“Obviously.”
“What can I tell you? You know I’ve been playing with him on and off in Wet Blanket for a few years. And he’s been totally solid on this tour. You know his talent.”
“He got a girlfriend back home or anything?” I figured I could slip that in as acceptable curiosity.
“Don’t think so.”
“Groupies?”
“About a million, give or take a thousand.”
Sounded about right.
“What’s his type?”
“No idea,” Zane said. “He had a thing for Maggie a while back, though.”
Maggie… Zane’s cute, hot, petite—and very female—wife.
Which made Matt either bi or closet… or made me totally fucking wrong that he’d ever given methe lookat all.
“Holy shit,” I said. “And he’s still breathing? Would’ve thought you’d bury a man for that.”
“Considered it briefly.” Zane flashed his white-toothed smile at me. “But then we’d be out another bassist.”
My phone buzzed with a message, and I glanced at it.
Summer. Fucking finally.
“I gotta deal with this,” I said, getting up. “Been trying to find Summer for hours.”
“Later,” Zane said, but he was hardly listening. Maggie was just sliding into his lap.
“Hey, Ash,” she said.
I waved asee you laterand pushed through the closest door… into a kitchen. I looked around. No one was in the room, but the lights were on. Where the hell was I?
This place was a fucking labyrinth.
I paused to read Summer’s message.
Summer:Have you talked to Matt?
You mean, since he looked at me like he wants to swallow my dick whole?
I thought about what to say to her, very carefully, mindful of the booze in my system, and typed a reply.
Me:Not yet
Summer:Where are you?
She asked before I could type out the same question.
Me:Kitchen
Me:In ENGLAND
Me:Those two texts just cost me like 20 bucks
