It’s not a lie.
Lilah and I managed to keep to ourselves clean and stay out of the gangs at our school, but what happened in my group home was another story. At any given time, there were fourteen of us living there. A lot of shit went down that none of the Children and Family Services staff ever put into all those reports that went back to Department of Health and Human Services. Girls got raped all the time.
I was thirteen when they moved me out of my last foster home. They put me in a group home to fill the gap of someone who’d just aged out and make room in the foster home for a younger kid. I figured it out fast. Alonzo was sixteen, but he was the toughest guy there. No one messed with him. Which meant, as long as I was his girl, no one messed with me. I let him fuck me whenever he wanted, and in return, he kept anyone else from fucking with me. He aged out the same month as The Voice auditions. A few months later, I was in L.A. and I haven’t seen him since.
Max’s smile becomes more suggestive. “That’s because you’ve never had the right person to do it with.”
“And you’re that person?” As I ask, out of the corner of my eye, I see Tro, Grim, and Jamie emerge from the back hallway.
I lean in as Max tucks back a strand of hair that’s come loose from my ponytail and his fingers linger over the pulse point behind my ear. “You damn well better believe it.”
“Wow,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “I think my panties just melted.”
His eyes flash wide for a second. “I definitely like the sound of melting panties.”
“Whoops, I forgot.” I push away from him and head for the dressing room. Tro watches me pass and I catch his eye as I add, “I’m not wearing any.”
I feel his eyes burning through my back as I move up the hall. I don’t know whether he’s jealous or just pissed, but either way, I can use Max to my advantage. I just have to be careful. The trick is going to be making Tro believe there’s something going on and making sure Max knows there isn’t.
When I get to the dressing room, Billie is there, on the phone. She gives me a nod as I riffle through my bag for some dry clothes, then head to the shower. The truth is, I’m pretty sure I’m never going back to the guys’ bus again. I’m on tour. This is my big coming out party. I should be partying every night. But I’m getting really sick of people. Even my own. Just like everything else since The Voice started, I’m totally out of my element.
But when I’m cleaned up and I push through the door of the dressing room to head back to the bus, Max is there.
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” he says.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Really.”
Up front, Roadkill takes the stage, and he waits through the deafening roar of the crowd before saying, “Really.”
I take a deep breath then stick my head back into the dressing room.
“I’m going to the guys’ bus for a beer,” I mouth to Billie, who’s still on the phone.
She scowls, but doesn’t shake her head, so I duck back out the door. “One beer,” I tell Max.
He grins. “That’s all I need.”
We walk together through the halls to the rear exit and climb on the bus. And he’s right, there are only the band, a few of the crew, and a handful of girls.
Max grabs a beer from the fridge and twists the lid off before he hands it to me. “Chivalry is not dead.”
I pat my chest and flutter my eyes, “Oh my melting heart.”
He grins. “I liked the melting panties better.”
“Avalanche!” Aram shouts, slamming a beer glass and a dice into the middle of the kitchen table.
Everyone starts gathering around.
“What’s avalanche?” I ask Max.
He gives me a look. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He takes my hand and tugs me over to the table. “Just watch.”
Aram pour some of his beer into the cup in the middle of the table. “I’ll start,” he says, picking up the dice. He rolls a five, and the group shouts and starts pointing at each other. He picks up the glass and looks around the table, finally handing it to a skimpily-clad Asian girl on his immediate left. She drains the glass, then wipes her hand under her chin and giggles. Aram fills the glass again then pushes the die to the Asian girl.
Max points at the die as the girl picks it up and rolls it. “So, Aram rolled a five, which meant he could make anyone at the table drink.”
The Asian girl rolls a three and giggles again before lifting the cup and draining it. “I’m in so much trouble,” she says as she drops the glass in the middle of the table.
Aram fills it. “Yes,” he says, giving her a salacious look. “Yes, you are.”
“Come on,” Max says, reaching over the girl’s shoulder and scooping up the die. “Take a turn. I’ll teach you as we go.”
I give him a wary look before taking the die. I roll it and it skitters past the one, finally settling on two. “What do I do?”
“Pour more into the glass,” he says as Aram lifts it for me to reach.