something about good men sticking around for their kids.
I nod, but I don't explain that I'm actually the bad guy in all this. I just lied about knocking her up so I can make sure I'm not hallucinating. If he sees her, I'll know, which means no red ponytails flashing in the audience will distract me tonight.
I finish out my conversation with Wingtips when I see Cy walk in. I haven't seen him since he winked at me the night before. He's scruffy, like he hasn't shaved since yesterday morning, and his Three Days Grace t-shirt is a little creased. But hell, the guy could walk in wearing sweatpants and a wifebeater and the girls would still fall all over him. As it is, he has a kind of rehabbed bad boy thing going that makes Carlos, one of the club owners, check him out from behind. I watch him tap Ferdinand on the shoulder and point. Ferdinand takes a nice long look, too, and I have to wonder if the couple plans to proposition my roommate tonight.
Cy walks over to where Justin's practically having sex with Andy against a table. I watch Cy lean over and yell Justin's name right into his ear. It's funny as shit watching Justin and Andy skitter apart like they hadn't realized where they were. Justin takes a few deep breaths and finally hops back onto the stage with the rest of us.
Griffin finishes setting his kit correctly and chuckles. "Glad you're marrying the poor girl. Hopefully after a two-week honeymoon, you two will be able to stand in the same room together and not climb down each other's throats."
Cy and Griffin continue to harass Justin pretty much until the curtains open, and I spend the time wishing I could have just a tiny taste of life working out like that for me.
"You know," Justin says, just as we're getting ready to start, "someday, all you fuckers are gonna find your own Pussycats. And I'm going to laugh when it happens and give you all the same shit you're giving me."
Honestly? He can give me all the shit he wants when it happens. But the chances of me bringing a girl home anytime soon are looking pretty slim.
We rock our asses off, play a great set, and then Cy calls autographs early. Andy doesn't know why, but we all do. Justin's planning to propose to her tonight at the after-party.
I let out the breath I've been holding. Wingtips never came to see me, hauling a redhead behind him, so she never came. I didn't spend the time looking into the audience for her and I feel a hell of a lot more relaxed as a result.
Or, at least, I do until we get to the part of the evening Justin's been sweating over for days.
He asked if he could borrow my house, which I was totally fine with, so now that the show's over, we're all driving the hour plus to get upstate. I have three different videogame consoles in my trunk, along with three dozen games to play once we get there. I had someone go in earlier and make sure the place was stocked with basic groceries. I always have a full pantry - a byproduct of not knowing where your next meal's coming from - but I generally don't leave a gallon of milk around to spoil while I'm living in the City.
We've been here awhile, and it's so late, Andy's dozing off. I check the clock; it's nearly twelve thirty, and Griffin and I have been trying to hunt down one last little rat from the opposing team since eleven forty-five. Fucker keeps camping our spawn points and then bugging out right after he makes the hit, making us chase him around the whole map. I can see the bodies of his buddies still lying where we mowed them down earlier. So of course I'm pissed when Justin just shuts the TV off. Griffin gets it back on long enough for us to see we're both dead and we both verbally threaten him.
"You pull that shit again dude, that one kid's all your gonna have," Griffin says, then proceeds to boo at Justin until the guy drops to one knee in front of Andy.
"Oh, shit man. Was that tonight?" Griffin says, then slaps his hand over his
I nod, but I don't explain that I'm actually the bad guy in all this. I just lied about knocking her up so I can make sure I'm not hallucinating. If he sees her, I'll know, which means no red ponytails flashing in the audience will distract me tonight.
I finish out my conversation with Wingtips when I see Cy walk in. I haven't seen him since he winked at me the night before. He's scruffy, like he hasn't shaved since yesterday morning, and his Three Days Grace t-shirt is a little creased. But hell, the guy could walk in wearing sweatpants and a wifebeater and the girls would still fall all over him. As it is, he has a kind of rehabbed bad boy thing going that makes Carlos, one of the club owners, check him out from behind. I watch him tap Ferdinand on the shoulder and point. Ferdinand takes a nice long look, too, and I have to wonder if the couple plans to proposition my roommate tonight.
Cy walks over to where Justin's practically having sex with Andy against a table. I watch Cy lean over and yell Justin's name right into his ear. It's funny as shit watching Justin and Andy skitter apart like they hadn't realized where they were. Justin takes a few deep breaths and finally hops back onto the stage with the rest of us.
Griffin finishes setting his kit correctly and chuckles. "Glad you're marrying the poor girl. Hopefully after a two-week honeymoon, you two will be able to stand in the same room together and not climb down each other's throats."
Cy and Griffin continue to harass Justin pretty much until the curtains open, and I spend the time wishing I could have just a tiny taste of life working out like that for me.
"You know," Justin says, just as we're getting ready to start, "someday, all you fuckers are gonna find your own Pussycats. And I'm going to laugh when it happens and give you all the same shit you're giving me."
Honestly? He can give me all the shit he wants when it happens. But the chances of me bringing a girl home anytime soon are looking pretty slim.
We rock our asses off, play a great set, and then Cy calls autographs early. Andy doesn't know why, but we all do. Justin's planning to propose to her tonight at the after-party.
I let out the breath I've been holding. Wingtips never came to see me, hauling a redhead behind him, so she never came. I didn't spend the time looking into the audience for her and I feel a hell of a lot more relaxed as a result.
Or, at least, I do until we get to the part of the evening Justin's been sweating over for days.
He asked if he could borrow my house, which I was totally fine with, so now that the show's over, we're all driving the hour plus to get upstate. I have three different videogame consoles in my trunk, along with three dozen games to play once we get there. I had someone go in earlier and make sure the place was stocked with basic groceries. I always have a full pantry - a byproduct of not knowing where your next meal's coming from - but I generally don't leave a gallon of milk around to spoil while I'm living in the City.
We've been here awhile, and it's so late, Andy's dozing off. I check the clock; it's nearly twelve thirty, and Griffin and I have been trying to hunt down one last little rat from the opposing team since eleven forty-five. Fucker keeps camping our spawn points and then bugging out right after he makes the hit, making us chase him around the whole map. I can see the bodies of his buddies still lying where we mowed them down earlier. So of course I'm pissed when Justin just shuts the TV off. Griffin gets it back on long enough for us to see we're both dead and we both verbally threaten him.
"You pull that shit again dude, that one kid's all your gonna have," Griffin says, then proceeds to boo at Justin until the guy drops to one knee in front of Andy.
"Oh, shit man. Was that tonight?" Griffin says, then slaps his hand over his
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