another shot.
“So,” I said, unwilling to let it go, “in your mind, only people you find attractive s
hould wear bikinis in public?”
“In a perfect world,” Xander said carefully, “yes.”
“Well, I’m here to tell ya,” I said, topping up my wine, “the world ain’t perfect, and it also ain’t yours.”
“Don’t give her a hard time,” Danica told him. “She’s having a rough day.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Xander said.
“You just sitting there on the couch is giving someone a hard time,” Ash said, and Matt snorted.
“Why?” Xander said.
“Because you basically exist to irritate other humans.”
Xander smirked.
“We’re all here for you, Taylor,” Ash said solemnly, passing me another shot as Matt poured a round. “Why don’t you just tell us what’s wrong?”
I met Danica’s eyes, and she gave me a hopeful look, like, Why not just tell them? We’re all friends here.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s no big deal, you guys. I’m just tired. And I kinda had a fight with my boss.” I shot back my vodka and nibbled on a pickle.
“Oh, shit,” Ash said. “Cary?”
“Yeah. Cary. It’s fine, though. It was just… shitty. He’s…” I struggled for the right words as they all sat there, looking at me. The words that would explain why I looked like this, without totally giving away my feelings. I wasn’t sure that Cary would like me telling everyone he knew that we had an intimate relationship. That conversation hadn’t come up yet. So far, our relationship was like everything else in his life—it only existed inside his home. Courteney knew, because I’d told her, but that was it. “He’s just cool. I really like him. I feel bad that I screwed up.”
“I’m sure you didn’t screw up,” Xander said, which was nice of him. “Cary can be pretty private. He might just need some time to chill out.”
“Thanks. That’s what Courteney said.”
“She kinda told me,” Xander said. And I could see it, in his eyes. He knew. Courteney told him. “He locked you out of the studio, huh?”
“Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about it right now, though.”
“Cary’s cool,” Matt put in. “I like him.”
“How does that help?” Xander said.
“He is cool,” Ash said. “He’s also fucking hot.” Which really didn’t help, either.
Xander rolled his eyes. “You and Summer, Christ. ‘He’s so talented.’ ‘He’s so gorgeous.’ ‘I want to spread him on a cracker.’”
“Huh?” I said. “Who said that?”
“Actually, that was me,” my best friend said. She gave me an apologetic smile. “I think we were drunk and eating Nutella out of a jar when Cary’s name came up? Hard to remember. It made sense at the time.”
“You guys realize you can afford to eat better than Nutella out of a jar, right?” I teased. I was just glad to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“Nutella isn’t a budget situation,” Matt informed me. “It’s a midnight craving situation.”
“Right.” I eyed him, kinda wondering what “midnight craving” situation he was referring to, and why I wasn’t invited to that party.
“Have you got a problem with the fact that I find your best friend attractive?” Ash asked Xander innocently. He seemed to enjoy trying to irritate Xander almost as much as Xander liked trying to irritate him.
“It’s not a problem,” Xander said, feigning near corpselike boredom.
“It’s the mere idea that you find men sexually attractive at all that keeps him up at night,” Matt clarified.
“Not true,” Xander said. “I just give such sub-zero level fucks about it that I don’t need to hear about it all the time. ‘I like pussy. Wait, I also like dick.’ Blah blah blah. Bisexuality is so 2010. Fuck whoever you want. I. Don’t. Care.”
“Alright,” Danica interjected. “Shut up, Xander. Let’s keep playing the game.”
“What game are we playing?” I inquired, because who could remember that far back?
“The Game of Things,” Ash said. “Rock star version.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Who’s turn is it to come up with a topic?” Xander asked.
“It’s my lovely bisexual husband’s turn,” Danica said cheerily.
Matt snickered.
“Great,” Ash said. “People I’d rather fuck than Xander.”
“That’s your topic?” Xander groaned.
“Yup.”
“Wait. Is the ‘I’ in that sentence us?” Danica asked. “Like people we’d rather fuck than Xander?”
“Nope. I, Ashley,” Ash said.
“I’m confused,” I said, sucking on my pickle. My ability to follow along was gradually fading as the vodka pickled my brain.
“The topic is ‘People Ash would rather fuck than Xander,’” Matt translated for me.
“Hmm,” Danica said thoughtfully, tapping her pen against her paper.
“Take your time,” Ash said, grinning at Xander.
Xander scratched his forehead with his middle finger.
“Oh, I get it.” My brain clicked into gear, and I wrote my response on my little paper. “This one is easy-fucking-peasy, people.”
“Yeah, just like Ash,” Xander quipped, and Ash chucked a cushion at his head. It bounced off and Xander ignored it, writing carefully on his paper.
When everyone had written down their responses, Ash gathered up the little papers, including his own, mixed them up and said ceremoniously, “People I’d rather fuck than Xander. Here we go.” Then he read off the papers, one by one, to the background of our snorting and snickers. “‘Almost no one.’ ‘Literally anyone.’ ‘Me.’ ‘Danica every day and twice on Sunday.’ ‘Everyone in this room.’”
We all cracked up.
“That was the last one,” Ash said. “Matty, you’re up to guess first.”
“‘Me’ was Danica,” Matt ventured.
“Yup.” Ash leaned over to kiss his wife.
“Good job, Matt,” Danica said supportively.
“Too obvious.” Xander rolled his eyes. “Take the easiest one first, Matt.”
“Obviously. I’ll even take a shot, so you don’t feel bad when you have to drink because you suck at this game.”
“Taylor?” Ash said.
“Uh… ‘Almost no one’ was obviously Xander because he’s full of himself like that.”
“Yup,” Ash said. “Xander?”
“‘Danica every day and twice on Sunday’ was Taylor,” Xander guessed.
“Yup. I actually fuck her three times on Sundays,” Ash said. “But nice effort, Taylor.”
“Thanks.”
“Danica?” Ash said.
“I’m thinking Matt said ‘Everyone in this room,’” she concluded.
“And he’s not wrong,” Ash said.
“You know, when you hear the truth, you just know it,” I said, giving Matt a high five.
“Fuck you all,” Xander said, and poured us out another round of shots. “This game is too easy because you’re all so fucking predictable.”
“Uh-huh,” Matt said. “And that’s why you’ve already had twice as many shots as the rest of us?”
“He’s just a team player like that,” Danica said, patting Xander’s chest as she came to his defense. “Right, Xan?”
“Thanks, Danica.”
“And if it makes you feel better,” she added, “there are a lot of people I’d rather fuck way less than you.”
Matt laughed and Ash frowned.
“That’s my girl,” I said.
“That’s my girl,” Ash said.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Danica Vola,” Xander said, and kissed her on the forehead.
“No forehead kissing my woman,” Ash said.
“Where would you rather I kiss her?” Xander said, deadpan, and slugged back his shot.
After that, I kinda tuned them out as the drinks flowed, the testosterone surged, and they all got drunker, ruder, and somehow more dickish yet more flirtatious with one another.
An
d every little bit of it made me miss Cary, a hell of a lot.
I wanted to call him.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I kept drinking.
Eventually, someone threatened to jump out the window if we didn’t change up my song, which was still on repeat. I told them, “Twenty One Pilots, Our Last Night, Highly Suspect, that’s all you get to play. Remember, I’m sad.”
“Highly Suspect,” Xander said, and Matt put on “Look Alive, Stay Alive.”
“Matt. You’ve got good taste in music,” I told him, recalling his vortex playlist. “You and me, we shoulda hooked up.”
Matt came over and sat down on the floor next to me, bumping his shoulder to mine. “But we didn’t.” He gave me a sympathetic look and handed me a fresh glass of wine.
His warmth against me felt way too good and I felt so stupidly drunk, the idea of spreading my naked body on almost any warm male felt disturbingly alluring.
So I decided to make sure that didn’t accidentally happen somehow. Because every one of the males in this room was off-limits to me, for one reason or another.
Or several reasons.
And anyway… I didn’t want any of the men in this room.
I was in love with Cary Clarke. The one man who was currently not even allowing me to see his face or speak to him.
Fuck.
“By the way,” I told them all, raising my voice over the music, “you all need to get the fuck out sometime soon so I can pass out on the couch. This is my bedroom tonight.” True. This apartment had only one bedroom and as close as we were, I wasn’t snuggling in with my best friend and her husband tonight like a sad, drunken cockblock.
More drinks circulated, but I didn’t have any. I didn’t even finish my wine. It wasn’t going down so smoothly anymore. There was dancing and jumping around, but I stayed where I was on the floor. Until someone—Matt?—scooped me up and put me on the couch.
The next thing I knew it was quiet and semi-dark. I was alone.
I dragged myself off the couch and stumbled to the guest bathroom in the hall.
I heard voices from the hallway, and poked my head into the bedroom, where I found Danica and Ash—with Matt. I’d assumed everyone who didn’t live here had gone home, except me. Wrong.
Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4) Page 34