Page 87 of Verses

One guy sitting in a booth saved my bacon, shouting, “Hell, yeah! I’ll drink to that!”

Kyle opened his mouth again but Wolf interrupted him. “She’s actually right. Have you guys not been paying any attention? Sex sells. Whether you like it or not, it’s true.”

Pedro’s lips curled in a big smile. “Oh, yeah!”

“How many women in hard rock have legitimate chops…are really good at their jobs, but you don’t think much about that because the video has them singing in a wet t-shirt?”

“Bring it, man!”

Oh, Pedro.

Kyle, however, was fuming as he plucked at his strings in silence—and Adrian was doing his best to disappear behind his drum kit.

Wolf wasn’t about to be deterred. “If you respect them only for their music, Kyle, that’s great. But I think you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like seeing their cleavage.”

Kyle looked at him, his blue eyes acknowledging the truth—but that didn’t mean he liked it.

Leave it to Pedro to lighten the mood. “Dude, that shit’s legit for guys, too. I was watching an old 80s concert video on YouTube the other day and the lead singer was wearing these tight leather pants. There was no mistaking the anaconda in his pants.”

I couldn’t help myself, laughing as I asked, “Anaconda?”

“Yeah, and the chicks at the foot of the stage were all drooling and shit. My fucking bass hides my bratwurst. The ladies’ll have to check me out backstage after the show.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down, a huge smile on his face.

One thing was for sure—Pedro could lighten the tension in any room, but it was hard to take him seriously.

At least Kyle’s sour expression had lightened as he shook his head.

Already I was feeling like I’d failed in my mission. Wolf had beendefendingme logically without seeming to consider what I’d done emotionally.

Damn it all to hell.

It was chilly in the bar, enough that even the whisky wasn’t keeping me warm, except for my cheeks. But I couldn’t pretend like nothing had happened. Looking at Wolf, my voice soft, I said, “Thank you.”

“Let’s talk later.”

Maybe Ihadn’tfailed.

As we started working on the newest addition to our setlist, one of the songs I’d chosen, I began to feel more comfortable. It didn’t hurt that I was screaming Maria Brinks’s lyrics to “Big Bad Wolf.” The song felt empowering, and that feeling was all the more potent because I’d gone out on a limb and tried something shocking for love.

Maybe what I’d done hadn’t worked the way I’d wanted it to, but it worked on another level…elevating me to the star I’d need to be to draw in stadium-sized crowds. And, as I sang for thethree guys in the bar with their tongues practically dragging the ground, I drew on my hope for the future to fuel the songs.

By the time we were done working through our entire setlist, our audience had tripled.

Allmen.

Holy fucking shit.

I decided right then and there that I’d want to remember the power of costume on stage.

Kyle was grouchy all night, and I didn’t know if it was because of what I was wearing or how Wolf (and Pedro) had shut him down. Part of me felt bad about that, but he was going to have to get over his need to tell me anything aboutmethat bothered him.

Especially if it helped our band.

After the guys headed out, Wolf offered to buy me a beer—but instead of sitting at the bar, he asked to sit at a booth. He didn’t have to say it: he wanted more privacy. Even Marv wasn’t his usual crabby self when Wolf asked for a few more minutes before beginning his shift.

I took a long hard swig as he stared at the bottom of his bottle, twisting it as if examining it for imperfections. I sat across from him, only slightly glad that the table covered my midriff, feeling like my plan had failed when it came to the real reason why I’d done it.

“Did you accomplish tonight what you’d wanted to?” he asked, his eyes still glued to the bottle.

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