LUCKY COMPLETELY IGNORED me.
He looked hot as shit. Angled night wing bangs arrowed to a point emphasizing those shockingly blue eyes. No vest for the performance tonight, just that gloriously traceable chest I had seen up close and the artwork on his skin. Unable to look away, I remembered how good it had felt when he had touched me. But either there had been no spark for him or my truths had served their purpose. Lucky was done with me. He didn't look my way during the entire set, not even once.
The unsettled, off balance feeling from his rejection carried over into the next performance and the one after that. And they were all great bands. I clapped, just like Marsha beside me. I rocked with the beat, but I was having second thoughts. Confidence eroding doubts. If Lucky could so easily dismiss me, maybe I wasn't ready to take on a guy like JGB. Maybe I needed a few more fucks with sweet guys like Rayne first. While I mulled those thoughts over, the controversial rock rapper materialized amid a downburst of colorful spotlights. Ball cap, brim low over his eyes, he strutted to the center of the stage gesticulating and spitting rapid staccato words into his mic. His entrance reminded me of a wild animal sprung free from a long confinement. His predatory gaze darted back and forth. His lanky limbs churned and chopped up the floorboards where Lucky's movements had flowed like water.
JGB stopped in front of me, crouched down, touched his junk and looked me straight in the eye without breaking the rhythm of the lyrics he hurled at his mic. "Want some of this?" His words and his actions aligned. Shocking. Crude. Confrontational.
Caught off guard, a proper response escaped me as he straightened, backed away and cracked a cocksure smile. "Then come and get it, yeah. Come and get it." He was toying with me. Not just me but the entire audience. The heavy combat boots he wore carved a scar on the stage as he prowled the perimeter. Touching his nose repeatedly, he finished one song and sped through the next. The crowd ate it up, with him every dangerous step of the way. He rapped about addiction and abuse, in a way that sounded raw and real. Hands up in the air, bodies bounced. And JGB’s momentum never faltered. The crowd was electrified by the time he was through. So were my nerves. My thoughts ricocheted inside my skull. Tangling with a guy like that who dropped acid on stage and reputedly kept live rattlesnakes on his bus, was more than a little terrifying.
Certainly not boring.
"WHAT HAPPENED WITH you and something-something?" I asked Marsha, my tone noticeably churlish. The long line we endured to meet 2 Rows Back irritated me. I was peeved that Mars had ignored me for the most of the concert. I still smarted from my father’s rejection. But truth be told, Lucky’s indifference had me the most uptight.
"Who?" My bestie pried my current drink from my hand before I could slurp down the last of it.
"Tall. Built. Fireproof," I explained, swaying and grabbing her arm. The floor in the long and narrow meet and greet room seemed to move beneath my feet.
"Oh. Him." Her eyes widened with understanding. "He was awesome. Very flexible. And focused. Not even a hint of performance anxiety."
"What?" I wasn't following. "Are you saying you had sex with him?"
She nodded.
"When the hell did that happen?" I hadn't started drinking until after the concert. If I had blanked out part of the evening maybe I was more blitzed than I realized. I ran my mind backward, stumbling a bit in the alcohol induced haze. After JGB, 2 Rows Back had raised the roof and rocked the walls. Seeing them live had been as epic as I had hoped and had cemented their place as tops in our hearts--sorry Rayne. Marsha and I had floated backstage afterward, along with a substantial crowd who had VIP tickets. We had made only one brief stop on the way to a women's restroom. I remembered waiting in line and fixing my makeup alone after using the facilities. I also recalled wondering why it had taken Marsha so much longer than me. "Ah-ha," I said stabbing my finger up in the air like a detective who had put together all the clues. "You sneaky skank." I was impressed. "You screwed the fireman in one of the bathroom stalls, didn’t you?"
"Um, technically he screwed me. I just, you know, said hell yeah and braced myself against the wall." She smiled dreamily. "Quiet. Quick. Magic fingers. Just what I needed to get my mojo back after Dallas." She tapped her lips and narrowed her gaze on me. "But what about you, honey? You've been downing the drinks since we got here like they're water."
"I guess but..." I trailed off as Lucky and his bandmates entered the room. The sexy lead singer had two women with him, typical groupie types, way too much makeup, tiny tops, micro minis and fishnet stockings. His gaze passed over me once again like I didn't exist as he and his crew moved toward the Dragons’ meet and greet station. The sensitive area near my heart where he had hooked me with his concern the other night started to burn. I jerked my gaze away and glanced around looking for the guy with the drink tray. I felt Marsha's speculative gaze on me. "What?" I turned to look at her. I could tell by the expression on her face that she had something she was dying to say. "Go ahead. Spill it.” I sighed. “Get it out and over with."
"What is it with you and Lucky? Did you two fuck on the bus?"
"No, of course not,” I replied a little too stridently. "And we never will, either. He's never going on the list. Remember? You were there when I told him."
"Alright." She arched a single I’m-drawing-the-opposite-conclusion brow at my vehemence. "If all that’s true, then why are you acting so weird since he walked in?" She stole and downed the drink I had just snagged from a passing waiter.
"Hey, that was mine." I frowned. Now the guy was too far away, and I didn’t have time to step out of line. We were almost to the front. I could see Braddy Arnett’s dimples and Kris Hendrick’s bushy hair.
"You’ve had enough,” she said sternly. “This is our band. We already blew it at the hotel. We don’t want to make a bad first impression." She worried her bottom lip, pulling me upright when I started to list to the side. "I don’t think you’re up to JGB tonight. I’m calling it off if you can’t even keep it together for 2 Rows Back."
"No," I protested feeling like a petulant child. "I'm fine."
"Hardly." She exhaled sharply. "And there’s no rule that says you have to do anything with anyone, even if you did have a little moment with JGB while he was on stage." She gentled her tone. "This is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to make you feel good. To help you get over Ivan. But right now it seems to be having the opposite effect." She glanced down at my arm. "Shit." She pulled my fingernails away from my skin. "You're bleeding."
She was right. I had made several shallow scratches on the skin in the inside of the crook of my arm, at one time, my preferred location to shoot up. A nervous tell, the unconscious habit surfaced whenever I was stressed.
"What’s going on Raven? What’s got you so freaked out? And don’t bullshit me anymore.”