“The leaves are truth. Secrets are the roots buried beneath the surface.” ~Johnny Outlaw
The venue is intimate; the size of this club is not a place to hold a huge concert. That makes this show even more exciting because of the access we’ve been granted to see such a famous band. It’s also really smokey in here. I wave my hand in front of my face to clear some of it away while following the group to an open area at the bar. Leaning over the bar’s edge to shout over the loud music, I order, “Three top shelf tequila shots.”
The bartender nods, then lines the shot glasses up. Grabbing the Anejo, he pours then pushes each one forward. “Ten each. Yours is on the house,” he says with an arched eyebrow.
I lay down the cash and a good tip. “Thanks.”
Tapping the top of the bar twice, he says, “Make sure to visit me again tonight.”
He’s flirty. Kind of cute, too, but ever since Dalton happened, it’s hard for me to see anyone else as a possibility.
After handing the drinks to Cara and Tracy, we hold them in the center, each glass touching. Cara takes the lead. “Ladies, tonight we’re partying Vegas style, so here’s to hot guys and wild times.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I down the shot then bite the lime to ease the harshness of the alcohol, catching Jack and the other men from dinner watching us. With a smile, he nods.
Tracy squeals and points to the stage as the drummer kicks into a steady beat and the bassist joins in. The crowd starts cheering. The lead singer, with his back to the audience is wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. He strums his guitar with an intensity that highlights the muscles in his arms as the music builds. “We scored getting in here.” With a laugh, I tell Tracy, “We owe Cara a few more cocktails for hooking us up.”
“God, I’m about to die. Johnny Outlaw is so fucking hot,” Cara says with a dreamy look in her eyes. “We should try to meet the band after the show. I’ve met the drummer a couple of times. His name is Dex. He’s from Brentwood and took one of my friends to prom when the band was starting out.”
“That’s our in because I’m totally onboard with meeting them.” Tracy adds, “Liquid courage and we’ll go for it.”
Cara high-fives both of us, which feels silly, but this night has become full of unexpected fun.
The audience is getting louder and I start swaying to the rhythm. The girls squeal loudly, grabbing my hands and holding them in the air just as the lead singer turns around and starts singing into the microphone.
His green eyes are haunted, the bright lights obscuring his view of the crowd idolizing him as he gets lost—in the music, in the club, in the moment as he sings a song I’ve probably heard a hundred times on the radio.
All at once… I’m hit with reality.
The girls release my hands as I stumble back, my shoulders hitting the wall behind me. It’s not the alcohol that’s hit me so hard. It’s him. I recognize the tattoos on his arm: Texas flag, number forty-four, hula girl. As my gaze scrolls over his body, I can place the tattoos by memory even the ones the audience can’t see—a tiger on his chest just over his heart and three guns over his ribs.
Lines, lies, fake names, real names. Suddenly I feel humiliated for believing his pickup lines and stupid for not knowing who he really is. Did he play me or was he being real?
Johnny Outlaw is live, and in person, singing from his soul and The Resistance is a band I would pay money to see, but I didn’t expect this. Now I’ve got thirty emotions fighting to overturn my current reaction as I try to reason through everything I thought I knew.
Jack Dalton is Johnny Outlaw, the lead singer of one of the most famous bands in the world. He’s also the man I’ve been having sex with over the last twenty-four hours.
“Hey, you okay?” Cara asks, glancing back over her shoulder.
I wave my hand in front of my face, acting like it’s nothing. I must be a good actress because she turns back around and gets into the music again.
Tracy seems to be drunk already and doesn’t realize what’s going on. I can’t keep this to myself though. “Hey,” I whisper into her ear. “That’s Jack Dalton.”
“Who?”
I yell louder than the music to be heard, “Jack Dalton.”
“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about. That’s Johnny Outlaw.”
I put my arm straight out and point. “No, Tracy, it’s the man I’ve been hooking up with. He told me his name is Jack Dalton. He sent the food this morning.”
She bursts out laughing. “Oh shit. Really?”
“What oh shit?” Cara asks, stamping her foot because she’s not in on our secret. “Who’s Jack Dalton?”
Leaning against the wall next to me, Tracy looks at Cara with her cocktail straw pressed against her lip. I shake my head at the girl who’s five sheets to the wind drunk at ten o’clock at night. The only saving grace she has to be this drunk is that we’re in Vegas, which is the gold standard here.
“Jack is,” Tracy starts, her voice louder than necessary to fight the loud music, but the song stops just in time to further my humiliation as she shouts, “Holli had sex with Johnny Outlaw today.”
“Tracy!” My cheeks flame with anger and embarrassment. I drop my face into my hands. Now I sound like a groupie to the world.
Peeking out from between my fingers, Cara is staring at me. “Is that true, Holli?”
I debate answering, wondering how much of a lead I can get on them if I take off running now. With the heels I’m wearing, I’m thinking not that far, so I answer. “It’s true. I guess I slept with a rock star.”
“You,” she says then looks back to the stage briefly before lowering her voice. “You slept with Johnny Outlaw? Why am I only finding this out now?”
“It’s not like that. I didn’t know he was Johnny Outlaw when I had sex with him.”
People are staring. When my eyes meet the bartenders, he sets down another shot, and says, “Thought you might need this.”
“Thanks.” I down it knowing it won’t ease the mortification that a portion of this room now knows I slept with the band… or at least the lead singer, which kind of feels like the same thing right now.
The band is only three songs in and I’m being swarmed with questions from the girls while other girls I don’t know are glaring at me.
Cara looks at Tracy and asks her, “How did this happen? I need details and if she won’t give them to me, you will.”
“I don’t know any details,” Tracy says, shrugging. “She hasn’t told me anything either.”
Both of them turn to look at me, curiosity and impatience written on their faces.
“I don’t know Johnny.” I look back at the stage and I start questioning everything he told me, our conversations running through my head, wondering if I missed something or he just blatantly lied to me.
I’ve seen him on TV winning Grammys and walking the red carpet with famous models. Who knew I’d ever meet him in person? Was I that caught up in my own work to actually pay attention to the man on the screen in front of me? It makes no sense that he’s the same man I’ve been spending time with.
Seeing him now, and knowing him so intimately, I hear the same passion I heard through jagged breaths. He holds the microphone like he held me, caressing it with care.
Beautifully tortured, there’s a dark aura projected through the pain on his face as he sings about lost dreams and faded nights. His body is defined, his hair styled, image intact for everyone to see the star he is—the star he was always meant to be. Keeping my eyes on him, I say, “I don’t know the man on stage. I don’t know him at all.” I watch, fascinated like the entire room of fans, staring at the man who owns all of their adoration.
With a nudge, Tracy says, “You should talk to him after the show.”
My heart pounds, not knowing where anything stands between us while starting to feel betrayed, tricked. “I don’t know. I feel weird about things now.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I glare at her. “I may not have done anything wrong, but I was an idiot. He must think I’m so stupid. I slept with one of the most well know bachelors in the world. Someone who every woman wants and I thought he was an undercover security guard working for the hotel.”
Her expression says it all, but just in case I misinterpreted it, she says, “You would have sex with a security guard?” Her nose is scrunched in disgust.
I point at the stage again. “Need I remind you that the security guard we are talking about looks like that?”
“Good point.”
We spend the next couple of songs in silence, listening, every song’s lyrics have new meaning to me and feeling like he might be singing just for me, kind of hoping he is. When I remember I have no messages, I know he isn’t. He can have any girl in this room, so I don’t expect to hear from him anyway.
The crowd is clapping, the band deserving the ovation. Cara says, “Show’s over. Let’s try to get backstage.”
My heart begins to race. “I don’t think so,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to barge in on him. He said he’d message me.”
The band hops off the side of the stage and disappears and my heart calms. I should go with her and see Dalton… Johnny. I should, but I’m confused by the lies he told me or untruths or whatever he’s gonna call the fact that he led me to believe he was someone different altogether.
“C’mon. We have to try.” Cara grabs my hand and pulls me out the side exit into a hotel hallway that leads to a door backstage. I pull free from her tight grip and shake my head again. “No, I can’t. Not right now. Not with a crowd around.”
“Holli, you had sex with him. He’ll want to see you.” Her determination makes me wonder if she’s doing this for me or herself. “We need to get back there before everyone else figures out where they are.”
Tracy stands close, taking my side. “This is about Holli. Not us, so I don’t think we should do this.”
“We shouldn’t,” I add. “You’re welcome to see them if you want, Cara, but I’m not gonna turn into a groupie for him.” Turning on my heel, I start to leave, but stop when I hear Dalton behind me.
“Holliday?”