Red light, red flag
What’s the difference, baby
We’re bad for each other
And this crash is gonna be crazy
My mind usually wanders to Marlowe at some point when I sing these lyrics. But instead of those proud baby blues, I see scared hazel eyes.
I play the outro by rote as I think about last Monday. What if I hadn’t been standing a few feet away from Rory and noticed the crack in the ceiling a second before it collapsed?
I almost wince when I remember her words, that I ignore her. Frankly, I didn’t think she’d notice. At least, I’d hoped she wouldn’t. I was doing her a favor. If she knew me, she’d understand that.
Last year, I was in a weird place. I was trying to get a handle on being abstinent and cutting back on partying. Now that I’m in control, I can talk to her like a normal human.
But I hate that I hurt her feelings.
“I fucking love you, Jace!” the woman in the front row screams after I fade out on the last note.
“Thank you, sweetheart. And thanks for coming tonight. Appreciate y’all.”
As we head off the stage, Shane slaps my back. “That chick with the great rack was eye-fucking you the whole time. Please tell me you’re gonna break your fast soon. Might as well have some fun before we call it quits.”
My band hasn’t accepted that I’m not the fuckboy I used to be. While, yes, I could use a release after a show, I’m done with casual hookups.
I’d be open to a friend with benefits if I could find the right person. But how do you ask someone if they’re down to fuck on the semi-regular with no strings except maybe a few beers and some Netflix? In my experience, women want one night with you or they want forever. What I need is someone willing to walk that middle ground.
I replay Shane’s words. The part that bothers me more than the hard-on I often sport after a gig is his assumption that Wayward Sons is done at the end of the summer.
Once we’re back in the green room, I drop to the floor to do push-ups before I start packing up our shit. When Frank ducks his head in a few minutes later, I’m prepared for the worst—that the A&R guy didn’t show up. But my heart betrays me once again and knocks in my chest.
Fuck, I want this to happen. I need the last decade of my life to have meant something.
I expect Frank’s usual somber expression, but he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat after smoking a giant joint.
He rubs his hands together. “I got some news, fellas. Hold on to your britches.”
It’s not the end of the world if this doesn’t happen. We still have a few more months. There’s time.“The guy showed up.”
Frank points to me. “He showed up.”
Fuck yes. “And he liked our set.”
“Helovedyour set.”
I close my eyes, grateful we had a good show. I take one more leap of faith. “And he’s ready to sign us.”
“Not quite.”
Son of a bitch.
The guys’ expressions fall, and Cooper curses under his breath and grabs his drum case.
Frank holds out his arms. “Hang on now. I know we’re angling for a record deal, but I have something else that’s almost as good.”
Coop scrubs his face with a grimy hand. “I need something that’s gonna pay the rent for once.”
“Done.”
