“I can’t believe I’m at another one of these shows,” Naomi says, taking a tepid sip of her beer, her eyes scanning the crowd. “I’m too old for this shit.”

“You’re supporting your friend,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. “No, I’m supporting your boyfriend.”

Tonight is Magic 8 Ball’s first show since they got their new keyboardist, the first show since they’ve made a new setlist and the first show I’ve seen as Lazarus Scott’s girlfriend.

It feels pretty good, actually.

Well, except for the fact that he has his fucking groupies that keep swarming him, more and more of them filling up the place the closer we get to showtime.

It’s Saturday night and we’re in a small venue/club in Anaheim. People are here to party. It’s loud, people are doing the night’s special Jell-o shots. It’s so not Naomi’s scene, nor mine, but this is what you do in a relationship. You support each other, even if you’d rather have them all to yourself back at home. And by all to myself, I mean, riding his cock like a fucking joystick. It’s been a week since we’ve become “official” and we’ve basically spent every day having copious amounts of hot, sweaty, monkey sex.

“What are you thinking about?” Naomi asks, frowning. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

I give her a smug smile but stop myself from the sex talk. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want to talk to her about it because sex is a brand new and shiny thing to me and I want to know if certain things are normal, what’s good, what’s bad, I want to tell the world just how damn good it feels. I want to run up and down Ventura with my arms open wide and yell “I’M HAVING SEX!”

But I don’t because Naomi is obviously still grappling with her divorce. Lately, Robert has been coming back and groveling and Naomi isn’t having any of it. Which is good. I’m proud of her. I know it must be hard to have to say no and stay strong and push away the person you’re still in love with.

So, I was hoping that tonight there would be some eligible bachelors who would help her take her mind off things but so far, no dice.

“What about that guy?” I ask her, pointing to a bearded fellow in the corner wearing a red shirt that says Bazinga! On it.

“Are you kidding me?” she says dryly.

I shrug and keep looking. I’m not a very good wing-woman though because the moment my eyes lock with Laz who is hanging out by the stage and talking with Frank and their keyboardist, I don’t see anyone else.

He gives me a small, knowing smile. It’s a secret smile just between us.

He looks good tonight. Real good. This is no surprise since he always looks good but I swear he might have borrowed some of my eyeliner before we left for the venue because his eyes are exceptionally squinty and brooding and dark. He’s a bona fide. badass, rock star, wearing his boots, tight, black jeans that accentuate the python he’s packing, and a thin, black T-shirt that fits him like a glove.

And I’m not the only who thinks so, judging by all those damn groupies. Even now, they’re gathered around him and there’s a tall redhead that keeps trying to get his attention. And Laz, being Laz, and not being rude, is now talking to her, smiling at something she’s saying.

Jealousy is a bitch. I’ve always felt that touch of it when I saw him with his girlfriends but I was pretty good at ignoring it, plus I got used to seeing him with them day in and day out.

But now that Laz is mine, it’s rearing his ugly head. I watch him, waiting for him to look up and notice me. But he doesn’t, not for a while. And then I catch his eye, I’m waiting for him to say something to the redhead, something like “hey, that’s my girlfriend over there” and have them both look my way. But he just goes back to talking and smiling at her.

“Who’s the ginger?” Naomi asks. “She’s getting a little handsy for my liking.”

She is. She’s laughing along with Laz at something and leaning forward, her hand briefly on his chest.

“If she keeps doing that, I’m heading over there and opening up a can of whoop-ass on her white ass.”

“No,” I tell her, holding her back, because Naomi’s anger is feral these days. “It’s fine. It’s just a groupie.”

“Ugh,” she says, giving me side eye. “You better keep an eye on that boy.”

“I trust Laz,” I tell her. “They’re not all like Robert, you know.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Laz would never cheat on me.”

Right? I mean, it’s not exactly something I’ve thought about, it’s just been a given. We’re exclusive with each other, that means something. And as far as I know, he’s never cheated on any of his girlfriends.

“You don’t look so sure,” she says studying me.

I look back at Laz. The redhead is doing all the classic flirting moves. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, touching his arm. Now he’s leaning in close and saying something in her ear. His smile is cocky. She looks pleased.

I feel sick. I know I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t let this get to me but it’s getting to me.

“You need to go over there and claim your man,” Naomi says, egging me on. “Before she does.”

She’s right. I should go over there and make my presence known. But before I can, Laz and the band head up on the stage and the redhead takes a spot among the other girls at the front of the stage.

Too late.

Shake it off, I tell myself. Don’t be a crazy girlfriend.

I’ve never really been anyone’s girlfriend, so it’s not really surprising to find out I am of the crazy variety. I mean, what about me has been normal so far?

Nothing.

See, now I’m talking to myself.

“Hiya,” Laz says into the microphone, guitar slung on his shoulder. “We’re Magic 8 Ball and we’re here for your pleasure.”

Even though I’m kind of pissed at myself for being pissed, I still smile at that cheesy opener.

“I can’t believe he still says that,” Naomi mumbles into her beer. She looks around. “And I can’t believe how popular they’ve gotten.”

“It’s Laz’s book. Now everyone who knows him for poetry is showing up at these things.”

“And this is why you need to keep an eye on him,” she says. “He’s just going to get more ginger vixens hanging off of him.”

“Do they have to be ginger?”

The band starts off with the new keyboardist, I think his name is Hugh, hitting a few notes and samples, then the drummer comes in.

“John the revelator,” Laz starts to sing, his deep voice pitch perfect as it soars across the crowd. It’s amazing how good he is, how his voice still reaches far inside me and fills up each hollow part of me.

Then the song hits the chorus, the tempo goes up, they get louder somehow and the whole crowd starts to groove and dance. I guess Laz was right, people really do want to be able to dance to their rock music these days.

“Seven lies, multiplied by seven, multiplied by seven again,” he sings and the crowd starts to sing along with him.

It’s pretty incredible. Any angst I had earlier over him and the redhead is gone and I’m just like everyone else. I’m a fan. His biggest fan. I’m in awe, lost in the throes of his performance, the music, the way his voice makes me want to climb on that stage and fuck his brains out. I can’t blame him in the slightest for having groupies because I know exactly what they’re feeling.

By the time the show is over, an hour later, everyone is happy, sweaty, drunk. I think a lot of people are getting laid tonight and I’m hoping that includes me.

Laz comes off the stage, his shirt damp and sticking to him, ramping up the hotness factor, and the redhead finds him again, grabbing hold of his bicep for a moment.

To my surprise, he takes her arm and starts leading her toward me through the crowd.

“What the fuckity fuck?” Naomi says.

Laz and the redhead stop right in front of us. “Marina, I’d like you to meet someone.”

Okaaaaaaay.

He nudges the redhead, who is even prettier up close.

“This is Samantha.”

“Hiya,” the girl says with the same Manchester accent as Laz and gives me her hand. “So nice to meet you. I grew up next door to Laz.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. I guess that kind of explains why they were a bit more touchy-feely with each other. “Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand and look at Laz. “Did you know she would be here?”

“Nah,” Samantha says. “He had no idea. I follow him on Instagram and Facebook and I was in LA with my boyfriend, and decided I should go to the show and say hello, remember me!”

I immediately relax at the mention of boyfriend, so much so that Laz’s brows twitch.

“We’ll I’m glad you managed to come, are you doing Disneyland and all that?”

She nods. “Yup. My boyfriend is back at the hotel, he’s so knackered after being at the park so I took a chance and came by myself. So glad I did, I was just buzzin’ to come to one of his shows.”

“I haven’t seen her since I was a teenager,” Laz says. “I even had to babysit her a few times.”

She laughs, high-pitched and girly. “You were rubbish at it too.”

Now that they mentioned babysitting, I can see that she is in fact quite younger than us.

“Well, I’m going to get a drink,” Samantha says.

“I’ll come with you,” Naomi says. “I’m Naomi, by the way,” she says with a head nod. They both walk off.

“What’s wrong?” Laz asks me as he bends down to give me a quick kiss.

“Nothing,” I say, pasting on a smile. “You were so amazing. Really. The more dancey, up-tempo songs were the right thing to do, people were so into it.”

“Good,” he says, still squinting at me. My god, he is wearing my eyeliner. “But something is up. I can read you like a book you know. If I didn’t know any better, you were worried about Samantha.”

I give him a dismissive wave. “Phhfff. Forget about it.”

“You looked relieved to hear she had a boyfriend.”

I give him a sharp look. “You really are observant, aren’t you?”

“Marina, come on.”

“Well what? I was watching you guys all night and she was totally hitting on you.”

“She wasn’t. She’s, like, twenty-two and I practically grew up next door to her. I was surprised to see her and she’s just happy to be here.”

“I know that now,” I tell him. “But from far away, it looked like she was getting all handsy with you.”

“Well she wasn’t.”

Hmmm. That was a quick denial to something undeniable.

“Naomi was going to go over there and kick her butt.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well I’m not surprised about that,” he grumbles. “Honestly, I don’t think you should listen to her much.”

“She’s my friend, of course I listen to her.”

“She’s paranoid and thinks all men are scum.” He pauses. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you! I told her I trust you.”

“So then why get all weird about Samantha?”

“Because you’re, like, so much hotter than me.”

He bursts out laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” Now I feel embarrassed. “And anyway, she was handsy. I don’t care if you knew her growing up, from over here it looked like she was hitting on you and you were welcoming it.”

“This is ridiculous,” he says with a sigh, rubbing his eyes, smudging his eyeliner.

Damn it, now he’s even hotter.

I clear my throat. “It’s not ridiculous. If that was me and some guy was touching me like that, would you like it? No.”

Laz doesn’t say anything, looks away.

“You know it would bother you.”

“I don’t get jealous.”

Ugh. Seriously? Why does he have to be the sane, rational one and I look like the jealous psycho.”

“Yeah right,” I say.

He shrugs. “What? I don’t. It’s not in my nature.”

I give him an acidic smile. “You are full of shit. Remember in the bar in New York, that guy was talking to me and you came over and was all ‘she’s mine, she’s with me, caveman claiming his cavewoman, raaaar’.”

“That was because I didn’t know how you felt about me.”

You don’t know everything, I think to myself. You don’t know how much I love you.

“I can’t believe we’re arguing about this.”

“We’re not arguing. You’re accusing me of flirting when I wasn’t.”

“I’m not accusing,” I tell him. “Laz, you’re surrounded by hot groupies all the time, whether it’s for your writing or your music. Walk in my shoes for a moment.”

“Then you better get used to it,” he says.

I glare at him. “I don’t like this side of you. Were you like this with all your girlfriends or just me? Because if it was all of them, I can get why they never lasted very long. You are bad at this love shit.”

He flinches, pales, like I just slapped him in his face.

I swallow, feeling guilt’s whiplash, and then I’m sticking to my guns and storming off through the crowd toward the bathroom before I say something else impulsive. Usually my lack of filter is charming but tonight I realize how damaging it can be to just blurt out whatever you’re thinking.

You fucked up.

You fucked up big time.

Crazy bee lady.

I’m just about at the bathroom when someone grabs my arm and whirls me around.

It’s Laz, looking angry as hell and I can’t blame him.

“What the fuck was that for?” he yells.

A girl coming out of the bathroom gives us a wary glance and hurries along.

“Don’t fucking yell at me!” I yell back at him. “I don’t want to be one of those couples, the fight in public couples.”

He makes a gruff, grunting sound, yanks me toward the bathroom until we’re both locked in the small room.

“I hate to break it to you,” he says, still holding onto my arm, his eyes flaming as he turns around to face me. “But right now, we are one of those couples. This is part of it.”

“Is it? Is this what you do to your girlfriends? Yell at them?”

“No, it isn’t,” he says. “Is this what you do with your dates, get all jealous?”

“I have a right to get jealous. I’m your girlfriend now.”

“But you have no reason. You trust me, don’t you?”

“I do! I said I do. But you have to understand what it looks like. Other girls might think you’re leading them on.” I take in a deep breath, closing my eyes. This bathroom doesn’t smell the best. “Laz, it bothered me okay? If that makes me jealous and crazy, fine. Then you’re just going to have deal.”

He sighs, long and heavy, and his grip slips down to my hand where he holds my fingers. “Then I’ll deal. Look…” he rubs his lips together, brushes a strand of hair off my face tenderly, “Maybe I have been…flirty…with other women, in the past, and maybe my girlfriend’s never called me on it because they never really cared. And maybe I did it because I didn’t care. And maybe I didn’t yell at them because I didn’t care either. But…I fucking care about you.” He pulls me to him. “I’m sorry I was acting inappropriate. I thought nothing of it and it meant nothing to me but I know it means something to you. I promise I’ll be better. I guess this is where my lessons in love come in, don’t they?”

I stare at him openly. He didn’t quite tell me he loves me but his eyes are wide for a moment, as if he’s said something he shouldn’t have.

God. I don’t want to wait anymore.

“Laz,” I say to him, gathering my fears. “You’re not bad at love. Because I am absolutely, positively in love with you.”

He blinks at me in shock.

“You don’t have to say anything in response,” I say quickly. “I just wanted you to know because it’s too much of a burden to keep it to myself. But I love you. I love you.”

Silence.

Then it’s like he’s an animal unleashed. He’s grabbing my face, lips devouring mine, tongue pushing into my mouth, stroking every pent up desire.

I grab him in kind, my hands in his hair, at the back of his neck while his hands grab my waist, my ass, pinching, groping. We grapple together in a frenzy of heat and lust and something unbelievably real.

I’m pushed back against the dirty, tile wall, pinned there, and I’m his, completely his. My body operates on pure instinct, throwing myself into him with no inhibitions, no caution. It craves him as much as my mind and soul do. As he presses against me, breathing hard and kissing me, messy and wet, I put my hands around his shoulders and relish the lean, taut muscles of his back as I pull him in.

One of his hands is lost in my hair, tugging on it the way I like, and I let out a breathless gasp from the sweet pain. The other is lifting up the hem of my dress, shrugging it up around my waist. I’ve stopped wearing underwear these days and he lets out a deep moan that I feel vibrate through me as he explores me with his fingers.

“No knickers,” he murmurs. “Good girl.” He sticks three of his large, long fingers inside me and I clench around them, begging for more.

“Hurry up and fuck me,” I tell him.

He laughs, low and rich, reaching down to lift me up so my legs are wrapped around his waist. I reach down between us and frantically try to undo his belt. He stares at my frenzied hand for a moment, clearly enjoying just how much I want him.

“Hold on, sweet girl,” he says, pulling down his jeans and briefs until his cock bobs freely, so dark and rigid. I love him like this, so raw, thick, and all for me.

He holds himself at my cunt and waits for a few beats. I can feel the heat coming between us, the way his eyes burn into me, until his gaze drops to his cock as he’s about to push its stiff length inside me. Before I can urge him in, my fingers tightening their hold on his back, he pushes with one large, powerful thrust.

I can’t help the cry that escapes from my lips, and then the soft, “Oh,” as he slowly, agonizingly, pulls himself out, his cock absolutely drenched.

He eases himself back in, a few inches at a time, his lips brushing over mine.

“I like it when you get jealous, you know that?” he whispers against my mouth, his words breaking off into a groan. “I like it when I’m on stage and I see you watching me with all that lust in your eyes. I like that I can drag you into this bathroom, we can fight and yell, and then I can fuck your brains out. I don’t just like it. I love it.”

My heart catches high in my throat. I can’t speak, I can only feel, and the intense gaze of his eyes tells me that something is happening, something new. He didn’t say he loved me but it was pretty damn close.

His eyes continue to burn as he pushes himself in and out, pumping steadily. He grabs my chin lightly and holds my face, making sure I can’t break eye contact, can’t look away. It’s nearly embarrassingly intimate, the way his stare feels like he’s stripping me bare.

Our moans are hushed, our breaths rough and ragged as he moves inside me, his hips circling so he hits each and every tightly wound nerve.

It’s so fucking good.

It’s everything.

We are joined, connected, and the more he thrusts in, deeper, deeper, the warmer he feels, like barely contained fire. A bead of sweat rolls off his nose, and finally his eyes pinch closed as he approaches his climax, his mouth going for the crook of my neck where he bites and sucks and grunts as he pounds me, each thrust getting faster than the last.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, inhaling sharply. “I’m coming.”

Before I even have a chance to try and catch up, he lets go of my waist and slides a finger over my clit, petting it twice, and that’s all it takes to set me off like dynamite.

I explode outwardly, until I feel like there is nothing left and he explodes into me. I can feel him inside, hot and potent as I throb mercilessly around him, my nails digging so hard into his shoulders as I ride him out that I know they’re going to leave marks tomorrow.

My heart is huge, filled with shooting stars and rainbows.

This man.

This gorgeous specimen of a man, who fucks me with all he has.

I want to love this man forever

“Laz,” I whisper. “Don’t ever leave me.”

He’s breathing heavily into my shoulder and I run my fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it, loving everything he is.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers to me.

“I would be crazy to do so,” I tell him.

He pulls back to look at me. “You know you call yourself the crazy bee lady, right?”

He’s got that look I love in his eyes, the one only I bring to him. Sleepy, relaxed, happy. Absolutely satisfied. But there’s tenderness brimming underneath, laced with darkness. Fear. But I understand that fear because love, love is scary.

I smile shyly, suddenly feeling like it’s all so much, too much. The love I have for him is too big for the entire world to handle, let alone me.

What happens if he never loves me back?

What happens to love when it’s never returned?

Does it keep coming, keep flowing…can I love him enough for the both of us?

“We should get back,” I tell him, clearing my throat.

He nods, brows knitting together for a moment. “Of course.” He gently lowers me to the ground and then takes some paper towels, running it up the inside of my legs and cleaning me off.

We give ourselves the once over in the mirror. He smooths down my dress, I straighten his shirt. We head back outside into the bar, hand in hand.

I think we just survived our first fight.

Have had our first makeup sex.

I just hope we can survive anything else that’s thrown our way.

I hate, hate, hate this sharp, niggling feeling deep inside, burrowing in my heart like a worm into an apple, that something horrible is coming.