Page 135 of Fire
It’s been an amazing partnership.
But now we’re finished with the tour for a while, and this man has earned his damn rest.
“Movement therapy isn’t the same as a doctor appointment, and you know it.”
“It is, if you do it right.” He waggles his eyebrow suggestively.
I burst out laughing. “You’re insane.”
“About you? Always.”
I paint his cheek with a kiss, thanks to my blood red lipstick, and squeeze his ass. “Come on,Doc.Halloween awaits. And although I doubt we can actually be late, your sister texted me and said she had a surprise.”
“Which one?”
“Which one do you think?”
“Presley,” he mutters. “It’s always Presley.”
HENDRIX
Walking into Creeds feels like coming home, if home were covered in neon lights, and smelled kind of like cheap perfume, beer, and sweat.
But home, nonetheless.
The walls are covered with photos of famous bands that performed here and celebrities who visited. I’ll never forget how Zander used to stare at them when he worked here. I remember asking him if that’s what he wanted to be someday—famous.
I just want the money and freedom to do whatever I want, he said.
Zander didn’t have a lot of either growing up.
My dad used to play a larger role in the bar, but in recent years, he’s stepped back. Now it’s Presley’s baby, and despite Cash’s doubts about the arrangement, my sister is doing a damn good job.
The Halloween bash is one of her best ideas yet. We used to host a big party on St. Patrick’s Day, but the rest of the year, it was business as usual. Presley saw this as an opportunity and has been trying to gradually add events whenever possible.
Creeds’ Creepy Halloween Bashis the most popular of them all, probably because it involves a boatload of alcohol and skimpy costumes. Always a winning combination.
When Zara and I step into the bar, it’s like walking into a brick wall of people. There are bodies everywhere.
And everyone is dressed up as something.
There’s Homer Simpson kissing Poison Ivy in the corner. Captain Marvel and a sexy maid are grinding to the music pumping through the sound system. It’s a total mindfuck, and before I get too caught up in people watching, I hear my name being shouted over the crowd.
“Hendrix!” I turn to see my sister behind the bar, waving. She’s dressed as a witch—I’m sure it’s the sexy kind, but like hell I’m saying that—and is bopping her head to the music. We usually have a live band, but it’s too crowded and loud tonight.
I hold tight to Zara’s hand, and we make our way to the bar. It’s a short distance, but it seems to take forever. When we finally make it, my sister waves to a few customers. “Make some room. We’ve got a celebrity here!”
“You’re a fucking menace.”
“Love you too,” she says, her blue eyes scanning my costume. She smiles. “Cute. What can I get you?”
“Beer,” I tell her. “Whatever is on tap.”
“You got it. And for you, Zara?” she says, motioning to her. “You look so hot. I love the leather and the makeup.”
“Thank you! Not sure I could have pulled off the winged liner without your help.”
She tips her pointy black hat. She’s in an unusually good mood. When I talked to her during the tour—the times I was able to get a hold of her, that is—whenever I asked why, she’d change the subject and ask what we were doing or what city we were headed to next. I’m glad to see she’s doing better, or at least better tonight. “Always happy to help.”
