Hey Girl (Turn it Up #9)

Chapter 13

13

REBECCA

A fter the performance, I pounced on the drummer, and engaged in more kisses than I’ve experienced in my entire relationship with him - or my whole existence, for that matter. I wanted nothing more than to make him race us back to his place and thrust my V-card at him. Seriously, if he tried to refuse it, I’d jam it down his pants and cop a feel while my hand was in there.

But alas, apparently these appearances come with some kind of afterparty.

“You don’t have to come,” Chris told me attentively.

Oh yes… yes I do. Oh, wait, he means to the party.

But I don’t want to go home and it feels good to not want that for once. I want to stay with him, and the idea of braving a room packed with crazy party people is barely a blip on my radar. With Enrique’s clever hairstyle draping half of my face and giving me a semblance of security, I cling to Chris’s arm siphoning all the confidence, strength, and big dick energy I can get from the guy, because Lord knows, he’s got plenty to spare.

Although after a few minutes ride in the back of a big black honkin’ SUV, that might be up for debate as some kind of energy swap seems to have taken place.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Chris leans in, his voice low and tender. “It can be kind of crazy, and definitely packed with people. We could take you home, I could come and put in a quick appearance and then come back to you.”

“Say what the fuck, now?” Matt’s voice pipes up from behind us. I peek over the seat to see him, his hand clasping Melanie’s as he looks at the back of Chris’s head as if a portal to the great unknown just opened there. “Rebecca, what on earth have you done to this man-child, and how in God’s name can I repay you?” He asks, as Melanie shushes him.

Chris’s head whips around and he barks at Matt like a Rottweiler. “She hasn’t done anything to me, you fucknugget! I’m in love!”

Matt’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks between us, amused. I, on the other hand feel like I’ve been dropped in the middle of some epic love novel. My—my heart and my stomach are rapidly swapping places with each other.

I’m exhilarated, but I’m freaked out. I’m happy. But I’m freaked out.

Chris, oblivious to the Defcon 1 happening inside my chest, presses on as he leans over the back of the seat, thrusting a finger at Matt. “You want to sit there and tell me that when you fell in love with your bandmate’s sister, you didn’t act a little differently? Huh?”

Matt’s face is waging a war between cool indifference and sheepish astonishment. His eyes widen, and Melanie’s narrow in thought as she looks to him. “Should we go back to your book and revisit what you were like?” Chris has that crazy look in his eye and a wicked grin as if he’s daring him to argue further when Matt clears his throat and swings his gaze over Chris’s shoulder.

“Oh look we’re here.”

My face turns to look out the window and a very unladylike gasp lodges in my throat and comes out like a croak when I see an entryway roped off with an ass load of fans and photographers.

“Wes?” Chris has gone back to sounding uncharacteristically cautious. “Mind swinging around to the back entrance?” His arm is back around me and his hand is caressing my shoulder, grazing up and down my skin and it’s already taking a bit of the edge off.

“No,” I find myself saying and now I know I’ve fallen into a parallel universe. One where I’m the girlfriend of a famous rock god.

“Rebecca, I appreciate it, but you’ve gone so far beyond your daily challenge. The least I can do is make it as comfortable for you as I can. It’s no problem to go in the back.”

“Chris, I’m done with daily challenges,” I blurt out, crazily enough without stuttering. With how fast my blood is pumping, that’s normally a sure thing, but Chris’s hand still rubbing my arm is keeping me grounded somehow.

“Wait, what?” He looks flabbergasted and it’s cute. “But you’re here…”

“I think…” I try to voice my thoughts out loud. “I think this is just my life now.”

His lower jaw falls slack and his eyes dart around, searching mine out. “You mean… you can just do this now?” He gestures around us.

“Well, it’s not second nature,” I lift a shoulder. “It will never be, in fact, it will always be hard. But it’s, I don’t know… possible now. It’s doable.”

That really is the best way to put it. Like I’ve crossed over a small chasm from the unthinkable to the doable. It’s like I’m in a new stage of my life I never knew I was supposed to enter.

Chris seems to be searching for words. Another occurrence that is starting to be less of a rarity. It’s like he’s entered some knew realm of his own. Or perhaps… we’ve met each other halfway?

“Are you sure?” He asks, and while I love how calmly attentive he’s being, I’d give anything to put that whacky smile I love, back on his face. I nod vigorously. “I won’t leave you for even a second,” he promises. “Remember, it’s just some harmless noise and a few flashing lights. All you need to do is smile and be your radiant self.”

I nod again, nervously blowing out a breath as the door to the car opens. I can do this. I’m on the arm of a rock legend who thinks I’m radiant. How bad can it be?

Welcome to Thunderdome.

An ominous, synthesized tempo is our soundtrack as Chris leads me to the VIP section of one of the city’s high end nightclubs. It’s a blur of writhing bodies and drinks spilling, and I try to keep some kind of tunnel vision as he weaves us through it.

On our way in, there were indeed some of the aforementioned flashing lights as the people behind them shouted questions.

“Chris! I heard you took lead on vocals tonight! And you wrote the song? Are you going to record it?”

“What inspired you? Is it the woman you have with you tonight? What’s her name?”

I didn’t hear Chris answer any of the questions. I attempted a smile as Chris suggested, but didn’t direct it at anyone and instead kept my gaze focused on the path ahead of us as I clung to his arm.

Now that we’re inside, I cling to it still while I wage a battle in my brain over how to conduct myself.

Hide behind hair - no. Stare straight ahead - no! Smile like Chris said - oh God I probably look like a shrew.

Chris grips my hand in his as he leads me up a winding staircase, and while the music still pounds through the speakers, we’re let into an area that seems monumentally tamer. There are fewer people, including the friendly faces of the band and their wives I’m getting familiar with.

There’s a few comfy looking couches and Chris leads me to one that’s not too far from the balcony that overlooks the raving dance floor below. I feel instantly better. It’s like I’m able to exist in this world without having to be immersed in it or forced to participate. I can just be, and observe.

“How about a blow job?” Chris plops down on the plushy cushion next to me.

Okay… or maybe it’s exactly like the movies.

“Here?” I ask, my blood pressure picking back up.

“I mean the shot, you goober!” Chris laughs and leans in to give me a small kiss like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When he straightens back up, he waves his hand in the air, and a waitress in a tank dress and a sleek ponytail moseys over, and once I find out there’s Baileys in this magical, obscenely named shot, I must have it, and order a white Russian to boot.

After thirty or forty minutes - I’m really not sure - of basically drinking spiked chocolate milk I’m feeling gooood. My raging anxiety hasn’t disappeared but it’s definitely dulled. I can’t believe I’m at a celebrity afterparty, and no one’s had to call the paramedics. I can’t get over the progress I’ve made since meeting my delicious drummer who pestered his way into my life.

Feeling confident and a little sly, I swing one of my jean-clad legs over his lap followed by the other and he welcomes it, hugging my legs and tucking them in close.

“Hey, look who’s getting comfy and having a good time.” He smiles endearingly and I let my chin rest on his shoulder to keep my head from swimming.

“Well, you didn’t give me much of a choice,” I reply, mocking a stern tone, slightly distracted by how big and unwieldy my tongue feels in my mouth. Like, more than usual but oddly in a more manageable way.

“What can I say, I see something I want,” he draws out the last word, hugging my legs closer.

Out of nowhere, a tall dark shadow darkens our happy bubble, in the form of a tall and rather muscular raven-haired goddess. Seriously, she’s intimidating and beautiful - and intimidatingly beautiful - and I’d probably do her if I swung that way.

With her hands on her hips, she glares menacingly down at me like she wants to punch me in the throat.

Nevermind, I don’t want to do her, she’s scary.

“Oh…shit..” Chris laments in a foreboding tone as he gazes up at her with wide terrified eyes. Not pulling them away, he fishes in his back pocket. When he produces his cell phone, he tears his eyes away from the Greek goddess to look at the screen.

“Sixteen missed calls?” He exclaims. “Dammit! Curse this place and their loud music and pounding bass! I didn’t even feel my ass vibrating!”

I seriously don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. Or what’s happening. It’s like I’m in some cracked out dream where nonsensical things happen like, Xena the Warrior princess shows up and your boyfriend is freaking out about missed calls.

“Seriously?!” Xena speaks and I half expect the room to shake, and then she nods at me without taking her eyes off my man. “Her?!”

“Her?!” I point up at her before leaning into Chris and drunkenly murmuring. “Who is her? And what are we talking about?”

“She’s … my ex,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, his teeth locked together as if he’s trying not to startle a T-Rex. “It’s been over since last year, but she’s… having a little trouble accepting it and all that.”

Oh.

Now sober Rebecca would shrink like a shriveling daisy under a heat lamp when she realized this is what she was competing with. But drunk Rebecca apparently gives no fucks. Especially when the meanie gets even meaner.

“You’d seriously fuck a mouse in Dahmer glasses instead of me!” She spits out in a statement rather than a question and I pull my legs from Chris’s grasp and shoot to my feet.

Whoa. I sway a little until my elevator reaches the top.

“Hey!” I shout and hold my finger up at her. “I’m not a killer cannibal man! And my glasses look nothing like Dahmer’s! They’re trendy as fuck and I’m not even wearing them right n-now!”

Oops. That’s right, I stutter sometimes when I’m nervous. Although I’m not nervous right now. Okay I’m a little bit nervous but the blow jobs don’t care about that or about the wonder of how she knew I normally wear glasses. And so, I surge forth.

“And that’s right he’d rather fuck me!” I proclaim as Xena lists to the left and it makes me madder. “Hold still when I’m talking to you!”

It’s then that I feel a familiar pair of manly hands on my waist steadying me. Oh, that was me moving. When he seems satisfied I’m not going to fall over like a tree, he reaches one hand up, waving at Matt like some kind of signal. Cute.

“Fuck off you little runt,” she snips. “He’ll toss you aside when -,”

“Did you just call me a cunt?!” I demand. Are there cartoon flames in my eyes?

“No, I called you a runt, but if the shoe fit-,”

“You fuck off, you giant asshole!” I shout up at her because I’m about 5’4” in these heels and she’s a statue. “So you’re a good lay, so what?” I throw my arms out like I’m about to throw down. “You’re nothing without s-self respect, Glenn Close from Fatal Attraction!”

“Yeah, you tell her babe,” I hear Chris’s voice from behind me.

“Alright, you little shit,” Xena starts to roll the sleeves of her black top up her arms. “I came here for my man, but it looks like I’m going back to jail instead.”

“He’s my man!” I explode and try to charge forth. I don’t know what I’m planning as any attempt I make to tackle her will be like bouncing off a concrete wall, but that’s sober Rebecca’s problem. “You’re going down, bitch!” I screech as

Chris’s rugged and manly arms sweep around my middle pulling me back against him.

“Easy, Scrappy Doo,” he chides but I can hear an amused chuckle in his voice and as if to prove his point, I keep scrambling in his arms.

“Let me at her!” I demand just as a couple security guards flank Xena and each take an arm. The look on her face is one that promises inevitable vengeance, and yet, all Drunk Rebecca can seem to do is let out an obnoxious cackle of a laugh which seems to infuriate her more as I can see the red flush creeping up her neck even under the neon lights. “You fuck with the bull, you get the horns, fugly biatch!” I throw out at her.

“Time for your girl to call it a night as well,” one of the bouncers addresses Chris over his shoulder.

“Fun sucker!” I bellow right before an elegant belch. Eww. And then I giggle.

“You got it!” Chris hollers before turning me in his arms while I continue to sway, stumble and flail. “Alright, Michael Flatley,” he says, ducking and taking hold of my legs. “Let’s go put you to bed,” he finishes once he has me over his shoulder.

“Ooh, now we’re talking!” I exclaim between hiccups as my body bobs along with his strides out the door.