Page 26 of The Comedown

When his head starts to lower, I grab his jaw and crank his face away from mine so he’s looking at the camera.

“Got it?” I ask, and the photographer says, “Not yet.”

“Too bad,” I say, releasing Julian’s face. “We’re done.” Julian was done before he even walked in here, but I did my part.

A huffy Slade storms over to the photographer, snarling about not being able to even use any of the pictures with the guitar, and amongst all the chaos, I lift my foot up behind me, reaching down to pull my Shuffle knife out of my stiletto bootie. Julian’s still got ahold of me, so I bring my arm back up to join the other one with the pocketknife concealed in my palm, then flick the blade open behind his head.

Catching his gaze, I ask, “Julian, remember earlier?”

“When your panties were drenched?”

“No, not that part.” Figures that’s what he’d remember though.

“Which part?”

I cut the strap of the guitar in one swift motion, saying, “The part when I told you not to touch me without permission,” then step back, causing the guitar to fall to the floor. My eyes don’t stray from his at first, but when they do, I let them fall slowly down the rest of him, lingering on his stiff, naked cock. The rest of the room starts to fade away until I bring myself back from the illusion.

Not happening.

Spinning on my heel, I take the bottle full of water from Irelynn’s frozen hand. Just before I make it to the door, I hear Julian say, “Send those pictures to me. I want ’em,” and I shake my head on my way out.

Look who decided to join us.

Julian

Collette’s fucking insane.

Most people think I’m insane, but that stunt she just pulled…goddamn. Every person in that fucking room saw my cock. At least it was rock hard and didn’t have that pathetic sock hanging off it like a droopy elephant trunk. Now that would’ve been embarrassing.

I’ve never been around someone so impulsive and impulse is practically my middle name. Julian Impulse Zimmerman. Fucking JIZ. Jesus, talk about a stage name.

“What time are they opening the doors?” I ask Bruce, dragging my ass up the steps of my bus. Fed up with rude interviewers and even ruder fans and just…everything, I asked Slade for something to take the edge off as soon as Collette and I got back, but whatever he gave me took all the edges off and now things are blurred to absolute shit.

The dozens of different faces staring back at me when I reach the top aren’t blurry though—or not blurry enough—and I have to unfocus my eyes until they kinda fade into the background as they all go back to the party that’s already in full swing.

Bruce yells, “Five!” for me to hear.

I scowl back at him, pushing my way through bodies. “Why the fuck so early? The show doesn’t start ’til eight.” That doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything.

“If you head over now, we can get you both in before fans show up.”

A guy I met a couple nights ago, and who has been sleeping here ever since, passes me a bong with a bowl loaded with green. I take it from him, pulling a lighter from my pocket. I don’t know his name, only that he’s along for the ride now. Just like the rest of them.

“Let Collette do her thing first, and I’ll catch her when I get there.” I wave him off, but he doesn’t leave right away, so I gotta look over at him while bringing the bong up to my mouth. What the fuck does he want now?

Probably what everybody wants—more.

“When will that be?”

A handful of women I’ve never seen before board the bus, making me blank on whatever the fuck Bruce just asked. When is what?

Why is he still here? Doesn’t he have something to do?

He snaps his fingers in front of my face, and I groan, telling him, “I don’t know, man. When do you need me?”

“Now. Right now.”

One of the new chicks catches my eye, revealing piercings in her dimples when she smiles. Dimple piercings? How the fuck am I supposed to concentrate now?