PROLOGUE
SUMMER 2020
He was getting too old for this shit.
And by this shit, JP meant muscling his way through a jam-packed crowd of drunk, sweaty bodies while Beyonce belted her heart out on stage.
Beyonce, really?
Sure, he appreciated her talent, and what hetero man didn’t think she was hot as fuck? But he was a rock and roll guy all the way. Couldn’t help it. It was in his blood.
And his name. His parents had called him John Paul for a reason, after all. Named him after the British rock star John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin. They named all their kids after British rockers.
“’Scuse me, sweetheart,” he said as he tried not to be a total creeper and drag his dick across the woman in front of him as he squeezed past her.
His buddy and favorite tattoo artist, Desmond, should have been the poor schmuck stuck at this overcrowded concert with his kickass wife, Jill. Desi had been all about a much-needed date night and time away from their kids. But the universe had different ideas, and poor Desi was home puking his guts out courtesy of a bug his two-year-old generously brought home from daycare. That was the problem with marriage right there. It led to scheduled date nights, which led to kids, who made more date nights necessary, which led to more kids, and so on. Next thing a guy knew, he was hugging the porcelain throne all day.
JP shuddered. He felt for his sick friend, he really did, but the expulsion of bodily fluids was one of the many reasons JP never planned on having kids. One of the many, many reasons. Cock blocking, lack of sleep, and constant noise were a few others.
Being the stellar best friend he was, JP gave up a night of searching for his next hookup in favor of escorting Jill to the concert while her husband slept off his virus.
Desi owed him. Big time.
Now, he was on his way back to Jill, where she danced and sang with the rest of the floor-level ticket holders. It was a miracle that JP had managed to keep from spilling the margaritas in his hands all over some unsuspecting concertgoer.
“JP!” Jill shouted when he reached her. She threw her slender arms around his shoulders and squeezed the hell outta him. “Isn’t this so much fun?”
He laughed at her enthusiasm, which came from the two margaritas she’d already sucked back. “The best. Here, sweetie,” he said, handing over her drink.
“Oh, thank you! I’m so thirsty.” She grabbed the cup and chugged as though it were a refreshing lemonade instead of a tequila-loaded drink. Being as thin as she was—which amazed him considering she’d had two kids in three years—those drinks hit her hard.
He, on the other hand, would be the exact right amount of pleasantly tipsy by the time he polished off his third drink. And that’s where he’d stay for the night. Being entrusted with his best friend’s beautiful, red-headed wife was a job he took seriously, so he’d refrain from getting smashed.
Twenty minutes later, the deafening roar of thousands of unattached women filled the arena as Beyonce strutted across the stage in a fierce silver bodysuit with her chest heaving as she sang Single Ladies.
Jill jumped up and down, screaming with the best of them. She turned to him, short auburn hair plastered to her face as she yelled, “Are you regretting this yet?”
He took stock for a second.
Drinks, check.
Dancing, check.
Music, check.
Okay, it wasn’t so bad, even if he felt like an old man. “Never. I’ve got the prettiest date in the place.” He winked, then took her hand, spinning her around. They danced like fools, and he didn’t give a shit because he wasn’t searching for a woman to take home for the night. Scratch that, for a few hours. He didn’t do sleepovers. Too domestic. Too…cuddly.
Yuck.
Why the hell would he stick around for all that extra bullshit when an orgasm was the reason he got naked with a woman in the first place?
By the time the Beyonce sashayed off stage after her second encore, his ears were ringing and his feet ached. Yeah, he was officially too fucking old for this shit. Or maybe he’d just been busy as fuck helping his brother Keith out at his auto shop over the past week. Tomorrow he planned to do nothing but eat, drink coffee, jerk off a time or two, then head outside for a long nap in the sun—perfect way to spend a summer Saturday.
As the arena brightened and concertgoers began to file out, Jill grabbed his arm. “Oh my God!” she squealed, pointing across the thinning crowd. “I know them.”
Three women clustered about thirty feet away, gesturing with as much sloppy enthusiasm as Jill.
“They’re all moms of kids in Lulu’s daycare.” After waving back, she started dragging JP over then seemed to remember he wasn’t her husband. “Sorry, do you mind if I talk to them for a few minutes?”