Page 25 of Ticket to the Stars: Part One

And it probably was. I mean, there was no way Priest would get up on that stage and sing something for me. Why would he when he had two beautiful girls who were obviously into him?

That’s what my brain said, anyway. Unfortunately, when Priest began to sing, different feelings rose up inside me, similar to the emotions that were at war within me when I’d watched some of their live shows to study their movements and stage presence.

Bishop returned with a glass of ice water, and I managed to thank him, but that was about all I could do. Priest had my rapt attention, so much so that I didn’t even sip the water right away.

Up on that stage, Priest looked tall. Imposing. Sexy, with the top buttons of his shirt undone and his tatted chest peeking out. His voice was a little raspy, but strong, and it occurred to me he must’ve been holding back all these years as a backup vocalist to Pope.

Priest’s voice wasn’t the kind of voice you stifled. No, the gravelly undertone should be front and center. It wasn’t a smooth voice, not like mine, but there was something sexy about it. Rough, ragged, and when he hit those low notes in the song—a song I didn’t recognize, but one that was similar to the type of music Black Sacrament put out—it was almost like they were growled out.

Okay, yeah, Priest was hot. Hotter than hell. Sex on two legs. It wasn’t a wonder why he was a huge flirt. Girls probably tripped over themselves trying to get to him, and he rarely had to put in any work. His body count was probably higher than I could imagine.

I… I didn’t know why, but that thought made me extremely envious, which was just stupid. I mean, it wasn’t like I had a crush on Priest or anything. I didn’t like any of these guys, not like that. Whoever they’d been with in the past was literally none of my business.

Hailee and Tara whispered amongst themselves for a few seconds, and then they got up and sauntered over to the stage in order to stand right there in front of Priest. So they could watch him close-up, I guess.

Their presence near the stage broke whatever spell had been cast over me the moment Priest started to sing, and I let my gaze fall to the table, slow to grab the glass of water Bishop had gotten for me. I chugged nearly half of it, then excused myself to go to the restroom.

I didn’t really have to pee, but sitting there, watching those two girls go gaga over Priest, and Priest lapping it up like a greedy son of a bitch wasn’t my idea of a good time. I zigzagged through the bar, heading to the door that was labeled with a microphone with a skirt on.

Yeah, trying to be funny or something, I guess. Really lean into the karaoke aspect of this bar.

I pushed inside. There was no line, although it did sound like one of the stalls was in use. I went to the row of sinks and set my hands on the counter, breathing slow. My eyes were glued to the sink in front of me for the longest time, and then, slowly, I lifted my stare to the mirror.

It was me. My reflection staring back at me. But at the same time, it wasn’t me. I brought a hand to my white hair, twirling a finger through its lengths as I watched the girl in the mirror do the exact same thing.

In this dress, with white hair… it just wasn’t me. I looked so different, like a whole separate person. Pretty, yes, but I was never someone who cared about looking my best at all times. I didn’t even know how to curl my own hair evenly to get nice, uniform waves. I was just a normal girl from a small town.

What was the point of all of this if I had to pretend to be someone else? What fun would it be if I couldn’t be me?

Those questions were probably too deep to be asked while inside a bar’s restroom, I realized as the woman who was in the stall finished up her business, flushed, and came out to wash her hands. We shared one of those awkward smiles once she was done, and then she dried her hands and walked out.

I thought I’d have the restroom to myself after that, but someone else walked in: Tara. And she made a beeline toward me, which told me she’d come in here to talk to me and not to pee.

“Hey, girl,” she said, wearing a smile that just felt fake. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. Just needed some air. It’s hot out there.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. Being on stage had made me warm, and then watching Priest… well, that had gotten me warm all over again. Plus, I didn’t want to watch him sing to her and her friend, but she didn’t need to know that part.

She came to stand beside me. “It is very hot out there,” she agreed. She had a small purse, and she set it on the counter and pulled out a tube of lipstick. After puckering her lips, she reapplied. “So, how’s your date going?”

My what? And then I remembered Priest’s story about this being a date with Bishop-slash-Brandon. “It’s… fine, I guess.”

Tara finished up, a new layer of dark red lipstick on her face. She put the tube back into her purse and turned to stare at me. “That doesn’t sound very resounding. If you don’t like him, ditch him. You can share a ride home with us.”

A part of me might’ve believed she was fake before, but when she said that, she sounded sincere… and it occurred to me that me believing she and Hailee were fake all stemmed from some sort of stupid jealousy.

Over Priest, the guy I swore up and down I wasn’t interested in.

God, I felt stupid. I shouldn’t hate on other girls just because they liked Priest. They were free to do so. Hell, they were free to like Bishop and Deacon too—although, I didn’t think any girl in their right mind would like Deacon and his quiet, brooding self. I mean, this wasn’t a movie. Quiet, semi-angry, and brooding? So ten years ago.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” I told her.

She shrugged, accepting my answer but not going to leave. She turned to the mirror and started to fix her hair, even though I couldn’t see any part of it that needed fixing. “What do you know about Paul? He doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?”

Ah, so this had to be why she came after me in the restroom: to find out information about Priest. Although, whether that information was for her or her friend was anyone’s guess.

“No, he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” I told her, immediately noticing a smile on her face.

“That’s so surprising. I mean, look at him. Why wouldn’t a man like that have someone?” She paused. “Unless he’s a toxic, red flag waving slut who doesn’t want to get tied down.” I laughed, mostly because I wasn’t expecting her to say that, and she added, “What? Sometimes all you need is a good dicking by a toxic, red flag waving slut. Remember that, Angie.”

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