Page 295 of Rock Me All Night
It's impressive, really.
Meg pushes hers back. "I'm not drinking."
"It's not like your pussy is going to get Miles tipsy." Tom slides the shot back to her. "You gotta celebrate properly."
"Haven't you heard of solidarity?" she asks.
"Heard? I spent an entire tour sober because of your boyfriend and spent another tour celibate because of her—" He points at Drew. "Because."
Meg shakes her head. "You fucked like eighteen girls in Japan alone. No way you spent more than three days celibate."
"He did," Pete says. "Shocked us all."
Tom looks to Meg. "You drinking or not?"
"I don't need my girlfriend dry.” Miles smirks.
Just in case we all missed his double entendre, he slides his hands up her thighs. She groans like she can hardly pull herself off him. Thankfully, she manages.
"Okay." She holds up her shot as a toast. "To our last quarter of college!"
I hold up my drink. And then, all at once, we all—well, everyone but Miles—slam our shots. It burns my throat, but there's a certain pleasant richness to the whiskey.
Pete taps something into the karaoke machine. "If you'll excuse me."
The name of the band and song flashes onscreen. "No Way in Hell" - Sinful Serenade.
Miles groans in agony. "You're so bad at doing me."
Pete clears his throat. He rises to his feet then stands on the table in his best Miles impersonation. "Hey baby." He scans the imaginary crowd, landing on Miles. "This one is for you."
He blows a kiss.
The song starts. Pete does his best imitation of Miles's breathy, throaty singing. He's way off-key, but he brings the energy.
The song gets to the guitar solo—a polyphonic version of it. Pete scans his audience. He blows us all kisses.
"It's just, ugh, I hurt so bad deep inside that I can't even bear to wear a shirt. There's too much paiiiiiiiiiin in my chest." He plops his mic into one hand, pulls his shirt over his head, and tosses it to the ground. "That's better."
Tom and Drew crack up.
Miles pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. "I am not like that."
Pete claws at his chest. "Yeah, baby, look at my hot tattoos."
Meg stifles a laugh.
He growls. "Oh, you think this is funny?"
"Hilarious." She paws at him.
The verse picks up. Pete ups the breathy factor of his singing, stopping every syllable and a half to grunt into the mic.
Itishilarious. I fall onto the couch next to Drew and revel in the imitation. It's quite the performance.
When the song ends, Miles is beet red and everyone else is dying of laughter.
Tom taps something into the karaoke machine.
