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Chapter Two
Levi
I scan the faces in the crowd, but don’t see the one I’m looking for. Dozens of half-drunk girls are swaying along to the music we play, singing every note. There was a time when seeing their lustful eyes, watching me play, was the biggest high ever. And it is, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that things might have changed.
Playing with Crush is fun, but it’s not what I live for anymore. It’s a way to unwind after a long-ass workweek. If I’m not on the rig, working as an EMT for Jupiter Bay Hospital, then I’m at the station as a volunteer firefighter. Both are an adrenaline rush that I crave. Just like playing in the band has been.
But now things are different. I’m getting older, and hopefully wiser. Yes, I know I’m only twenty-five, but back when we started six years ago, it was all about the music, booze, and girls. And there were plenty to go around, believe me. Now, it’s still the music, but it doesn’t own my heart the way it used to. There’s still plenty of the other two. Most places we play give us free drinks, and most women we meet are ready for a little one-on-one time with someone in the band. Oh, and I used to take full advantage of it, all that I could. Girls were practically handing it out like cocktail napkins at a party. But lately, I’m just not looking for a quick hookup. Does that make sense?
I guess I’m just getting tired of all this bullshit.
My band mates say I should be having the time of my life, living up the fame that comes with being a small town, local musician. Oh, and I do, believe me. I get passed more phone numbers than a phonebook everywhere I go. Blonds, brunettes, redheads of all shapes and sizes. Thongs, double D’s, black mascara, and stilettos. I have my pick of the party everywhere we play, but lately, they’re just not doing it for me.
We’re getting closer to a break, and damn, could I use one. I need some water to rehydrate, and I wouldn’t mind finding Abby. I haven’t seen her since the sun set and we started to play. She was out on the poorly lit Frisbee golf course with her sisters, enjoying another night with the girls. It kinda makes me jealous that they’re so close, especially because my only sibling is a brother who doesn’t live around here anymore. He’s super smart, went off to college, and now lives in New York, raking in the dough for a finance firm.
Much smarter than me, that’s for sure. He’s all straight-laced and proper, and I’m all tattoos, piercings, and rock music. Sure, I went to the community college and worked hard to be an EMT. Those classes were fucking brutal for someone who hated school, especially when you mix in volunteering for the local fire department AND playing in a band. But I made it through.
Some nights, I wasn’t sure how. I’d call Abs who was away at State. Sometimes when my mind gets going in fourteen different fucking directions, I need to hear her voice. It grounds me, soothes the turmoil brewing in my head. That’s why, after almost fifteen years of friendship, she remains the only constant in my life. Well, besides my job and my parents. Abby is the one person who knows me, inside and out, and doesn’t give a shit that I sometimes transpose letters when reading or that I can’t balance my checkbook to save my life. She doesn’t care about my status in the band or how great my ass looks in my uniform pants. (Don’t judge–I hear it all the time.) She’s one of the only girls to know I cook and bake better than Martha fucking Stewart and that I make my own laundry soap.
I know you’re wondering, so I’ll tell you. The whole laundry soap thing happened after Abby talked about having sensitive skin and how difficult it was to find a laundry soap that didn’t make her break out. Do you know the kinda shit they have on Pinterest? Well, I found this recipe for this do-it-yourself laundry soap. Long story short, it worked so well for her–and smelled so fucking clean–that I use it myself to this day.
She’s my rock, my constant, my best friend, if it’s okay for dudes to say they have one. But she is, dammit, and I can’t imagine my life without her.
And she’s out there somewhere in the night, I can feel it.
When we finish our set, I put down my guitar and jump off the hay wagon we’re using as our beachside stage. We’ve played many shows atop this wooden beast over the years, that’s for sure. As soon as I head towards the cooler and start digging for a bottle of water, I feel long, slender fingers slide up my back and wrap around my shoulder. I don’t know who it is, but I can tell you who it isn’t. Abby would never touch me like this, even though part of me wouldn’t mind that one fuckin’ bit. Just the thought of her fingers –
No. I will not go there.
“Hey, handsome,” the owner of the hand purrs in my ear. Her body is now pressed against my back, ample tits smashed against me. I can feel nipples through the material of my shirt, which doesn’t bother me much, since I am a red-blooded, heterosexual male.
Turning around, I come face to face with the owner of the hand. Ahh, yes. I’ve had those hands on me before. “Crystal,” I croon in a deep voice. “Lovely to see you this evening.”
Her hand slides from my shoulder, down my chest, and lands on my abs. Apparently, she doesn’t care that I’m a bit sweaty from playing. Instead, it seems to only wind her clock that much more. “I’d let you see a lot more of me later tonight,” she replies with a coy smile.
I bet she would.
“Ahh, thanks for the offer, darlin’. I’ll see how my night goes and get back to ya,” I answer without committing. She keeps her hand on me, running a single finger down towards the button of my pants.
“We had such a great time before,” she coos while biting her lower lip.
“That we did,” I respond, even though nothing really stood out from our night together. Unfortunately, those kinda nights were more frequent than not. Booze and music would take hold and leave me a little on the wasted side by the end of the gig. Those were the nights where the girls all blended together into one big wild, drunken night. Well, probably about two years’ worth of nights. Fine, call it three.
“We could have some fun again,” she says, her finger dipping into the top of my pants.
A year ago, my dick would have already been hard and ready to play. Tonight? I just want to grab some water and head over to find my friend. How pathetic am I?
“Ahhh, maybe later, sweetheart. I gotta run and catch a friend,” I tell her with a wink. She practically orgasms from that one little action. I’ve learned to perfect the wink since I was a horny teenager. My band mates call it The Panty Dropper. Yeah, we’re dicks. What can I say?
“Levi,” she whines, pouting to the extreme. Crystal actually sticks out her bottom lip, silently pleading for me to take her behind the hay wagon and give it to her right now. Ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.
“Yeah, maybe later,” I say, taking a step back and dislodging her finger from my pants. I take one, then two steps backwards before turning towards the beach. “See ya later,” I throw over my shoulder as I step into the crowd and start looking for my girl.
No.
Not my girl.
My friend.
