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“Guh,” I scoff and roll my eyes. “Way to go for the jugular,bestie.”
“Hey, this is what I’m here for.” There’s a light chuckle on the other end of the line that has some of the tension fading away. “So Fin, … we like him. We slept with him. How long has it really been?”
“Ummm.”
“Right. A long damn time. So now that you’ve sleptwith him, what are you going to do?”
“God, Aria, I don’t even know.” I pace around in the dirt, kicking small rocks as I reel from the roller coaster of this conversation that is my life. “I know what I want to do, but I don’t think that’s an option.”
My best friend scoffs. “Why the hell not?”
“Because what if he doesn’t love me back?”
“What if he does?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Explosion
Reportsarecominginfrom all across town with the sightings of the smoke cloud forming over the trailer park where a home burst into flames beneath the afternoon sun.
Crews are on site battling the blaze now at what reports are calling the known drug house.
Was this an accident or was someone after their goods?
Check back for more information in just a little bit.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Fin
Withaswimmingheadand a complete lack of anything but static from the thing beating in my chest, I step up on the stage and prepare to muddle through this show with enough enthusiasm to get it over with.
For the first time in my career as a musician, I am dreading the sight of the titty flashing, the moshing and the gathering to get as close as possible.
For the first time ever,I’d rather be anywhere but here.
And I don’t like that.
Somewhere around half of Toby’s bottle, I called Peach. I don’t entirely remember what I said, but I know that I asked him to find her.
We should have just finished it.
My mind works overtime with the whys and the whats despite my best attempt to distract it, to numb it, and hope to forget.
Even the barely dressed chicks in the crowd that bounce and get those around them amped up have lost every bit of the appeal they once had.
I don’t want to see them.
I want Cedar.
Pulling in a deep breath that expands the ache in my chest that even the liquor couldn’t completely touch, I hover my hand over the neck of my cherry red Manson MB-2.
The stand is just off the side of the stage where I left it next to my main show piece. Another Manson. Another red one.
But it’s not that one.
The moment my fingers graze the ebony neck of the MB-2, I lift the piece from the rack and shrug the strap across my torso that pumps with a thumping heartbeat. Stalking with a gritted jaw, I take my place beside Rex on stage right and jam an extra pick between my gritted teeth.
