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Joel
Damn, this beer is watered down. And it still tastes like shit.
I fight my grimace.
The bartender is staring at me like I'm the second coming of Jesus.
He's going on about how much he loves Dangerous Noise.
How he's a drummer too.
The second sip isn't as bad. The third is almost tolerable.
Fuck it.
I down half the glass then offer the guy my best plastered on smile.
The bartender grins. "You do live up to your reputation."
Right. I'm Joel Young, life of the party, the guy who drinks and fucks until he passes out.
The guy who always makes a joke.
Always laughs shit off.
I keep my voice that floaty tone. "I aim to please."
He motions to a blond woman in a tight dress. She's eying me with desire, but I can't tell if it's oooh, celebrity trophy or I want the anonymous hottie in my bed right away.
He grabs another glass and fills it from the tap. "This one is on me."
"That's all right." I tilt my head back to finish my beer. It's only a notch better than sewer water, but, hey, I'm Joel Young, life of the party.
I don't turn down free beer.
I chug the second glass and leave the guy two twenties.
Two beers and I'm barely feeling a buzz. But then a buzz isn't what I want tonight.
There are only three places where the world makes sense. My drum kit is hundreds of miles away. I'm sore from this morning's workout.
That means I need a beautiful woman in my bed.
Her legs spread.
Her eyes filled with desire.
Her lips parting as my name rolls off her tongue.
That makes sense.
This is a Las Vegas club. It's not packed a week before Christmas, but it's busy enough. The music is pounding. The dance floor is throbbing. And the women are here for the same reason I am.
I cut through the crowd.
The blond woman follows.
Her fingers curl around my forearm then hold tight.
