Tapping the top of the bar twice, he says, “Make sure to visit me again tonight.”
He’s flirty. Kind of cute, too, but ever since Dalton happened, it’s hard for me to see anyone else as a possibility.
After handing the drinks to Cara and Tracy, we hold them in the center, each glass touching. Cara takes the lead. “Ladies, tonight we’re partying Vegas style, so here’s to hot guys and wild times.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I down the shot then bite the lime to ease the harshness of the alcohol, catching Jack and the other men from dinner watching us. With a smile, he nods.
Tracy squeals and points to the stage as the drummer kicks into a steady beat and the bassist joins in. The crowd starts cheering. The lead singer, with his back to the audience is wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. He strums his guitar with an intensity that highlights the muscles in his arms as the music builds. “We scored getting in here.” With a laugh, I tell Tracy, “We owe Cara a few more cocktails for hooking us up.”
“God, I’m about to die. Johnny Outlaw is so fucking hot,” Cara says with a dreamy look in her eyes. “We should try to meet the band after the show. I’ve met the drummer a couple of times. His name is Dex. He’s from Brentwood and took one of my friends to prom when the band was starting out.”
“That’s our in because I’m totally onboard with meeting them.” Tracy adds, “Liquid courage and we’ll go for it.”
Cara high-fives both of us, which feels silly, but this night has become full of unexpected fun.
The audience is getting louder and I start swaying to the rhythm. The girls squeal loudly, grabbing my hands and holding them in the air just as the lead singer turns around and starts singing into the microphone.
His green eyes are haunted, the bright lights obscuring his view of the crowd idolizing him as he gets lost—in the music, in the club, in the moment as he sings a song I’ve probably heard a hundred times on the radio.
All at once… I’m hit with reality.
The girls release my hands as I stumble back, my shoulders hitting the wall behind me. It’s not the alcohol that’s hit me so hard. It’s him. I recognize the tattoos on his arm: Texas flag, number forty-four, hula girl. As my gaze scrolls over his body, I can place the tattoos by memory even the ones the audience can’t see—a tiger on his chest just over his heart and three guns over his ribs.
Lines, lies, fake names, real names. Suddenly I feel humiliated for believing his pickup lines and stupid for not knowing who he really is. Did he play me or was he being real?
Johnny Outlaw is live, and in person, singing from his soul and The Resistance is a band I would pay money to see, but I didn’t expect this. Now I’ve got thirty emotions fighting to overturn my current reaction as I try to reason through everything I thought I knew.
Jack Dalton is Johnny Outlaw, the lead singer of one of the most famous bands in the world. He’s also the man I’ve been having sex with over the last twenty-four hours.
“Hey, you okay?” Cara asks, glancing back over her shoulder.
I wave my hand in front of my face, acting like it’s nothing. I must be a good actress because she turns back around and gets into the music again.
Tracy seems to be drunk already and doesn’t realize what’s going on. I can’t keep this to myself though. “Hey,” I whisper into her ear. “That’s Jack Dalton.”
“Who?”
I yell louder than the music to be heard, “Jack Dalton.”
“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about. That’s Johnny Outlaw.”
I put my arm straight out and point. “No, Tracy, it’s the man I’ve been hooking up with. He told me his name is Jack Dalton. He sent the food this morning.”
She bursts out laughing. “Oh shit. Really?”
“What oh shit?” Cara asks, stamping her foot because she’s not in on our secret. “Who’s Jack Dalton?”
Leaning against the wall next to me, Tracy looks at Cara with her cocktail straw pressed against her lip. I shake my head at the girl who’s five sheets to the wind drunk at ten o’clock at night. The only saving grace she has to be this drunk is that we’re in Vegas, which is the gold standard here.
“Jack is,” Tracy starts, her voice louder than necessary to fight the loud music, but the song stops just in time to further my humiliation as she shouts, “Holli had sex with Johnny Outlaw today.”
“Tracy!” My cheeks flame with anger and embarrassment. I drop my face into my hands. Now I sound like a groupie to the world.
Peeking out from between my fingers, Cara is staring at me. “Is that true, Holli?”