It’s even nicer than Joel’s bus, sporting slick black leather and a new car smell. The girls lead me to a kitchen in the back and root through a junk drawer until they find a pair of scissors. Then Nikki pulls off her shirt and Molly follows suit, and I’m just standing in a ridiculously extravagant tour bus with a pair of scissors in my hand and two half-naked girls practically throwing their clothes at me. This must be what Joel feels like on a daily basis.
“So you’re with Joel?” Molly asks, hopping up onto the counter as I sit down at a table and stretch her T-shirt on top of it. Nikki hands me a hard lemonade, and I take a long sip, wondering who these girls are and why we’re suddenly best friends.
I glance up at Molly, wondering what she’s playing at, but her smile is easy and genuine, so I opt for telling the truth. “We’re not really together.”
“Well, yeah,” she replies with a giggle, “but I mean, like, you’re with him? You’re his girl?”
Nikki is leaning against the counter next to her, studying me as they both wait for my answer. “His girl?” I ask.
“Yeah. Like Nik and me, we’re with Van.”
“I thought that blonde outside was with Van?”
Nikki rolls her eyes. “He probably doesn’t even know that bitch’s name.”
“He doesn’t,” Molly says with a laugh. “I heard him call her Ashley, but she told me her name is Veronica.”
Nikki snorts out a laugh. “That’s not even close!”
“I know!” Molly says with glee, and Nikki smiles at me.
“Are you asking if I’m Joel’s groupie?” I ask her bluntly, the situation dawning on me.
“That’s such a dirty word,” she says, but her tone is light and she’s still smiling when Molly nods emphatically.
“Yes,” the shorter girl answers.
“I’m not a groupie.” I turn my attention back to cutting the sleeves off Molly’s shirt, feeling more like a groupie than ever and trying to shake off the feeling.
“So what are you?” Nikki asks, and I wish I had a good answer.
“His friend.” Even as the words cross my lips, I know they’re a lie. Joel and I have never been friends. We’ve always been more. And less. After last night, there’s no denying it, even though I fully plan on doing just that.
“Are you sleeping together?”
“Yes,” I answer, hoping that ends the girls’ line of questioning.
It doesn’t. Instead, Nikki insists, “Then you’re not friends. How long have you known each other?”
“A few months.”
“Is he sleeping with anyone else?”
“Does it matter?” I ask, irritation seeping into my tone while I alter Molly’s shirt.
“Oh, it matters,” Nikki says. “With guys like these, you’re either a groupie or a girlfriend. If he’s sleeping with other people, you’re a groupie. If he’s not, you’re a girlfriend.”
“What if I’m sleeping with other people?” I counter.
“Then you’re an idiot.”
I shoot her a look, but she just shrugs and gives me a smile.
Molly swings her legs back and forth, watching me take my frustration out on her shirt. “Why would you want to sleep with anyone else when you have Joel?” she asks. “He’s so fucking hot. Did you see him perform with Van today? He was so good. I wanted to tear his clothes off with my teeth. That mohawk?” She swoons, and Nikki laughs. “I bet he’s a god in the sack.”
“Confirm or deny?” Nikki asks me, and I can’t help it—the ghost of a smile sweeps onto my lips.
“Oooh,” Molly croons, “that’s a confirm. Ugh, I knew it.” She lets her head flop back against a cabinet, and Nikki and I both laugh.
The mood in the room lightens, and Molly suddenly perks back to life, her head flying forward and her dark eyes landing on me. “I’d love to join you guys . . . I mean, if you’re open to that sort of thing . . . You’re really pretty.”
My eyes widen in surprise, and Nikki watches me with her arms crossed over her chest like she’s waiting to see if I’ll pass some kind of test.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so,” I say, and Nikki’s smile widens while Molly’s falls into a pout. “You’re really pretty too, though,” I quickly add, and her eyes light up, her shifts in mood giving me whiplash.
“You think so?” she chirps. “I’m thinking about bleaching my hair and getting blue highlights.” She pulls a chunk of asymmetrical bangs in front of her face. “This red is getting so boring.”
Nikki elbows her, but Molly barely seems to notice, studying her bangs like she’s imagining them in a rainbow of different colors. I toss her T-shirt at her, finished with the modifications, and she holds it up and squeals.
“This is so cool!” she says, pulling it over her head and modeling for Nikki. “How do I look?”
“Totally badass,” Nikki affirms with an approving smile. I made Molly’s shirt different from mine, but Nikki is right—it’s totally badass and I almost wish I had kept it for myself.