Three
Fish
“Let’s get this party started!” I shout as Dax, Colin, Kiera, and I enter the patio area, and everyone cheers and hoots in reply. Predictably, we’re greeted by Violet first who throws herself into her husband’s waiting arms. Kat arrives next with her husband, Josh, followed by their good friends, Henn and Hannah.
In short order, our small group is engaged in animated conversation. But as everyone talks around me, I can’t help noticing Dax kissing and whispering to Violet nearby, the same way he always does with her—like she’s the only person in the entire world. And, as I so often do when glimpsing Dax and Violet canoodling, I can’t help thinking: I want that.
Not Violet herself, of course. I don’t covet my best friend’s wife, though she’s stunning to look at and cool as hell. No, I want their connection. I want a woman to run to me when I enter a party. I want a woman to look at me the way Violet looks at Dax. Like he’s some kind of god. And, when a woman does all that to me, I want to know, without a doubt, she’s not gaming me. Not trying to further her career or otherwise use me for backstage passes or whatever. I want to know, the way Dax does, that I’ve got a woman who loves me. The real me. Matthew Fishberger. Not “Fish from 22 Goats.”
Dax is lucky. When he first met Violet, our band hadn’t blown up yet. In fact, she thought Dax played in a struggling bar band. But she fell in love with him anyway, because she didn’t—and still doesn’t—give a shit about fame or money. We all know Violet loves Dax Morgan. Not “Dax from 22 Goats.” And I can’t deny I want the same thing for myself.
I’m sure that’s the gist of why Colin keeps getting back together with Kiera, despite their ups and downs. Because, no matter how much they might struggle, Colin knows Kiera’s with him for all the right reasons, thanks to the fact that they, too, met before our band blew up. Whether Kiera hates or loves Colin on any given day, he knows she’s telling the truth about what’s in her heart. Man, that must be nice.
Unfortunately, though, there’s nobody who fell in love with me before our astronomical success. Actually, there’s nobody who’s ever fallen in love with me, period. So, if it’s going to happen for me now, it’s going to be with someone who knows my band, and therefore knows my bank account is a fat one. Given that, I can’t help wondering how I’ll know, for sure, if a girl really likes me for me? I’m notoriously gullible when it comes to women. Always have been. And it turns out that’s not a great thing for me to be, especially now that I’m “Fish from 22 Goats.” I’m an easy target for women with ulterior motives, and I know it.
Plus, the logistics of my life make it hard for me to find true love. With all the travel we do, I don’t have time to get to know anybody beyond surface shit. Sometimes I wonder, if my version of Violet came along, would I even recognize her? Or would I be so jaded, so guarded, so careful, I’d assume she’s a clout chaser and not give her the time of day? Or, worse, would I be so gullible, I’d fall head over heels for a clout chaser, convinced she really loved me, only to find out later I was duped?
My gaze drifts to Violet and Dax again, just in time to see them lean in for another passionate kiss. And, just like that, I feel another pang of envy.
Damn.
I didn’t always want what Dax has. At the beginning of this crazy ride, I was stoked to live out my rock star fantasies, especially after all the rejection I’d endured from girls in high school. At first, I was elated there were women willing to fool around with me after shows—and especially that I didn’t have to do anything to make it happen. I just had to be “Fish from 22 Goats.” The guy who’d just played a concert in a packed arena. That was enough to attract them, despite my obvious shyness and lack of game.
But by the time we headed off on our third tour, I was done with fame vampires and groupies. Ready for something real. As it’s turned out, though, feeling ready for something and getting it are two different things.
Kat walking toward me pulls me from my wandering thoughts. She’s got two women with her—a stunning brunette with olive skin and curves for days, plus an adorable young woman in a modest purple bikini.
Kat and her friends stop in front of Dax and Violet, a few feet away from me, before Kat beckons for Colin and me to come over, which we do. As Colin and I come to a halt in front of Kat and her friends, Kat says, “Guys, this is Georgina.” She motions to the curvy brunette. “She’s a writer for Rock ’n’ Roll who’s going to be interviewing you.”