“Well, it-turns-out-that-I-had-sleep-sex-with-him,” I blurt out.
“You what?!” they say in unison, eyes as big as saucers.
Are they practicing this in the mirror or something? It’s kinda creepy, really.
“He’s on this experimental drug,” I say miserably, “and it means that he sometimes does shit without remembering it afterward. Like, fucking me.”
“Oooohhhhh …” Ashley says, “I thought you meant that you were asleep for it, but he was? Kinky.” She grins an unrepentantly sexy grin, and I roll my eyes. I just know that tonight, Ashley is going to ask Apollo to role-play being asleep while she gives him a blowjob.
Not that Apollo is going to mind…
“Are you sure he doesn’t remember it?” Kathy asks skeptically.
I shrug. “I haven’t seen or talked to him since then, so I guess I don’t know for sure, but when I was there, it was believable to me. He took this pill and then got all weird on me. I don’t know. I guess I need to talk to him again and really test him. See if I can trip him up. I could ask him, ‘So, have you fucked any hot chicks named Gisele lately?’ See if he gets all weird on me.” I laugh. Quite frankly, the more I drink, the funnier I am … to me.
But hey, I’m the only one who matters, right?
“Well, now you have your chance,” Kathy says, jerking her head toward the door.
My laughter abruptly stops and I swivel toward the door.
Stone Slayer is walking through the door right now.
I jerk back around and just stare at Ashley and Kathy. I know that like, five minutes ago, I was whining about wanting to see him again, but that was in the hypothetical sense. Of course I want to see him again sometime soon.
But … but this is real, and suddenly? Seeing Stone Slayer in person is turning me into a ball of nerves.
Have I mentioned that I don’t do second dates? Second fucks? Second chances? Because I don’t. Seeing a guy again after I’ve ridden his cock seven ways to Sunday just isn’t something I do.
But now, looking at him as he makes his way to the now-empty stage, I realize that I just might want to with this one.
And that’s the most terrifying thing I’ve thought all year.
130
Stone
So I asked the owner of t
he Irish Exit if he’d allow me to play at his bar tonight because I need to get back into the public arena and not pull my cock out of my pants as I do it. I have to show people that I can play a set and act like a decent, grown-up human being as I do so.
Of course, the owner was all over this idea, ‘cause people want to watch me in action, if only in the hopes that I’ll pull a repeat performance and start cock-waving again. No way. I’ve asked my doctor if I can move the pill-popping to after my shows each night, so that by the time I’m supposed to be up on stage, I’m fully with it again, and he regretfully agreed. Apparently, these pills work best if taken at seven o’clock at night, but let’s be honest—if I don’t quit pulling a Slayer, I won’t have a career anymore and I might as well go back to drinking all the time. If they aren’t quite as potent if taken at one in the morning, then I’ll just have to rely on self control to make up the difference.
As we make our way through the crowd, my band and back-up singers helping me lug equipment up to the stage, I see something out of the corner of my eye. Or rather, someone.
I don’t know why she caught my eye because there’s a stupid amount of people in here—if the fire marshal gets called, we’ll get shut down so fast, my band is gonna get whiplash from it—and so I really shouldn’t have seen her. She shouldn’t have stood out to me.
But, it’s Gisele. Apparently, I now have a Gisele sensor that goes off every time she’s in my general vicinity. I can see the flash of her blonde hair in the spotlights skimming over the crowd, and then I hear her laugh tinkle out, over the crowd.
Which, to be honest, I also shouldn’t have heard. It’s so damn noisy in here, I’m not sure if I’d be able to hear fireworks go off.
But I can hear her laughter.
Dammit, I have it bad.
As we set up our equipment, the crowd grows restless, the cheers and heckling getting louder, and more people push their way into the already overcrowded bar. I think back to the interview, where I’d shoved two pills into my mouth in front of her. I know that I was thinking about her amazing rack as I was starting to go under, but just because I thought about it doesn’t mean I actually did anything about it. It does mean that I would’ve been willing if she’d wanted to try something, though.
But let’s be honest: If I died, Gisele would still give me a boner. A rock star ghost boner—I can just imagine that hitting the tabloids …