“I’ve always done this part solo. Or with other friends—friends who go out. Never with you. You’re throwing off my game.”
“Well maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe, for once, you don’t need game. Maybe I need game.”
“What the hell has gotten into you?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t want to spend the rest of the night thinking about it. Now are we going somewhere or not?”
Her eyes get wide and she holds up her hands. “Okay, okay, okay. Untwist the panties. We’ll go out. Damn.”
“Good,” I tell her with a relieved smile. I start the engine and back out of the parking lot. “Where to?”
“For what you’re wanting, the only place to go is Summerton. So head for the interstate.”
I do. And I feel better already.
Nearly half an hour later, I’m pulling into the large and packed parking lot of a bar called Whiskey River. It only occurs to me when we’re getting out of the car and I straighten my skinny jeans and deep V-neck shirt that I might not be dressed appropriately for an outing such as this.
“Am I dressed okay for this place? I mean, it’s not like I—”
Tia smiles at me over the top of the car. “Oh no. Trust me. You’re dressed just fine.”
It’s as we’re making our way to the front doors that Tia stops, gasping and reaching out to grab my arm.
“What is it?” I ask, my eyes following hers to the enormous lighted sign near the door that announces the band Saltwater Creek is playing tonight.
“Holy hot damn and mother of all things sexy, I knew I’d seen that guy somewhere!”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
Tia doesn’t answer. She just looks over at me and smiles the biggest, most satisfied grin I think I’ve ever seen her wear.
“You’ll see. Come on.”
With that, she takes my hand and practically drags me through the front door and past the ID checkpoint.
Once we’re inside, I see that the big room is divided into two halves, separated by a humongous bar area. I can hear loud music and screaming arising from my left. It’s my guess that’s where this Saltwater Creek band is playing.
I try to get a peek at the stage, but Tia is pulling me around to the opposite side of the bar, where my view is obstructed. She gets the attention of the bartender, quite easily I might add, and orders two melon balls.
“Two?”
She ignores me until the bartender sets the twin bright green drinks in front of her and Tia pays. She picks them up and holds one out to me.
I shake my head. “You know I don’t drink.”
“Tonight you do. You are the one who insisted that we do this. If you wanna cut loose, this is where you’re starting—with a drink. This one is like training wheels. There’s only enough alcohol in here to give a buzz to you or a toddler.”
“Then why are you drinking one?”
“Because if your tolerance is worse than a toddler’s, then someone’s gonna have to drive you home. But I have faith in you. If this one does what I think it will, you’ll just be . . . relaxed, and I’ll order a vodka tonic next go-round.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s your first night out on the town. Ever. It would be a travesty for me not to celebrate.”
“How is it that you get to celebrate my liberation?”
“Solidarity, that’s how.”
I roll my eyes and take a tentative sip of the drink. Despite its off-putting color, it actually tastes really good. I can’t detect the alcohol at all.
Tia’s watching me like a hawk, of course. “Okay, now I’ve tried it. Can we go check out this band of yours?”
“It’s not my band. And don’t tell Dennis. He hated that I used to follow them so much, so I quit for the most part. In fact, this is only the second time I’ve seen them since Collin, the old lead singer, was replaced.”
“Then let’s go listen. It sounds like they do a great job of covering old rock songs.” They were finishing up a Great White song when we came in. Now they started a Def Leppard song called “Animal” that I love.
“Not until you finish.”
“Ti-a!”
“Don’t argue. Drink.”
I take a bigger sip of my drink, then another one bigger still, until I’m sucking liquid out from around the ice cubes. “Happy?” I ask, holding up the empty glass for her inspection.
“Yep,” she replies. “Okay, wild thing, here we go.”
Again, she takes my hand and pulls me through the crowd. We go around the back of the bar, which still blocks my view, until we are at the rear of a crowd of people, all standing.
“Excuse me,” Tia says as she nudges and wiggles her way through the crush of bodies, tugging me along behind her. I turn this way and that, trying to be mindful of people and their drinks. It’s when we stop, flirting with the edge of a group of thrashing females of various ages near the stage, each vying for the attention of the band, that I begin to focus on what they’re saying. It’s then that I realize whose specific attention they’re vying for. I hear one name over and over again.
Jet.
That’s when I look up. And I see him.
Jet. My Jet.
I hardly recognize him. But, then again, I couldn’t mistake him. The way he moves, the way his voice sounds, the way I feel when I look at him—it’s all too familiar.
But this isn’t the guy I’ve come to know. This guy is wild and likely drunk. He’s got a guitar strap over one shoulder and he’s wearing a torn tank top that shows an intricate tattoo on his right arm and shoulder. I’ve never seen it before because he’s always dressed like a normal person when I see him. But not tonight. Because tonight he’s not a normal person. He’s a rocker. Living the life of a rocker, right down to the screaming groupies.
As I watch, dumbstruck, one of the girls in the crowd somehow makes her way up onstage. She runs to Jet and shamelessly plasters her barely clothed body to his side, writhing against him. He smiles at her, wrapping one arm around her waist as she kisses his neck and puts her hands in the tear of his shirt near his chest.
I see the flash of metal at one exposed nipple. And then I see the ripple of his abdominal muscles as the girl glides her hands all over his belly. It’s when she brazenly reaches between his legs to cup him that I feel my stomach turn, and the true weight of what I’m seeing settles down on my shoulders. On my heart.