Manaconda(24)

My face hurt by the end of it.

An Instagram booth had taken over half the lobby. Fan club members and the band took turns in the booth to take crazy pictures. At least that part had been fun. I’d only been groped three times. It was a record.

Kenny had slipped away sometime during the parade of cameras. We had an afterparty to deal with, and the A-listers from the balcony were invited. No press. Just friends, family, and people from the label.

My head was pounding, and my skin felt too tight. I wandered out of the groups, making small-talk with Jessica Travers, the head of our fan club. Happy to let her chirp on about the actors and internet famous people that had been in the balcony.

It didn’t mean anything to me. Ten years in Los Angeles had dimmed that particular excitement. I’d rather be home cooking.

If one more camera was shoved in my face, I was pretty sure I was going to start swinging. Keys tugged me off the sidelines and into the throng of people. The pure delight on the fans faces started pushing some of the disgust back.

Happy conversation about our new songs, about the show, about how Hammered had gotten them through hard times—those were the things that mattered.

Wyatt clamped a hand on my shoulder. “All right?”

I nodded curtly as the last of the fans were herded out by security. “Getting there.” I glanced over to Bats, who still hadn’t come near me. He’d turned on the boisterous party-boy mode. A bottle of his favorite vodka close at hand, and an innocuous bag of gummy bears in his hand.

Bats’ party trick—they were soaked in vodka. And he was eating them by the handful. Awesome.

“You know that was nothing, right?”

I shrugged. “Not the time, man.”

“They’re blowing it out of proportion. It’s what the reporters do.”

“If that’s the truth, then why is he drinking like tonight’s his last night on earth?”

“That’s just Bats.”

I gripped my biceps. “By the end of the night, sure. Not during a fan event.”

Wyatt’s ginger eyebrow arched.

“He should have mentioned it.”

“Because it wasn’t important,” he shot back.

“Oh, really? Then why does he look like he got his dick caught in the cookie jar?”

Wyatt swiped his hand over his face. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Christ, even mentioning Vic makes you insane.”

“And that’s why Bats hanging with my ex-fiancée shouldn’t be a non-issue. She’s a user.” Of people more than drugs, though nothing would surprise me about Victoria. I stared at my guitarist, praying he felt the heat of my gaze. “What? Is her Twitter account too low? Not enough followers on Instagram? Needs to get her face splashed around again?”

“I can’t talk to you like this.” Wyatt shook his head. “Just don’t do anything stupid until you talk to him.”

I crossed my arms. “Not like you to play ref, Wyatt. Usually you’re wading into the fight with me.”

“This time he doesn’t deserve it. Bats might be a crazy motherfucker sometimes, but he wouldn’t go there.”

I tried to relax, but my shoulders were achingly tight. I wanted to believe Bats wouldn’t do something stupid with Victoria, but I knew her. I’d almost fucking married her. She had a way about her—a fragility that got under a man’s skin. I’d fallen for it for years.

Too many years.

I fisted my hands under my arms and nodded. I didn’t trust myself to do anything else.

Indie crossed the room to us. “Let’s get you guys to the rooftop. Food and drink time. No press.”

“Fuckin’ A,” I muttered.

I followed her to the stairs and back up to a private hallway. A crowd of people took the back exit from the theater out to the expansive rooftop space. Normally, it was crowded with clubbers. The Ace Hotel might be one of the oldest establishments in Los Angeles, but it stayed current. It was all ours tonight, thanks to Tristan and Donovan’s connections. Night had descended, the air a helluva lot cooler than inside. Heaters that looked more like torches were lit around the pool.

Bats was surrounded by women, bottle in hand. He stripped down to an eye-searing canary yellow speedo that I could not unsee, and cannonballed in. He emerged from the water, shaking like a dog. “Body shots!”

I turned away with a shake of my head. Patrick would have his hands full tonight. Bats’ behavior made the skin between my shoulders band even tighter. The more out of control he was, the more he’d usually fucked up.

I couldn’t think about that now. I wouldn’t. Not when my night had the opportunity to end on a much higher note. One with a distracting redhead with lips full enough to give the most pious of men fantasies. And no one ever took me for a saintly man.