Consciousness fades, and I pass out.
As I'm leaving the bus, I run into that drummer dude again, the one with the ghosts on his arms. At first, I think he's going to move away and let me pass like he did that first night we met, but he doesn't. He actually blocks me at the door, stepping in front of me with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed so tight that it looks like all the blood's been drained out of his face.
“Why her?” he asks me, gray eyes searching mine for an honest answer. Luckily for him, that's my policy anyway. Plus, I'm in a pretty good fucking mood. I just smirk when his gaze catches on the wet stain on my pants. I wear it like a badge of pride.
I rub my chin for a moment and try to figure out how to phrase this while my head is swimming with bursts of images – an elevator, Naomi's upturned face, a bathtub. It's not much yet, not enough to actually put together anything solid, but the more time I spend with her, the more I remember our first night together. It's kind of shocking actually that anything at all has come back to me. Normally, when I lose a memory, it's gone for good. Not this one apparently. Instead of responding with words, I turn around and show him my bare back. I don't even have to say anything; he sees it.
“Fuck,” he whispers, but he doesn't sound defeated, just annoyed. I turn back to face this dude, the one who has such a massive fucking hard-on for Naomi that it's practically blocking me from the door all on its own.
“What's your name again?” I ask him, trying to keep my tone low. Sure, I'm a little pissed off at this guy, but that just means I have to be more direct, fight harder. Anyway, I'm not worried, I've never lost a girl to another guy before. Somewhere in the back of mind, I know that isn't going to be the problem. The problem is going to be Naomi. She still hates me.
“Dax.” Just the first name again. Guess he doesn't want this to get too personal. Too bad it already is. I take a deep breath and glance down at my bare feet.
“Well, Dax,” I begin, knowing without knowing that whatever I did tonight was a step in the right direction. “Naomi Knox isn't like any other woman I've ever met.” I shrug because I'm not going to spill my heart out to this guy, not a chance. And anyway, I need to get out of here quick before Naomi wakes up and comes out to find me with my hands shaking and my skin flushed. If she finds out how much I just enjoyed that, she'll gain the upper hand. Yeah, I have to let her know how I feel, but I don't want her to just find out; I have to say it in my own words, on my own time. If that makes any sense.
“No, she's not,” he confirms, swallowing hard and letting his eyes flutter closed. He's got words tattooed on the backs of his eyelids, but they're hard to read in the dim morning light. When he opens them, he looks at me with a challenge in his eyes. “And once she realizes that you're bad news, she'll move on, and I'll be here. I'm not giving up. I haven't even started yet.” I smile back at Dax and I know that my face is getting a real wicked look on it right now. I'm not worried. Maybe I should be, but I'm not.
“You challenging me to a duel? Should we lock horns like a bunch of horny deer?” Dax stares at me, stoic and silent. “Alright then,” I say, holding out my hand, knowing somehow that this is all for shit. Naomi's the one who will decide everything. But whatever, we're men and we're both pumped full of enough testosterone to fuel a small airplane. “You're on.”
Dax shakes my hand, and I leave the bus promising myself that I don't feel any less confident. I wonder if that's true.
I can hardly sleep when I get back to the bus. I end up tossing and turning so damn much that Treyjan actually climbs out of bed, grabs me by the shoulder and rolls me onto the floor. I hit the ground with a grunt and come up ready to fight. Luckily, Ronnie's still awake and able to step in, separating us before anything bad actually happens.
As soon as he does, Trey crawls back in bed, tossing a glare over his bare shoulder at me, and Ronnie and I end up at the table with Josh and three cups of coffee. I'd rather not be sitting here with the little blonde fuck, but that's just the way it is, I guess. He stares at me with an accusatory gaze for so long that I end up chucking a small creamer at his face. It explodes on impact and makes him look like he just got jizzed on.
“What the fuck is your problem with me?” he shouts, standing up and nearly spilling all the coffee. I ignore him and lean back. Yeah, I'd like to beat the shit out of him, but I'm kind of still riding that Naomi high. She's good for me, I think. Again, Ronnie steps in and cools the anger simmering in the air. I mean, for a drugged up whore, he actually gives good advice and says some pretty wise shit. I think it comes from fucking up so much. He knows exactly when to stop, how much is too much, how little is too little, that sort of thing.