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With her drink in hand, her eyes scan the crowded bar. “Eddie said this pub was on the corner of Drunk and Loser. I’d say it’s on the corner of Getting Over and Your Ex.”
“I think your jokes are becoming as bad as Adam’s.”
“That’s impossible. Adam’s cheese-level is off the charts.” She grimaces as if she’s in pain. “You have such a cool boyfriend. Why did I get the cheating douche-nozzle? Do I deserve this?”
Oh, no. She hasn’t even taken her first sip and I already sense a drunken meltdown coming.
“Don’t even think something like that. You always said there was something a little off about Eddie. Remember the time he asked you to do that thing in the shower?”
I can’t even say it aloud. It’s too gross.
“All guys have at least one weird fetish,” she says, looking a bit hurt that I’ve insulted Eddie.
I want to tell her that Adam doesn’t have any weird fetishes, that I know of, but it seems I’m going to be standing on the corner of Eddie is a Douche-nozzle and Eddie is a God tonight. I lean my back against the bar and consider ordering a water, when a hand waving in the distance catches my attention. It’s Tristan, Chris’s bass player, best friend, and an even bigger douche-nozzle than Eddie. He’s sitting at a booth with his arm around a blonde that looks somewhat familiar, like I’ve had her in a class or something.
“Is that Tristan?” Senia asks.
Tristan tried to hook up with Senia at a Memorial Day barbecue last year. Tristan, who can drink more than anyone I know without getting drunk, didn’t hesitate to challenge Senia to a game of Quarters. And they almost had sloppy sex on the bathroom counter until Senia threw up on his shoulder.
“Let’s go say hi,” Senia says as she grabs my arm and hauls me through the crowd.
As we approach, Tristan’s gray eyes are locked on my face. Tristan has always made me uncomfortable. When Chris and I were together, I would often catch him staring at me when Chris wasn’t around. The problem with Tristan is that he doesn’t stare at girls when he wants to fuck them. He’s only been in one serious relationship since I’ve known him. When we were seventeen, Ashley and Tristan were together for over a year until she crushed his heart. I used to catch him staring at her the way I’ve often caught him staring at me. Chris once noticed it and nearly beat the shit out of him. I guess Chris isn’t around tonight.
“Hello, Claire,” Tristan says in a smooth voice that’s just barely tinged with a New England accent from the first twelve years of his life spent in Maine. He removes his arm from around the blonde’s shoulders and runs his hand through his light-brown shoulder-length hair before he turns to Senia. “I remember you. How many of those have you had tonight?” he asks, glancing at the drink in Senia’s hand.
“First one, but I’m willing to let you buy me another,” Senia responds.
The blonde glares at Senia and the bad feeling I had about this bar just keeps growing.
“Hey, Tristan, why don’t you introduce us to your friends,” I say.
Tristan cocks an eyebrow as he stares at me and I try not to make a rude comment. As hot as Tristan is, I’ve never seen him as anything more than Chris’s friend, someone that I have to put up with.
“Claire, this is Julie,” he says, nodding at the blonde on his left. “And these two sexy beasts are Ben and Abby.”
My eyes widen at the mention of the name Abby. It’s a common name, but just hearing it makes me long for Abigail even more.
Ben is sweet looking but sort of scrawny with messy brown bedhead hair and Abby is beautiful with her understated makeup and glossy brown curls pulled up into a perfectly tousled ponytail. They both smile and nod their heads.
Tristan asks Julie to scoot over so I can sit next to him, but I quickly take the seat next to Ben and Abby so Senia can sit next to Tristan. Tristan casts a knowing glare in my direction and I roll my eyes so he knows I’m not impressed. Chris and I may not be together, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to jump on Tristan’s bandwagon.
“Chris didn’t want to come out with us tonight,” Tristan says, a slightly bitter tone in his voice as if I’m responsible. “He had other plans.”
I know Chris is in London, but I’ll play along. He’s trying to make me jealous, like I care if Chris is out with another girl.
“That’s too bad. Sounds as if he went solo tonight,” I reply. I’m not sure if Tristan has gotten over Chris going solo last year, but judging by the unimpressed look on his face, I hit a nerve.
He quickly recovers and smiles at me, the same smile he uses on stage to make the girls swoon. Chris has his own smile he uses on stage. He calls it his “crowd smile.” Chris’s crowd smile is a warm grin that tugs the left side of his mouth up just a bit further than the right. Tristan’s version is a bit more subtle, but just as sexy.
I manage to ignore his stares and taunts for the next hour as everyone on his side of the booth gets shitfaced drunk. Ben, Abby, and I watch in a combination of amusement and horror as Tristan alternates between sloppily making out with Julie and whispering in Senia’s ear. Senia smiles in response and slides out of the booth.
It’s time for me to intervene.
I grab her wrist as Tristan slides out of the booth after her. “You cannot go anywhere with him.”
“Chill out. He’s just escorting me to the restroom.”
“I can do that,” I say as I slide out of the booth.
Senia throws me a look like I’m being a total buzzkill. I don’t want to let her go anywhere with him. The last thing she needs right now is another heartbreak. But maybe she just needs to get this out of her system. Having meaningless sex after a breakup seems to be a ritual we’ve all come to accept as normal.
I sit back down and Julie’s head is resting on top of the table. She’s passed out. I would sit next to her so that Abby and Ben aren’t squished together, but I’m afraid of what will happen if she wakes up and finds Tristan gone.
About fifteen minutes later, Tristan returns without Senia. He slides into the booth as if nothing happened.
“Where’s Senia?”
“Is that her name?” Tristan replies, looking completely bored. “She’s still in the restroom.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I mutter as I leave and barrel through the crowd toward the restroom sign in the corner.
I make it to the door with the gold handle and shove it open. Four girls are standing in front of the mirror washing their hands and fixing their makeup and all the stalls are occupied.
“Senia?”
“What?” she calls back, and I can tell she’s crying.
I knock on the door of the stall and she fumbles with the latch before it opens. She’s sitting on the toilet, fully-clothed, with a giant wad of toilet paper in her hands. Almost all her makeup is gone and caked on the toilet paper as tears stream continuously down her face.
I lock the door behind me and kneel down in front of her. “What happened? Did Tristan do something to you?”
She laughs then blows her nose. “I was so ready to do it,” she slurs, “but I just kept thinking, ‘That’s not how Eddie would kiss me. That’s not how Eddie would touch me.’ Then I started crying and he left. Totally pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic,” I say as I grab a clean bunch of toilet paper off the roll and exchange it for the filthy wad in her hands. “You and Eddie loved each other. Even if he did turn out to be a royal asshole, I know he loved you in his own way. It’s okay to feel lost right now, but you’re beautiful and smart and you will find someone else. And not Tristan, who’s an even bigger asshole than Eddie.”
“Ugh. He is. But I must admit that he has a bigger… bass than Eddie.”
“See? You’re still cracking jokes. You’re gonna be just fine.”
She chuckles as she wipes off the rest of her eye makeup then looks up at me. “He said something horrible to me.”
“Who said something horrible?”
“Tristan. He said, ‘I
guess you’ll do.’”
“He said that to you?!” I stand up, ready to storm out of the stall and give that douche a piece of my mind, but Senia grabs my arm.
“No, you can’t say anything.”
“Why?”
She grimaces as she replies, “I think he was talking about you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of here before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”
Chapter Three
Chris
THIS IS MY SECOND TIME in London, and I never travel with a bodyguard overseas, but I think that policy has officially changed.
As soon as I step out of the cab in front of the hotel on Warwick, I’m swarmed by five girls who are waiting for me at 7:30 a.m. Tristan and Jake didn’t come with me to play this gig in London. I booked this show for one reason and it has nothing to do with the current tour or my UK fans.
I sign autographs for them while a girl with teased hair and too much eye shadow gently squeezes my bicep. Why do girls wear so much fucking makeup? I wonder if she put all that shit on her face before she came here thinking it would impress me. Another girl with auburn hair gazes at me with a dazed expression as I sign a picture of me she obviously ripped out of a magazine. I hand the picture back to her and she smiles.
“I love you so much,” she says in a breathy English accent. “Relentless is my favorite song of all time.”
This shit gets old. How do you pretend to be excited to hear the same phrase you’ve heard a million times before? I’m a musician, not a fucking actor.
