that he couldn’t be that guy. I was the good girl, and he didn't want me to hate him when he let me down and fucked this up. Now, he owned the bad boy list, and that made me sad. I had lost bits and pieces of him over the years, and part of me knew some day, maybe too soon, the guy I loved would be gone completely.
As we sat by the hotel pool of the Cosmopolitan, Synister was between shows at the Hard Rock, and I had two more hours until I needed to head into work. It was a Saturday night, and I knew we would not see much of each other until Monday. Although I had traded in my showgirl glitter and headdress years ago for an adult job, I still did special shows at Bally's. The money was great, and the girls were a blast. I did not female friend well in social settings, so being around those girls was like having a room full of sisters without the take-home drama shit.
“B, what’s with the frock? You know you have a bitchin’ body, so why are you covering it up with that?” Synister threw his hands in the air, waving them in my general direction. “I’m just sayin’, if I was a chick with a set of tits like yours, I would show them off to anyone that wanted to see them.” Leaning his head back on the seat, he left me speechless.
“It is called a cover-up, asshat. You act like I have a muumuu on. You know what, leave me alone.” Bringing my drink to my lips, I took a long pull on my Shirley Temple and slumped in my seat, soaking in the sunshine. Of all the “activities” I had partaken in, alcohol was never one of them. This was because during my party years I spent so much time dealing with a drunk and confused Synister that I didn't see the draw of alcohol. Sober Synister was a badass rocker. Drunk Synister was a weepy sap. He would absolutely murder me if I ever told the band mates, that when he was drunk, he loved to listen to Celine Dion. I didn’t mean like one song, or just that damn Titanic theme song that made me want to punch a baby, I mean full-blown YouTube concerts with singing, the whole nine yards. One time when he was in Vegas, we snuck into her show. He had a blast. He knew every word of every song. At one point, I swore I saw a tear, but he said it was just sweat. I didn’t correct him. I figured it was okay to let him have that moment.
Synister was a puzzle, and I knew every piece. I would be lying if I didn't admit I enjoyed the perks of being best friends with a rock star. Particularly when he did things like today, renting out the entire pool at the Cosmopolitan for the afternoon just so we could get some peace. The rest of the band was joining us in twenty minutes. I knew once they arrived it would be show prep and all that bullshit.
“I am not in the habit of showing off my goods just because I can. Plus, sweetheart, if you forgot, I get paid to show off these babies, so you are not getting a peek until you pay the price for admission. So, boom! And, unlike you, I actually like the idea of keeping some things a secret. I have seen one too many Google images of you and some bimbo in a compromising situation. I will keep my standards, fuck you very much. Thank you for the sage words of wisdom, Mr. Smith,” I explained in the best mom voice I could muster.
“Okay, okay, B. Go right for the throat. Shit.” Leaning up, he placed his drink onto the glass top table beside his chair and headed to the bar to fetch another Captain and Coke. Before Syn made it to the bar, I heard the doors open, and noise and chaos filled the space. The band of brothers and their significant others entered like a cast of crazy misfits. They were fucking awesome. Sitting back and taking in the group, I wondered how I ever got so lucky. I was hanging out with the coolest of the cool, and not because they wanted something from me. They were my friends. Syn and Scottie were there for me when I was at my lowest. Every one of them was my family, and I wouldn’t change any of it for all the money in the world.
As we sat by the hotel pool of the Cosmopolitan, Synister was between shows at the Hard Rock, and I had two more hours until I needed to head into work. It was a Saturday night, and I knew we would not see much of each other until Monday. Although I had traded in my showgirl glitter and headdress years ago for an adult job, I still did special shows at Bally's. The money was great, and the girls were a blast. I did not female friend well in social settings, so being around those girls was like having a room full of sisters without the take-home drama shit.
“B, what’s with the frock? You know you have a bitchin’ body, so why are you covering it up with that?” Synister threw his hands in the air, waving them in my general direction. “I’m just sayin’, if I was a chick with a set of tits like yours, I would show them off to anyone that wanted to see them.” Leaning his head back on the seat, he left me speechless.
“It is called a cover-up, asshat. You act like I have a muumuu on. You know what, leave me alone.” Bringing my drink to my lips, I took a long pull on my Shirley Temple and slumped in my seat, soaking in the sunshine. Of all the “activities” I had partaken in, alcohol was never one of them. This was because during my party years I spent so much time dealing with a drunk and confused Synister that I didn't see the draw of alcohol. Sober Synister was a badass rocker. Drunk Synister was a weepy sap. He would absolutely murder me if I ever told the band mates, that when he was drunk, he loved to listen to Celine Dion. I didn’t mean like one song, or just that damn Titanic theme song that made me want to punch a baby, I mean full-blown YouTube concerts with singing, the whole nine yards. One time when he was in Vegas, we snuck into her show. He had a blast. He knew every word of every song. At one point, I swore I saw a tear, but he said it was just sweat. I didn’t correct him. I figured it was okay to let him have that moment.
Synister was a puzzle, and I knew every piece. I would be lying if I didn't admit I enjoyed the perks of being best friends with a rock star. Particularly when he did things like today, renting out the entire pool at the Cosmopolitan for the afternoon just so we could get some peace. The rest of the band was joining us in twenty minutes. I knew once they arrived it would be show prep and all that bullshit.
“I am not in the habit of showing off my goods just because I can. Plus, sweetheart, if you forgot, I get paid to show off these babies, so you are not getting a peek until you pay the price for admission. So, boom! And, unlike you, I actually like the idea of keeping some things a secret. I have seen one too many Google images of you and some bimbo in a compromising situation. I will keep my standards, fuck you very much. Thank you for the sage words of wisdom, Mr. Smith,” I explained in the best mom voice I could muster.
“Okay, okay, B. Go right for the throat. Shit.” Leaning up, he placed his drink onto the glass top table beside his chair and headed to the bar to fetch another Captain and Coke. Before Syn made it to the bar, I heard the doors open, and noise and chaos filled the space. The band of brothers and their significant others entered like a cast of crazy misfits. They were fucking awesome. Sitting back and taking in the group, I wondered how I ever got so lucky. I was hanging out with the coolest of the cool, and not because they wanted something from me. They were my friends. Syn and Scottie were there for me when I was at my lowest. Every one of them was my family, and I wouldn’t change any of it for all the money in the world.
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