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I lick my own as I look up into his eyes which, in the light, look almost like a basset hound’s, and there’s now playful mischief dancing in their depths.
“I hope this is okay?” I smile with as much fake confidence as a girl can muster.
He looks down as he takes it. “An Irish red. It looks delicious.”
“I’m more of a wine girl.” I hold up my red cup to show him as the music begins, and what happens? My body and wine go crashing into him. “I’m so sorry.”
Before I can thoroughly inspect the mess on his shirt, he has me turned around, facing the stage, arm snug around my waist again, caging me in protectively.
Lips to my ear, he says, “You don’t come to one of these and not expect to get a little dirty, now do you?”
Seeing my glass is still nearly full, I turn and tilt my head up, wetting my lips once again. “I suppose not.”
The lights begin to dim as he stares down at me, eyes going from mine to my lips and back again. And then the oddest thing happens—a nursery rhyme begins.
“What the hell?” I turn to look at the stage as a girl in a hot-pink skirt and bustier appears onstage, immediately followed by another in electric blue. The next girl is in red, and the last is in black, but she has a hood up, concealing her face. Weird choice since the others are full glam.
As the nursery rhyme mash-up continues, the girl in black does a handshake with the girl in red, reminding me of something from middle school—palm to palm, then grasping thumbs, sliding their hands apart, then wiggling their fingers against each other’s, ending with a hair flip. She then steps to the girl in electric blue. They do the same personalized type of handshake and, at the end, she hip-checks her then moves to the next.
I look over and find Fawna, Dromida, and Francesca doing the same weird handshake. Clearly, I missed out on that kind of cool-crowd thing. I was never popular, but I could outlast anyone in Cat’s Cradle, thanks to my sister and the fact that we never had cable.
I look at Gym Bro, and his lips twist up in amusement as the words, “Are you ready to play?” blast through the speakers.
My eyes widen at this, and he smiles spectacularly. He didn’t miss the innuendo.
“I can’t hear you, Jersey. I asked: are you ready to play?”
The lights begin to change as the instrumental chord moves from a nursery rhyme to a version of a song that’s recognizable enough to me that I could sing along with the chorus.
The girls line up, side by side, as the stage lights up in a kaleidoscope of pinks. One by one, they take their turns asking the question, “Are you ready?” and then pose as the next asks the same.
The lead singer then singsongs, “Are you ready to play?”
The first girl onstage does an interesting introduction. “Maybe yours, but for now, I’m mine. And as you can see, I’m doing single just fine. Are you ready to play?”
The girl in red sings, “Lipstick stains, horns, and flames, get too close, and you’re to blame. Are you ready to play?”
And the next member of the all-girl band, the one in blue sings, “Thunder, lightning, pouring rain. I’m a daddy’s girl. Bet you know his name. Are you ready to play?”
Gym Bro says loudly in my ear, “Her father’s the drummer in STD.”
I turn slightly to look at him, certain I misunderstood that.
Amused, he explains, “STD—Steel Total Destruction, the opening act. How do you not know that?”
“Just moved here. I’m from Texas. If it doesn’t have a twang, it’s not real music,” I call back.
“Well, Red, you’re a Jersey girl now.” He smirks. “These two bands are well known around here. That’s Jersey 101. They might ship you back to Texas if you don’t brush up on the local history.”
The crowd’s noise level rises to a near-deafening roar when the girl in black pulls her hood off. She’s stunning and fairly familiar-looking.
I notice Fawna, Dromida, and Francesca are losing their minds as she does her introduction.
“Known for trysts, twists, and kissing games. I’m all grown up, so that all changed. I kissed one boy, who gave me his name.”
The applause and screams now crescendo past thunderous to something I’m sure will irrevocably change my hearing.
She giggles. Then, in a sexy-as-hell voice, she says, “Are you ready to play?”
