Page 24 of Rock Strong

“Dude!” Wes hobbled up to me, downing a bottle of Grey Goose straight from the spout, his arm hanging around some other guy I’d never seen before. “This is Ben. Ben went to elementary school with me in Little Rock a long-ass time ago, and now he’s in Seattle. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Hey, Ben, good to meet you,” I said, shaking hands with the short, button-down shirt guy with glasses.

“Big fan,” he said, star-struck and studying me.

“Right on, dude.” Behind him, I spotted Abby waiting in the wings, checking me out every few seconds. That violinist friend of hers who looked like that Pulp Fiction chick’s hot string bean of a daughter kept stealing glances, too, but Wes went on and on, talking about how he and Ben used to ride bikes down the street then spend the rest of the day at his older sister’s house playing air hockey. A fun time was had by all.

“That’s great, you guys. Really great!” I patted them both on the back. “I gotta go, though. I’ll see you around in a bit.”

Wes locked a grip on my arm. “Where you going, man?” A worried look crossed his face, and I knew it was because I had almost missed the fan club meeting this afternoon. Wes probably thought I was misusing my rock star license, or not using it enough. He wanted me to stay and party more. He’d heard about me leaving Robbie’s house the night before the tour, too.

“Not far, just want to go say hi to someone.”

Abby crept closer, laughing quietly, primly, so out of place—a thing of oddness amid the craziness.

“Okay, man. Just don’t be gone too long.” He gave me a nod and tousled my hair like I was two years old, cigarette dangling from his lower lip. “Corbin says the porn stars are here for the whipped cream fight, and you won’t want to miss it.”

Ugh, you and your fucking words, Wes…

A shadowy darkness crossed Abby’s face, like she thought maybe she shouldn’t be here.

“Did somebody say whipped cream fight?” Corbin charged into us, nearly knocking me off my feet. “YEAH, BABY! LET’S DO IT!” he shouted, his presence forcing Abby closer to the wall. Then, in his drunkenness, he wrapped an arm around me and blasted into my ear, “Hey, buddy! Barely saw you all afternoon. Helen says you were sucking face with our cello player? You sure about that, bro? We gotta make sure you keep yourself available for the world’s women. I mean, it is a world tour.” He laughed like the idiot he was, slapping me hard in the arm.

“Our cello player is right behind you, dude. Shut up,” I whispered, but Corbin was too drunk to hear me or care. I looked over at Abby, and her face said it all—she’d overhead.

“That’s right, Jagger Swagger!” Tucker joined us, messing up my hair even more, and a line of photographers formed before us and started shooting, now that we were all here together. “Say cheeeeeese!”

“Cheeeeese!” I said, my arms around Wes and Corbin.

“Whipped cream!” Wes echoed next to me, holding up his vodka bottle.

“Fucktards!” Corbin bellowed.

We laughed like idiots, because, well…we were. At that precise moment, four girls in string bikini tops and tight shorts pranced by, pushing two shopping carts full of cans of whipped cream—light cream, heavy cream, chocolate cream, strawberry cream—dildos, silver vibrators, double dildos, you name it.

“Gentlemen,” one of them said, a gorgeous brunette wearing immaculate makeup. “The Cream Team is here!” The girls cried out with glee as they picked up cans of whipped cream, knocked off the tops, and literally hopped on top of us, winding their legs around our waists, tilting our heads back, and swirling whipped cream into our mouths. They jumped off at once, high-fived, and continued pushing their shopping carts of goodies toward the back of the venue. “Excellent work, ladies. Onward to the Orgy Room!”

“Orgy Room?” Ben, Wes’s old school buddy, laughed.

Corbin wrapped a death grip around my neck and whooped. “Yes! We are the masters of our destiny!” Then he turned and promptly smacked his forehead into a column. Everyone broke into a fresh round of snot-flying laughter.

Abby was probably watching all this, not caring to talk to me anymore at this point, and when I glanced over to give her an apologetic look, she was gone.

A terrible feeling—something that felt very much like guilt—assailed me. Instinctively, I pushed it away.

What did I have to feel guilty about? I hadn’t said or done anything to betray Abby. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have told Abby I’d see her later, knowing full well that my friends would keep me prisoner after the show, that they’d pump me full of mezcal Negronis until I was swirling, falling down a colorful rabbit hole. But was that any reason for me to feel like shit? Awkward and uncertain and out of place amongst the guys when I never had before?

I didn’t like it.

I stared hard at the place Abby had been, remembered the uneasy look on her face before I’d looked away the last time, and imagined that uneasy look transforming into one of disgust as she listened to us. Suddenly, I heard Helen’s voice in my ear, shouting, “You don’t want a repeat, Liam.” It’s like the words paralyzed me. My brain told me I was being a stupid ass. That I needed to break away from the guys. To go after Abby. To find her, like I’d told her I would. To kiss her again, like I’d been jonesing to do all day. To reassure her that the Cream Team didn’t have anything on her, and that while my friends might be idiots sometimes, they’d want me to be happy, and right now what would make me happy was being with Abby.

But then again, she’d left. She’d walked away from me.

I was damned if I’d go chasing after her like I’d done something wrong.

No, if something was going to happen with Abby—and I definitely still wanted something to happen between us—it was going to happen with her knowing exactly what kind of life I led, and with me knowing that she was strong enough to deal with it. Otherwise, I’d just be putting us in a situation that wouldn’t be good for either one of us.

That’s what I told myself.

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