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After I wash up in the bathroom, I find a seat on one of the rest stop's benches. This would be a cute place for a picnic if it wasn't a spot for people to piss on the way home from Vegas.
My phone buzzes with a new text from Kit.
Kit: You're fucking with me. You did not get married.
I take a photo of my left hand and send it to him. I'm well known for fucking with people, especially with Kit. The bassist has been my best friend since we were kids. Hell, the only reason why he plays the bass at all is that I persuaded him to join me in the rhythm section.
If he'd been into soccer or chess or something, there would not be a Dangerous Noise.
We've been through a lot of shit together. I trust him. I trust him more than I trust anyone. Even so, I'm not sure if he's asking this to test me or because he's curious.
Kit: What's her name?
Joel: Bella Chase.
Kit: Sounds like a fake name.
Joel: I know shit about her. She's from New York. She's smart. And uptight. She loves to read. And she's pretty. Long, dark hair. These brown eyes with flecks of honey. Huge tits.
Kit: That's your wife.
Joel: My wife has nice tits.
Kit: I can tell you really respect her.
Joel: Oh, and you never say Piper has nice tits?
Kit: Point taken.
Joel: I'm trying not to steal your thunder here.
"Hi, um, are you… are you really Joel Young?" A voice asks. It's young, male.
I look up. A teenage boy is staring at me with adoration. Between his tattered jeans, his messy hair, and his leather jacket, he's rocking the wannabe punk vibe.
I nod. "That's me."
His eyes go wide. "I'm a drummer too. Well, not like you, but one day… that song Love or Lie is legendary. This is so cool."
I can't help but smile. It's one thing when someone likes our music. It's another when someone actually models his life after mine. I never get used to the pride. And the responsibility. "What's your name?"
"E… Er… Eric." He pulls out his cell phone. "Shoot, I don't have any CDs, but do you think you could sign this?"
/> "Sure, I have a marker in the car."
He looks to the parking lot, scanning every auto there.
"It's the limo," I tease.
"Right. Of course." His smile is doofy.
I like this kid. He didn't even think to look at the limo. Status doesn't matter to him. Money doesn't matter to him.
Music is what matters.
Sure, he's twelve or maybe thirteen. He has plenty of time to get hung up on status. But it's still good to see someone who plays for the love of it.
I push myself to my feet. My eyes catch Bella's. She's making her way back to the limo. Her long hair is still tied up in that tight bun, but she's no longer wearing a sweater over her button up shirt. And fuck do those buttons not get along with her tits. The top three are undone, and the next two are struggling.
