Rock Harder: Bad Boy Bandmates & Babies

I was only doing okay with the Loki’s Laugh guys through some effort. They were already attached, and it wasn’t like I was attracted to any of them.

But hearing about this particular “one-man wonder” again made me nervous, for some reason.

Nervous and excited.

I couldn’t deny I was interested in him, even though my normal tendency would be to avoid being set up with another of Ashe’s potential suitors for me.

“Sure,” I said, before my brain could catch up with my mouth.

Resisting the urge to facepalm, I went through the rest of the night in silence, wondering what exactly I’d gotten myself into.

Chapter Seven – Theo

The choir of alarms went off almost at once. Last night I’d set every device I had available, from my phone to a clock radio, wanting to make sure that all of them would ring.

I’d put at least half the wake-up items intentionally on the other side of the room and set to go off within a few seconds of each other. The digital cacophony was at a standstill. I heaved out a breath, noticing, with some relief, that I was no longer tired at all.

Then I set about the kitchen like it was a house on fire, in the most metaphorical sense, putting together a full English breakfast as I was taught one time on a student trip to London. Once everything was rolling, Petra came in, still in her night shirt, rubbing her eyes.

“Morning, little one,” I said, tending to the sausages and bacon.

“How many times have I told you I’m not that little anymore?” she protested. “I’m old enough to be staying here alone in the middle of a pandemic while you leave me to go tour America.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll be fine, other than not being a great cook. But I’ll be back before you know it to make more pancakes for you—especially since I have no choice in the matter, with the government keeping tabs on my trip and all.”

“Good point,” she said. “I’m glad I won’t have to go too long without your cooking. Which, by the way, smells delicious.”

“Wait ‘til you see how it tastes,” I joked.

“You can’t see a taste.”

“Nicely done, very quick.”

After serving Petra her pancakes and making sure she was okay, I went to get a taxi, with plenty of time still left before the flight. I’d missed a flight to England once because there had been a hold up at security, and I never wanted to go through that again. I couldn’t afford it, for one thing.

Fate must have decided it wasn’t a good idea for me to fly to America that day. I didn’t know the particular reason, but maybe it was just the divine deities being capricious dinks, as was wont to happen, at least according to the stories.

The cabbie spoke neither English nor Dutch with much proficiency, and it took nearly twenty minutes to convince her I wanted to go to the airport. Once that was sorted out, the route we took would confuse any Amsterdam local, being the longest way possible from where we had started to where we were going.

More than once I was tempted to jump out at a stop light and look for a ghost bike, certain I would make better time. If it hadn’t been for the fucking luggage, which was more than even my wagon could carry, I was stuck where I was— taking the Cook’s Tour of my home city.

After leaving a tip begrudgingly due to the bad service, I ran to the terminal. It could have just been my imagination, but it very much seemed like nearly everyone in town had convened in the airport that day, in a special effort to prevent me from getting to my plane on time.

Marching through the grim procession, I finally got to the counter, the flames of hope turning to smoldering embers.

“Tickets,” prompted the agent, looking as rough as I felt.

I handed over the specially designed envelope with the company’s name on it. It was a high-end airline I never could have afforded on my own dime.

“Oh,” the agent said, startled.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, oh, nothing at all. I’ll get this through right away.”

After getting my boarding pass within seconds, my suitcase was whisked through the conveyer belt and I found myself on the back of a courtesy vehicle, being driven to my gate at high speed. Leaping off the vehicle, the driver ran to the security and explained the situation, whatever it happened to be.

Hustled through security like a VIP, I was whisked through the gate and down the ramp. The flight attendant was actually holding my hand to try to pull me faster.

I was nearly late but there was no way they were going to leave me behind. Not with me having a first-class ticket and all.

When it came to the travel industry, not even the god(s) themselves could outdo cold, hard cash in terms of influence. No wonder the wealthy could sometimes have such arrogant attitudes. Money could buy anything they wanted.