Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll (23 page)

“Even if it’s in his best interest?” Tyler asks quietly.

“I mean, of course, I’ll make sure I highlight the things that are in his best interest, but honestly… there’s not a clear choice to me, so I don’t feel comfortable pushing him one way or the other.”

Tyler’s quiet for just a moment, and then he gives a somewhat pained sigh before saying, “Okay. Fine.”

“I’m really sorry, Tyler,” I feel the need to add on.

“It’s good,” he says briskly, and I can sense he’s a bit peeved with me.

“Well, okay then,” I murmur. “I guess I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. If anything changes I need to know about, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll text you my flight details in a little bit.”

“It’s a plan,” he says almost woodenly.

“So we’re good?” I ask him to make sure. “And you think it’s okay for me to surprise Evan tomorrow?”

“It’s fine, Emma,” he says, and this time, he sounds sincere. “And don’t worry about what I just asked you to do. It was probably inappropriate anyway. We’ll all work this out together, okay?”

“Okay,” I say in agreement, completely confused and having no clue if Tyler’s mad or now my new good friend. I guess I’ll find out once I see him, as I can read a lot more from facial expressions and body language.

I exchange farewells with Tyler and then immediately pull out the laptop Evan had given me to make flight reservations. I’m pleased to see a six AM flight that will get me in close to nine. Evan will no doubt still be sleeping, because after a concert and whatever required meet and greet or party that’s being thrown, it’s almost guaranteed Evan won’t get to sleep until probably two or three AM. And since we’re often traveling the morning after, he’s developed a routine of sleeping in pretty late, sometimes not rising until close to lunch.

Yes, I think it’s going to be a very pleasant surprise for me to slip into bed with him tomorrow morning and hopefully rock his world with said surprise.

Evan

“I
cannot believe
you guys are fucking here,” I say for what may be the tenth time in the last two hours. I’ve got my arm looped around Kenny’s neck, but my gaze flips to Frank and then to Rick. My very good buddies from my UNC days. Back when playing in a band was a hobby and not a real dream, and I was still taking school semi-seriously.

That didn’t last long admittedly, but as I became more serious about music, I never lost these particular college friends. They came to all my local shows and they’re actually three dudes I trust. They don’t want anything from me but friendship, and they’re genuinely happy in my success. Apparently, Tyler had arranged weeks ago to fly Kenny and Rick to Chicago for the show. Frank already lives here as he came this way after graduating, following his college sweetheart who was from this area. They sadly didn’t last, but Frank loves Chicago and established roots.

Rick laughs, waves his beer in my direction, and says, “That look on your face, man, was priceless when you looked down into the front row and saw us there.”

“You assholes,” I say affectionately as I take my arm from around Kenny’s neck because it happens to be holding my beer. “I totally forgot a line to my song I was so fucking shocked to see you.”

Rick snickers but holds his beer out, and I tap mine against it. Before I chug it back though, I look briefly at each one of them. “Seriously, dudes… this is the highlight of this tour so far.”

“I’m going to fucking cry.” Frank harasses me for being overly sentimental, and I don’t respond because I suck my beer back. Tonight, I’m going to get drunk with my buds and celebrate our impromptu reunion. I haven’t seen these guys in years as everyone scattered to normal lives after graduating from college, but we never lost contact. There are plenty of calls, emails, and Facebook posts, but it doesn’t beat sitting down with your buds, drinking beers, and reminiscing about good times.

The only down side is I wish Emma were here. She’d love these guys, and I know they’d love her, although Rick is an absolute flirt and he’d lay it on thick with her. He’s single and she’s absolutely his type as he’s always been attracted to the smart chicks.

So maybe I’m glad Emma isn’t here. Not sure I’d like watching my friends flirt with her and make her laugh and blush. That’s my job and I take it seriously.

And Christ… I must already be on my way to getting drunk because there’s no other way to explain these emotional thoughts.

Snickering to myself, I polish my beer off and I’m not in the least surprised when a waitress nudges her way into our group with a tray loaded with shots of bourbon.

“Christ,” Kenny mutters. “I’m going to be puking tomorrow.”

“This is from Tyler,” the waitress says, making doe eyes at me as we all reach out and grab a shot glass.

I look around the club briefly and can’t locate Tyler. After the concert, we did a short meet and greet, and then Tyler had arranged for a limo to take all of us out on the town. He’d even arranged for VIP seating in the club where we’re currently hanging so we have some privacy. I’d last seen him about twenty minutes ago, talking up some chick who was loitering around the roped-off section to the VIP lounge. If I know Tyler, he’s probably working his pick-up lines, which he’s quite good at admittedly, and he’ll probably be banging her in the limo before long. I make a mental note to check the seats before I get back in tonight.

“To friends,” Kenny says as he raises a shot glass.

“And to the best damn indie rock star in the mother fucking universe,” Rick yells out as he holds up his shot.

“Hear, hear,” Frank agrees.

“Drink up, motherfuckers,” is all I say, and we toss the liquor back. My head swims the minute it hits my stomach, and I have a brief moment where I already regret doing this because I’m going to feel like shit tomorrow.

Oh, well… you only live once and I see these fuckers only once in a blue moon, so I can’t regret it really.

And it’s probably a very good thing Emma isn’t here because she’d probably end up holding a garbage can under my head all night. I might be a rock star, but I’m not that big of a drinker. At least not with liquor.

Yeah… tomorrow’s going to suck.

But then, the day after that, Emma will be here to watch the second Chicago show, and that thought causes a rush of euphoria to rise within me.

A second waitress comes up and nudges her way into our group, and I see Tyler right behind her. Now she’s got a tray loaded with several beers and we all reach out to grab one, replacing them with our empties. Tyler has two drinks in his hands, each holding about three fingers of an amber liquid on the rocks, and he’s holding one out in front of my face.

I eye it dubiously.

He tilts his hand side to side a little to entice me. “It’s your favorite.”

“I don’t have a favorite liquor,” I tell him. “You know I’m a beer drinker.”

“Well, it’s your favorite tonight,” he says as he shoves the drink at me. “I just laid out one hundred dollars for these two glasses of Michter’s Twenty-Year-Old Single Barrel Bourbon.”

I take the glass reluctantly but politeness demands I do it. “What’s the special occasion?”

“This is the special occasion,” he says as he waves his glass around the group.

“Yeah, then how come you didn’t splurge for us to get some of that bourbon?” Frank demands.

Tyler laughs. “Because you’re neither the rock star nor the devoted manager.”

“Asshole,” Frank mumbles.

Tyler turns to me and holds his glass out. He grins at me big and says, “Congrats, buddy, on a fucking phenomenal tour so far. You’re amazing and here’s to another two months of the same success.”

And man… that kind of gets me in the heart.

It’s the Tyler of old.

“Thanks, buddy,” I say sincerely and tap my glass to his. “Cheers.”

He lifts the glass to his mouth, watching me over the rim. I do the same and take a tiny sip, and damn… that’s fucking fantastic.

Tyler can read the look on my face because now he’s laughing at me. “Told you it was your favorite drink.”

“This shit’s amazing,” I say as I hold the glass up. “Doesn’t even burn and feels smooth as water.”

“Right?” he says, holding his glass up to his nose to take a sniff. “I’ve always wanted to order a really insanely expensive drink and tonight seemed the night to do it.”

“Let me have a taste,” Frank asks as he sidles up toward Tyler.

“Fuck off,” Tyler grumbles, but then he reluctantly hands his glass over. Frank takes a sip, then passes it to Rick, who does the same. Kenny is the last to try it before handing it back to Tyler.

We all agree… finest fucking whiskey in the world.

Or, well… at least that we’ve drank so far.

“Okay, after we finish these drinks, the limo’s on standby and is going to take us to the finest strip club in Chicago,” Tyler announces.

“Fuck yeah,” Kenny yells, and because he’s a true southern boy born and raised in Alabama, it comes out as sort of a rebel yell.

My brows knit inward and I say, “Probably not a good idea, dude.”

I’m already feeling drunk, and I don’t think it’s good press for a famous rock star to hang out in a strip club while inebriated.

“Come on, man,” Tyler says as he nudges me. “Let’s live a little. No one’s going to know it’s you. We’ll put a cap on your head and you can wear sunglasses.”

“Yeah,” Frank agrees. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m in,” Rick adds on.

Kenny just lets out another, “Fuck yeah.”

I’m shaking my head, which makes me a bit dizzy, but still I remain adamant. “Not for me, guys. If you want to go, you can have the limo all night and my credit card. But count me out.”

“Fucking party pooper,” Frank ribs me, but he’s got a smile on his face.

“Is this because of Emma?” Rick asks slyly, and my chest tightens a little at the mention of her name. Because yeah… a good chunk of my reluctance is because of Emma. Maybe it’s all my reluctance actually.

“Leave him alone,” Tyler says, coming to my rescue, although I could swear the look on his face right now is sly rather than supportive. “Let’s just go back to the bus and party. We’re all here to hang out as old friends, not to spend all our money on strippers.”

Well, that’s an abrupt turn around. From suggesting the strip club to immediately capitulating. Is this the old Tyler who understands me and looks out for me? Or is this something else?

I shake my head, forcing myself to clear away the doubts that are creeping in. Surely, that
is
the liquor talking.

“Sound like a plan?” Tyler asks as he brings a hand to my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. I examine his face. I don’t see anything but brotherly affection for me, and maybe some vague amusement that I’m well on my way to getting shit faced and he’s probably the one who’s going to make sure I don’t puke on myself.

“Yeah, let’s head back to the bus after we finish these drinks,” I agree, and my tongue feels pretty thick right now.

For a brief moment, I consider calling Emma really quick. I tried to call her right after the show, but she didn’t answer. I wasn’t too bent out of shape as it was late and I was sure she was asleep. She’d texted me around eight-thirty PM to wish me good luck for tonight’s show, and I sent her back a kissing emoji.

I think about calling her right now and telling her I’m hanging out with my buds, and I’m getting drunk, so she could see I was devoted enough to her that I adamantly refused to let my buddies take me to a strip club. She’d be so proud of me, and it would show her just how much I care.

But I’d probably slur my words so badly she’d know I’m shit faced already and would discount every damn thing I say. Plus, there’s the very real chance that I could get totally sappy on her and admit I’ve fallen in love with her, and I absolutely do not want to do that when I’m drunk.

I figure that should be done face to face at the very minimum, and if I’m really on my A-game, I’ll write a song to her about it. That would totally make her melt into a puddle of goo for me, and there’s no way she’ll be able to hold back the same sentiment.

That’s it.

Decision made.

I bring the drink to my lips and take another small sip.

Emma doesn’t need to know these messy details about my drunken night out with friends. I’ll tell her all about it, of course, but she doesn’t need to deal with me the way I am right now.

Emma

T
he drive from
Chicago O’Hare to the Allstate Arena in Rosemont is only about five minutes, and yet it seems like it’s taking at least an hour. My cab driver is a nice enough guy, but he’s just a bit too chatty for me this morning. I’m totally wired from several cups of coffee since I had to be up so early, and I’m beyond excited yet nervous to see Evan. It’s been nine days since I’ve seen him and while we’ve talked every day by phone, FaceTimed a few times, and texted several times, there’s a part of me that’s shrunken back into my reserved shell. Nothing evidences that more than the fact I went with a pair of high-waisted khaki pants, a sky-blue blouse with a rounded collar, and a pair of white Keds on my feet.

So damn lame, yet it was like a protective armor to me.

Perhaps subconsciously I was reasoning that if that spark isn’t there… if the chemistry has faltered, I can at least go down knowing I was being true to myself and not an idealized version.

“Where do you want let off?” the driver asks as I see the arena come into view.

“Around the back,” I tell him. “There’s a fenced area where the tour buses will be.”

“Are you a groupie or something?” he asks, his eyes flicking to me in the rearview mirror.

I chuckle. “No. I’m an attorney and also a publicist.”

That felt weird to say. The publicist part.

Of course, I’m not about to tell him I’m Evan Scott’s girlfriend.

The cab driver navigates us to the rear of the building. Just as Tyler said there would be, I see a six-foot chain link fence surrounding a portion of the parking lot. Inside are the two buses as well as the tractor-trailers that carry the equipment.

Also, as Tyler promised, there’s a security guard standing at the gate.