Page 179 of The Comedown

“You won’t.” I give her a soft peck, then sit in the seat reserved for her. With a smirk, I tell her, “Your throne awaits,” gesturing to my lap.

“Thirty seconds,” blasts through the auditorium’s speakers. “Clear the front, please. Thirty seconds.”

“Mr. Julez, if you’ll please follow me.”

Neither of us acknowledge the usher as I help get Collette comfortable on the tops of my thighs without the slits in her dress flashing anybody what’s underneath.

“Twenty seconds. Clear the front. Twenty seconds.”

All settled, Collette glances at the awkward, obviously-not-paid-enough-for-this-shit usher, daring him to argue first, then Bodee.

My smile reappears, growing wider. Damn. Glad to see her with some of that spark again. Ever since Bodee blindsided her at the beach, she hasn’t been completely herself, at least not the version I’ve seen all tour.

“Thanks, man. We’re all set here,” I tell the usher, and he finally moves to leave, plucking the folded twenty from my fingers as he goes.

Holter drops into the seat next to us, and chuckles. “You guys are crazy. The people behind you can’t even see the show.”

Collette mumbles, “Which one?”

On the other side of Holter, Bodee’s talking with another country singer, and he lets out an obnoxious-as-all-fuck laugh that’s so fake it should come with a warning label from the FDA.

“Ten seconds!”

Even busy memorizing the feel of Collette’s back pressed to my chest and her ass split over my cock, I still notice the way everyone around us is breaking their necks to gawk at our untraditional position. Everyone I catch, I nod at, watching their eyes fall over me suspiciously before moving to Collette seated on top of me. I don’t know what the fuck their problems are honestly. The worst of my tats are covered by my sleeves, and I’m not even being graphic despite the smell of my girlfriend’s pussy reaction to my cock being so close is tempting the absolute fuck out of me right now.

Whatever. They better get a good look while they can ’cause after this, I ain’t coming back. I won’t be allowed.

A shot of something that feels like adrenaline but sadder runs through my veins.

I ignore the way it makes my muscles ache, and taking a deep breath, I try to focus on Collette and Holter’s hands clasped together on top of my wrist, hoping it’ll warm me straight through and burn off whatever the hell’s invading my body.

The program begins with the host’s long-winded introduction, then a follow-up performance from a punk rock band, but all I can think about is how bad I want to rotate my arm and hold on to both Holter and Collette—forever.

More of that feeling fills my limbs, curling my fingers around the armrests until my knuckles turn white and my veins bulge.

I can’t back out. This is the only way to free both of us, all of us, including Holter. His dad’s a loser. A fucking criminal. More so than me even.

Most of the drugs I do are legal.

According to Collette, Bodee’s fucked over at least half the people in here. He should be getting the same heat I am right now, but because I appear dangerous, I’m the one attracting all the attention.

Right? That’s why they’re looking at us?

At the next commercial break, I zero in on all the stares aimed in our direction, watching them after they move from me to Collette…to Bodee. The thing is, they don’t just stay as curious stares once they reach him though. They morph into disgusted sneers.

If they all hate him so much, why don’t they do anything about it? Because he’s got judges in his back pocket? Because he’s got the kind of pull to change the seating chart at the biggest award show in music history at the last fucking second?

Yeah to both. A big fucking yeah.

Everybody has something they’re afraid of losing, and Bodee’s sick enough to capitalize on those fears for his own personal gain.

Like Collette. She has the power to destroy Bodee, but she refuses to pull the trigger. In her mind, guns ruin people on both ends, and she’s got too much to lose to even try.

But I don’t. After we leave here, Collette will take off for her next tour, Holter will return home with Mary, and I’ll have exactly what I started out with—nothing.

The cameras start rolling again, and the host announces the next presenters, then two A-list movie stars who dabble in musicals cross the stage to introduce the nominees for the Best Country Album, and to nobody’s surprise, Bodee’s ugly face appears as one of the nominees. I swear he’s grandfathered into that shit or something. I can’t remember a year he hasn’t been nominated.

Now if he’s gonna win or not…I don’t know. His latest album was pure shit, but he does have someone around here by the balls, so maybe.