“Babe,” he complains, “You know playing live makes me hard. I’m gonna have to fuck ya now.”
She pulls back, looking at him like she’d happily get naked right now, arches her eyebrow and says, “Come on then rock star.”
Marley grabs the bottle of champagne with one hand and his wife with the other and drags her out the door. “I’ll see you at the bar, boys. I need to be inside my wife for a bit.”
“Bit of what?” Gunner asks, passing Marley on his way in the door. His arm slung over Chelsea’s shoulder.
Fuck!
I feel lonely.
Lonely and horny.
Not a good combination.
I wonder if Meebs is still here. I asked Tyler to try and keep her hanging around after we finished our set. I need to talk to her. I have no idea what exactly I’m going to say, I just can’t let her leave without finding out that she’s okay. That she’s happy with the life that she chose instead of me, and I need to know what her little meltdown earlier was all about. The thought of standing next to her, being that close makes me lightheaded. Lawson, the prick, was bang on with what he’d said earlier.
“Conner Reed, what a pussy.”
I head straight for the shower with a raging hard-on.
I walk past the security blokes at the top of the stairs, giving them a nod and a smile. There’s another lot at the bottom, making it pretty impossible for anyone to sneak past and get up to the dressing rooms where all of the day’s performers are either getting ready or chilling after their acts.
I can’t believe that Josh has gone to all this trouble, but didn’t bother to warn me that Meebs would be here with his sister. I’ll be having words with the fucker when I eventually catch up with him.
I’ve sent a text to Tyler, asking him if he has seen Meebs and if she’s still here, but he hasn’t replied. I’m more nervous as I approach the VIP bar than I was before going on stage earlier. The adrenalin from performing and my unexpected reunion with the girl that’s fucked with my head all these years is still buzzing through my veins.
My chest feels tight, my palms sweaty and my legs wobbly. I shake hands with various people, virtually ignore the pats on the back and words of congratulations and condolence that I receive from celebrities, sports stars, actors and musicians. None of them getting more than a nod and maybe a smile. I can’t focus on anything other the conversation I’m practising in my head. If she’s there, at the bar, what am I going to say?
I try to force down the anger that bubbles up when I think about the way she just left me hanging that night. But fuck it! I’m pissed off and I want some answers. I need some closure, I deserve at least that much from her.
I take a few steadying breaths and enter the bar. Clearer in my head now what I want to say. If Meebs is still the same girl I used to know inside out, then going in aggressive with all guns blazing isn’t the way to go. She used to hate confrontation. She was bullied a bit at school, being picked on for being so tiny, she learnt to walk away from a very young age. Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t scared of anyone, she always stood up for herself, but she would do it with words and all too aware that she wouldn’t beat them physically.
I decide to go for the indifferent approach. If she’s still here, I’m gonna act casual, buy her a drink and ask her how she’s doing. Eventually leading up to what happened that night and the one question that’s gone around my fucking head for fifteen years… Why?
If I know the answer to that, I’ll be okay. I’ll be able to move on. I’ve fucked models, actresses, pop princess, shit, even a couple of real princesses, but none of them have ever come close to making me feel anything like what I felt for Nina Matthews and I need to draw a line under it, tonight.
And then I see her.
She’s at the bar with Sophie, my brother and sister-in-law and Lawson. Fucking Lawson and he has his hand on the small of her back, just above her arse. That perfect, peachy round arse, covered by those painted on jeans and those shoes on her feet. Fuck me, those shoes.
Everything that I’d just convinced myself I was going to say, the way I was going to act, goes right out the window the instant I see Lawson’s hand on her.
“Who’s my driver?” I ask Lawson. He turns with a smile on his face, blue eyes sparkling. It takes every ounce of control I have not to knock his teeth down the back of his throat.
“Ah, the man himself. We were just talking about you. Fantastic performance, Reed. How’s it feel to be back up there?” he asks.
Now I want to punch him even more. We’re at a charity event that’s trying to raise money for kids coming out of rehab and he’s obviously buzzing on more than beer.