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Wearing her hair in a messy topknot that looked like it had been caught in a hurricane, she grinned eagerly, as she pulled down her thigh-high denim skirt and slid on the linoleum floor in a pair of what looked like fluffy bed socks.
"Yay, another female to keep me company," she exclaimed excitedly.
"Billie's not here to keep you company, Sherry," Sawyer snapped. My eyes darted toward him, stunned by his angry tone, and I immediately felt sorry for the girl.
"It's Cherri, not Sherry," she said, correcting Sawyer in a singsong kind of tone. "Like the fruit not the drink, but with an I not a Y."
Sawyer stared her down like he was witnessing a horror movie scene, then his eyes softened. "Whatever," he answered, letting his thought go as he picked up the pepperoni pizza slice. He crammed a huge piece into his mouth and glanced up when a stereotypical rocker-looking guy staggered into view.
Looking disheveled, he was dressed in the clichéd rock and roll getup of an unbuttoned shirt, his fly half undone and sporting a tattoo designed to get attention. Not in an 'it's-an-amazing-piece-of-artwork' way, more of an I-don't-know-what-it-is one.
No one had to explain the nickname he'd been given. The guy had way too much hair for one head.
Slowly, he shuffled over to the boxes, constantly sniffing, and sloppily slapped some pizza slices onto a plate. I was grossed out when I noticed him licking and sucking his fingers as he went, I felt glad Sawyer had already given us our food.
Having filled his plate, he padded over and dumped his plate on the table, pizza barely staying on the flimsy plate, and scowled at his worried-looking girl.
"Get the fuck out of there," he demanded, gesturing to her to get out of the booth. Cherri looked first at us then up at him. A small nervous smile curved her lips. When the guy growled, her smile quickly faded.
"What's the matter, honey?" she asked, her brows bunched in concern, her tone sickly sweet.
"Get the fuck out. I want to sit down."
"There's plenty of room," she advised, scooting further over and up against the bus window. "Can I have some pizza?" she pleaded, her eyes glinting in adoration at the greasy looking man.
"Sure, but do I look like a fucking servant to you? You wanna eat around here, you help yourself. This ain't no fucking hotel." I had thought Sawyer's other two bandmates were rude, but I hated bandmate number four after the way the unkempt moron had spoken to his girl.
After another uncertain look, she decided he wasn't going to budge on his decision and worked her ass along the fitted seating until she was clear of the booth.
I watched her as she moved slowly toward the boxes of pizza before I glanced back toward the disheveled bandmate, who flopped himself carelessly into the booth and slouched with one arm guarding his plate. He looked like a prison inmate.
"Get me a beer from the fridge," he barked at the girl, who immediately stopped what she was doing and did what he asked.
"Which kind do you want?" she asked, far more pleasant than I would have done. Had he spoken to me the way he interacted with her, introverted or not, he'd have been wearing the beer.
"Fuck sake," he muttered under his breath, "you're fucking irritating me now."
"Enough," Sawyer barked. "Don't get him anything." He scowled angrily at his bandmate. "Get off your lazy ass and get it yourself."
"What the fuck business is it of yours anyway? Mind your own dude, and anyway, figured you'd have been too busy fucking your mom here to eat."
Sawyer's hand shot out before I could blink and grabbed the ignorant guy by the throat. Wiggy's face immediately turned a dark puce color. Dropping the pizza, his hand still covered in grease, he covered Sawyer's hand on this throat with his own while the other tapped at Sawyer's forearm in a silent sign of submission for Sawyer to let him go.
"Sawyer," I shouted, suddenly scared for the guy.
Loosening his grip but without releasing him totally, Sawyer barked again, "Apologize."
"What the fu …" His words were choked off again until Sawyer was sure his bandmate was going to control himself. Once Sawyer let go, there was no trace of the aggressive alpha male Sawyer had portrayed to protect me.
"Sorry. That was uncalled for," Wiggy muttered. I silently agreed, but his comment had been aired and his opinion noted. I couldn't unhear what he'd said, and his words had cut me to the quick.
"Eat," Sawyer told him before turning to the young girl. "Sherry, no more beer. He's already had too much of something." A growl tore from his throat in response to Sawyer's instruction, which earned Wiggy another scowl. Sitting silently, I almost laughed when he started to huff and move around in his seat like a petulant teenager. Sawyer slapped his hand hard in front of his plate. "Move," Sawyer growled.
"Sawyer?" I asked, not liking how the situation was developing between them. Sawyer held up his hand to silence me.
"Wiggy, I warned you, did I not?" Even though the circumstance was potentially volatile, I couldn't stop myself chuckling at the perfect nickname chosen for him. I quickly turned this into a cough while I tried to compose myself again.
Glancing over at Cherri, I instantly felt sorry for her. It was clear she adored the meathead sitting opposite me, but she looked neglected and was still only a kid.
