Page 46 of For Eva

“Hey, Matt, gimme another one of those shots,” he called, bouncing away before I could finish my sentence.

We’d found out earlier that day the album had gone platinum. And the party that popped up during sound check had raged on during the show, then backstage, then at the hotel restaurant, which I had reserved to continue the celebration. Of course, it had quickly turned into a full-on fiesta with the band and the entire crew filling up the place, while fans gathered in the lobby, hoping to talk their way past the ropes. The successfulones usually had tits, but by the time Matt had taken over as unofficial bartender, no one really cared who was there. All that mattered was the drinks were flowing and Counting Backward had a platinum fucking record.

“Eva! You don’t look like you're having fun. Why aren’t you having fun?” Keith breezed by me as Will called him over to where a girl with teased blond hair lay on the bar, her tanned stomach exposed as Matt poured a stream of Jägermeister into her navel.

“I’m having fun,” I shouted over the music as I looked down at the watery remnants of my vodka cranberry. “I’m going to get a refill after they finish up with the whole body shot situation.”

He was long gone before he could hear what I said, but I figured I’d let myself finish at least one sentence since I hadn’t had the opportunity to say much that night. When he wasn’t throwing back shots, Danny had been involved in conversations with his tech about some vintage guitars they were drooling over—something about which I had nothing to offer. I was unbelievably happy for the guys, but everywhere I turned, I was a little out of place, and I wished my own friends—Denise, everyone from back at the bar—were there.

The two week break we’d had in LA after the Black Widow Rising tour felt like two seconds. Danny and I were both so exhausted that we decided to put off looking for a new place until we had more time and energy. We hadn’t talked any more about the new job, and I got on the bus as planned for the Hott Blood tour once the break was over.

I sighed and looked toward the crowd cheering as the blond girl swung her legs over the bar and raised her arms in the air, squealing with delight. Matt grabbed her around the waist and whisked her through the throng of people who had gathered at the bar in hopes of partaking in the next round. I chuckled to myself, my eyes following them across the room before landingon a booth in the back corner. Eric sat in the center, strands of hair falling into his face. His eyes were covered by dark sunglasses as a girl wearing a tiny jean skirt and crop top shrugged and walked away from him.

I weaved my way over, stopping for a fresh drink, then slid into the booth and bumped his shoulder. “What’s up with you? You look like a guy who found out his dog got run over, not a guy whose album went fuckingplatinum.”

“Just taking it all in, I guess,” he mumbled, before grinding his cigarette into the ashtray in front of him.

“You should be celebrating.” I raised my glass toward the space full of revelers. “Go over there with Danny and watch people suck Jäger off chicks’ stomachs. I think there’s actually some girl-on-girl action happening now.”

“Yeah, I’m not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood? Eric, your album officially sold a million copies.” I smiled and put my hand on his arm, gently shaking him. “What’s your problem, dude?”

He cleared his throat and removed my hand. “My problem is that I was sitting here, enjoying my night, and now you’ve showed up and won’t stop talking.”

I rolled my eyes and dug my cigarettes and lighter out of my pocket, tossing them on the table. “Oh, come on, Eric. You weren’t enjoyinganything.”

He flipped his hair from his face and grabbed my vodka cran, downing it in one swallow before slamming it back on the table. “There. Are you happy? Am I partying enough for you now? Woo-fucking-hoo.”

“Actually, you’re not.” I popped a Marlboro Light in between my lips and lit it. “And now you have to get me another drink.”

“I don’t.”

“Fine. You’re not having fun, and I’m notreallyhaving fun. So, let’s get out of here, and you can buy me dinner instead of a drink. I’m fucking starving.”

He pushed his sunglasses onto his head. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, the skin around them looking almost bruised. “You want me to take you to dinner?”

“I want you to come with me to the Chinese place I saw down the street earlier today.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’m sure you aren’t, considering you snort half of Colombia on a daily basis.” I bit my lip as soon as the words were out. “But you’ll be hungry after you help me smoke this.” I pulled a joint from my pack of cigarettes.

He rubbed his thumb along his jawline.

I raised my brows and grinned. “Tempting?”

“Tempting.”

I swiped my smokes off the table and nudged his arm as I scooted along the seat. “Then let’s go.”

The hands on my watch were doubled up on the twelve as I snuck the last crab rangoon from its paper carton and shoved it in my mouth. I wasn’t sure why we’d gone so feral over creamy imitation crab meat, but we both swore it was the best thing we’d ever eaten. How the last fried wonton had escaped our attention was a mystery.

Eric gasped at my attempt to chew discreetly. “Dude, did you find another crab rangoon?”

“No,” I said, my voice garbled by the dumpling.

He leaned over and punched my arm. “I can’t believe you didn’t fucking split that with me.”

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