Beyond trying to stay away from Sam, I’m also buttass tired. The T-shirts, hats, and CDs arrived early this afternoon, which meant that I ran a booth before and after Luminescent Juliet went onstage. Romeo paid Mike from the stage crew to help me set up and tear down the booth, which was nice. But it was impossible not to notice that the other bands’ booths were way busier and had about four times the amount of staff ours did. After hours of sales, Mike helped me pack up the remaining gear in big plastic totes. Then I watched the other bands with Riley and Allie while the guys were busy backstage with local media interviews. Riley offered to come with me to the bus so I could change. After changing out of my Luminescent Juliet T-shirt and into a beaded tank, and slipping on high-heeled sandals, I started cleaning.
Truly, Gary shouldn’t have to pick up this mess.
We finish straightening up the bus, pour beers into plastic cups, and go. Riley goes on and on about how awesome the band sounded, especially Romeo and Gabe, for the entire walk to the bar. Since I caught only about fifteen minutes of the show, and was taking pictures that entire time, all I can do is nod. From what I heard, yeah, they were good as usual.
When we arrive at the bar, it’s packed. Framed pictures of historical New Orleans cover every inch of the walls. The ceiling is tin, and it has an antique feel. There are old wooden booths around the edges of the space and a huge ancient bar in the middle. Bob Marley’s “Stir It Up” blares over the talking and shouting. We shove through the throng and spot our people behind a row of bouncers who don’t let us in until Riley catches Romeo’s eye. He leads us past the other bands’ tables—the guys from Griff are loud and rambunctious while the Brookfield guys are much more subdued—to a table in the far corner, where I see Allie, the band members, and, naturally, a handful of scantily dressed women I don’t know.
Without success, I try to keep my gaze from the far end of the table, where Sam sits with a dark-haired woman. His stage look is rocker sexy, and I can’t help but notice how his fitted T-shirt shows off his muscular biceps. The cute disheveled college boy thing he usually pulls off with his shorts and flip-flops on the bus is totally different from this. He’s a chameleon.
He’s laughing with the girl next to him until he looks up and notices me staring. His laughter instantly dies. His eyes burn into me for a long, agonizing moment, until his attention returns to the woman next to him. She glances at me, then scoots closer to him. A spike of unwanted irritation shoots through me. It’s merely irritation, I tell myself. Nothing else. I. Am. Not . . . Shit! The irritation flowing through me does feel a lot like jealousy. Now irritated with myself, I try to concentrate on anything but Sam and the girl across the table.
On one side of me, Riley and Romeo are nose to nose. On the other side of me, women surround Gabe. A server comes and I order a Diet Coke, wishing I were back at the hotel instead of here. However, walking across the French Quarter at midnight alone is a pretty stupid idea.
By the time my drink arrives, I’m coming close to dying of boredom and irritation. The brunette is now on Sam’s lap. Her huge chest is inches from his chin. Ugh. I get up, seriously considering walking back by myself. Just as I’m about to pass the line of bouncers, Rick, the guitarist from Griff, is at my side.
“Hey, Peyton,” he says loudly over the music. “I haven’t seen you around lately. Missed you at dinner last night.”
“Been busy.” Over Rick’s shoulder, I see the girl wrapping her hand around the back of Sam’s neck.
Rick inches closer, his fingers brushing my shoulder where a strap usually is. “No camera tonight? Means you’re off, right?”
The brunette’s other hand disappears under the table and Sam grins. I force myself to look at Rick. “Yeah, I’m off.”
“Buy you a drink?”
I pause, looking him over. Although not classically handsome like Sam, he has that lean, dark-haired rocker look that makes fan girls swoon. In my peripheral vision, I catch sight of Sam sliding his hand down the girl’s bare back. “Sure.”
Rick calls a waitress over and whispers something in her ear. He turns back to me. “How’s the Big Easy been treating you?”
It’s turning me into a confused piece of shit. “All right.”
“All right? That’s it?” He leans closer. “You should let me show you the town. Tonight. This town never sleeps.”
It’s pretty clear Rick would be showing me more than the town. “But I need to sleep.”
He grins. “You’ve got the whole day to sleep away, baby.”
Luckily, before I have time to comment, the waitress reappears and hands me an orange-colored cocktail in a tall glass. “What is this?”
“See if you can guess.”
The girl in Sam’s lap is now biting his earlobe. I take a long sip. It tastes like fruit juice and some kind of alcohol. “Mai tai?”
He cocks his head and an earring dangles. “Close. A zombie.” He smiles. “Very similar, though.”
I sip my drink and he keeps talking about different bars, about jazz bands, about taking me out, and about how this could be the best night of our life. Bored, I drain my drink. Rick orders me another amid his bragging about all his connections in this city. A half hour passes as I nod every now and then, not really listening, paying more attention to the scene to the left of us. Sam and his lady friend keep touching until their display has me feeling slightly sick.
The more they touch, the sicker I feel. My stomach starts to roll. It feels like I ate every dessert on Tony’s Italian menu and then downed a thick cream soda. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. The loud bar is getting stuffier by the second. I stand up and immediately start to weave, my heels making my balance worse, and Rick catches me by the hip and wraps an arm around me. I set my second empty glass on the edge of the nearest table before it slips from my hand.
“You ready to go?” he whispers in my ear.
I shake my head. I’m ready to puke. I don’t know if it’s from the drinks or Sam’s PDA, but I’m really, really woozy. I try to pull away. Rick yanks me closer. My stomach reels more at the sweaty smell of him.
His fingers dig into my waist. “Come on. You’ll never have a hotter time.”
Again, I shake my head and try to push away. His other arm wraps around me.
Suddenly, Sam is next to us. “Peyton? You okay?”
I shake my head. My stomach is seriously rolling now. “Need to go,” I somehow get out.
“We were just leaving,” Rick sneers at Sam.
My stomach heaves as Sam studies me, brows lowering. “Bath-room,” I murmur.
Rick tries to snatch me away. Sam pushes his arm. I’m a human wishbone between them.
Sam now shoves at Rick. “I should let her puke on you, you stupid fuck,” he snarls.
While Sam wraps his arm around me, Rick glances down at me with wide, horrified eyes and practically jumps away. Sam drags me beyond the maze of tables and out a side door. I make it to the curb as my insides eject a gush of acidic liquid fruit and alcohol. Sam holds both my waist, so I don’t fall onto the street, and my hair, so it doesn’t get puked on.
When there’s nothing left but dry heaves, he gently lifts me up. “How much did you drink?” he asks with an edge of anger in his tone.
“Just a beer and two drinks,” I say weakly, leaning on him. I’m beyond embarrassed, and so weak I can barely stand.
“Two drinks?” he asks in a tone of disbelief.
“Rick bought me two . . . zombies,” I say, finally recalling the name of the drink.