And then everything goes nuts around us.
People push towards the stage, shoving us forward, encouraging us to join Turner as he lets loose with a massive scream, bending over at the waist and completely and utterly annihilating the sound of the instruments behind him. Whereas Trey or Naomi could compete with their guitars, where Ronnie could guide his friend's voice with a well-placed rim shot, these guys can barely keep up. I watch as Turner completely skips the intro to the song and goes straight for the meat of it.
“MYONEWOMAN! She's the ONLY one that understands. That fucking UNDERSTANDS.”
Turner's powerful scream trails off into a gut wrenching sort of angry sob. Oh, and it's bloody beautiful. Shit.
“That mega fucking douche bitch,” Ronnie snarls, pulling me against him and fighting the push and pull of the crowd, guiding us towards the edge of the room, hiding us in the shadows under the soffit near the restrooms. Even with the weakness of the music, Turner's voice carries the song and sends my heartbeat racing. The emotion in his words twists the song and flips it up to a whole new level. Oh how I'd like to see him sing like this with his actual band. What a fucking treat that would be.
Turner swings the mic around and spins, licking his lips and crouching low at the front of the stage. His tight jeans stretch across his crotch as he spreads his knees wide and lets everyone take a look at what he's packing.
“She's the only one that breathes life into this desolate,” he bites this word off, letting his eyes search the crowd's collective face, “hell hole. This desolate slice of shit. My one woman. My ONLY Goddamn motherfucking beautiful ugly bleeding bloody dark and BROKEN and whole and PERFECT FUCKING woman.” Ronnie and I exchange a glance at the modified lyrics and watch as the polished gem of sin before us morphs into a growling beast, just as prone to being fucked by a good slice of rock 'n' roll as the rest of us. Celebrities? Eh. Heiresses? Screw 'em. Actors? Just people.
My pulse flutters as I watch the crowd eat Turner's voice up, taste his pain, flick their tongues out for just a sliver of that drama. Must be nice to have a life so perfect that you're willing to eat up the suffering of others just to feel human.
“Now what?” I ask Ronnie, glancing over at him. He's looking up at his friend, but there's nothing he can do at this point, not a Goddamn thing. “Another drink?”
“Yes,” he murmurs, turning his brown eyes back to mine, “yes, please.”
Turner won't get off the fucking stage, so I stop worrying about it by letting Lola order me another drink with a nasty sounding name. I feel totally off my game right now – it's been a long time since I was just drunk. It's a different feeling for sure. Better though, I think, less soul altering and more like I'm just physically fucked up.
I sway with the music, listening to my friend's voice rise and fall in steady rhythms around Lola and me, my hands on her hips, my cock rigid and unyielding between us. That bastard. I know what she wants as she slides her hands up my shirt and convinces me to keep the worries at bay for just another couple of moments. Weird how that works, right? One of us can be having a freak-out while the other stands by calmly and then bam, we're switching places. But that's a good thing, right? Like a fucking sign that this could really work between us.
“Take me in the bathroom and fuck me,” Lola whispers as the crowd crashes the stage and we sit back here, bobbing in the smaller waves. I feel her mouth on my throat, her breath stirring my hair. Fuck. The whole broken condom thing is a fiasco I definitely don't want to repeat, especially not until after I get my test results back. And then we've got to deal with the whole birth control thing. Even though Turner was joking on his way over here, saying that Lola was probably already pregnant, he's got a point. Tomorrow morning, Lola and I will have another grown-up talk. Much as I fucking hate those. It almost feels like I've been avoiding them for so long that they're all catching up to me at once. Ugh. “Or better yet, slam me into the wall, right here. Do me bare and nasty, Ronnie.” I bite my lip as Lola grabs at my waistband and tries to steer me in the direction she wants me to go.
It works.
Fuck, I mean, I'm weak and I'm a dude. Two things working against me. I couldn't stop right now, not even if I wanted to. The last little bit of me that wants to protest is broken down by the booze and I find myself promising that tonight, it's okay. We can deal with all the rest of this shit tomorrow. Anyway, my dick doesn't really care about any of that, so he's happy with this plan. More than happy. Thrilled. Can't really blame him though. Who wouldn't want a woman that's willing to jump into a brand new relationship, take on a pair of kids from other women, sit with my tight-lipped parents in their suburban home without batting an eye? And I mean, I get that Lola was a part of Stephen's plan, but I don't blame her for it, not for any of it.