He tilts his hand side to side a little to entice me. “It’s your favorite.”
“I don’t have a favorite liquor,” I tell him. “You know I’m a beer drinker.”
“Well, it’s your favorite tonight,” he says as he shoves the drink at me. “I just laid out one hundred dollars for these two glasses of Michter’s Twenty-Year-Old Single Barrel Bourbon.”
I take the glass reluctantly but politeness demands I do it. “What’s the special occasion?”
“This is the special occasion,” he says as he waves his glass around the group.
“Yeah, then how come you didn’t splurge for us to get some of that bourbon?” Frank demands.
Tyler laughs. “Because you’re neither the rock star nor the devoted manager.”
“Asshole,” Frank mumbles.
Tyler turns to me and holds his glass out. He grins at me big and says, “Congrats, buddy, on a fucking phenomenal tour so far. You’re amazing and here’s to another two months of the same success.”
And man… that kind of gets me in the heart.
It’s the Tyler of old.
“Thanks, buddy,” I say sincerely and tap my glass to his. “Cheers.”
He lifts the glass to his mouth, watching me over the rim. I do the same and take a tiny sip, and damn… that’s fucking fantastic.
Tyler can read the look on my face because now he’s laughing at me. “Told you it was your favorite drink.”
“This shit’s amazing,” I say as I hold the glass up. “Doesn’t even burn and feels smooth as water.”
“Right?” he says, holding his glass up to his nose to take a sniff. “I’ve always wanted to order a really insanely expensive drink and tonight seemed the night to do it.”
“Let me have a taste,” Frank asks as he sidles up toward Tyler.
“Fuck off,” Tyler grumbles, but then he reluctantly hands his glass over. Frank takes a sip, then passes it to Rick, who does the same. Kenny is the last to try it before handing it back to Tyler.
We all agree… finest fucking whiskey in the world.
Or, well… at least that we’ve drank so far.
“Okay, after we finish these drinks, the limo’s on standby and is going to take us to the finest strip club in Chicago,” Tyler announces.
“Fuck yeah,” Kenny yells, and because he’s a true southern boy born and raised in Alabama, it comes out as sort of a rebel yell.
My brows knit inward and I say, “Probably not a good idea, dude.”
I’m already feeling drunk, and I don’t think it’s good press for a famous rock star to hang out in a strip club while inebriated.
“Come on, man,” Tyler says as he nudges me. “Let’s live a little. No one’s going to know it’s you. We’ll put a cap on your head and you can wear sunglasses.”
“Yeah,” Frank agrees. “Let’s do it.”
“I’m in,” Rick adds on.
Kenny just lets out another, “Fuck yeah.”
I’m shaking my head, which makes me a bit dizzy, but still I remain adamant. “Not for me, guys. If you want to go, you can have the limo all night and my credit card. But count me out.”
“Fucking party pooper,” Frank ribs me, but he’s got a smile on his face.
“Is this because of Emma?” Rick asks slyly, and my chest tightens a little at the mention of her name. Because yeah… a good chunk of my reluctance is because of Emma. Maybe it’s all my reluctance actually.
“Leave him alone,” Tyler says, coming to my rescue, although I could swear the look on his face right now is sly rather than supportive. “Let’s just go back to the bus and party. We’re all here to hang out as old friends, not to spend all our money on strippers.”
Well, that’s an abrupt turn around. From suggesting the strip club to immediately capitulating. Is this the old Tyler who understands me and looks out for me? Or is this something else?
I shake my head, forcing myself to clear away the doubts that are creeping in. Surely, that is the liquor talking.
“Sound like a plan?” Tyler asks as he brings a hand to my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. I examine his face. I don’t see anything but brotherly affection for me, and maybe some vague amusement that I’m well on my way to getting shit faced and he’s probably the one who’s going to make sure I don’t puke on myself.
“Yeah, let’s head back to the bus after we finish these drinks,” I agree, and my tongue feels pretty thick right now.
For a brief moment, I consider calling Emma really quick. I tried to call her right after the show, but she didn’t answer. I wasn’t too bent out of shape as it was late and I was sure she was asleep. She’d texted me around eight-thirty PM to wish me good luck for tonight’s show, and I sent her back a kissing emoji.