Page 78 of Revelry

I sit in a booth and I shake until my dog is delivered, and then I shake some more. My Coke has too much ice, which does nothing for the way I’m trembling. There’s no way she could have known anything was happening. I mean, it’s just a lucky guess, right? The press had been blowing up a possible Ménage angle between Coop, Levi and me since we were papped in Vegas. An overzealous photographer had snapped a picture of Levi and me in the lobby, taken from behind as he pinched my arse on the way to the elevator. That, along with shots of me and Cooper had been splashed all over the cover of a gossip magazine—but now the images were showing up on social media and various Taint fan-sites too.

The paparazzi had snapped a picture of Cooper and me attempting to leave the MGM Grand in Vegas, then they’d taken several more of us inside the lobby. His hands had been on my shoulders as he’d begged me to help him escape being a celebrity for one night.

I stare down at my uneaten hot dog, hating to waste food because several weeks ago I would have given my left tit for a meal this size. I’d been starving, homeless, I didn’t know where my next meal was coming from, and I would have finished every bite of that damn hot dog. I pick it up and as I’m biting down on the dog, a flash goes off. Sauce and mustard fly out the other end, squirting onto my hand and I blink back stunned stars.What the fuck? Why would someone snap me eating a hot dog? People are such arseholes.

When the starburst finally clears, a small girl with purple and black emo hair smiles sweetly at me as her and a friend saunter off talking animatedly over her phone.Fucking children. I wipe the sauce from my fingers and set the rest of the hot dog back in its basket, then I leave and wander further down the street to a bar, where I pay a ten-dollar cover charge to see some shitty band, but I pay gladly because I miss this. I used to drag Brad to see live gigs all the time. He went mostly for the booze and because he knew I wouldn’t shut up about it.

I take a seat at the bar and order a beer. Americans drink their beer at least 10 degrees warmer than they have a right to—it kinda makes everything taste like piss—but so far I’ve found a few good dark ambers that I can swallow. It’s nothing like a Toohey’s, of course, but when in Rome …

I tap my foot along to the beat and think about my Grams. She’d be proud of where I am, or at least she’d be proud of the fact that I was in America, somewhere I’d always wanted to go. I’m not sure she’d be so proud of the fact that I was sleeping with two rock stars, but Grams was young once. She may not have understood it, but she’d accept it because they make me happy. Or … sometimes they make me happy.

I glance back at the stage. The lead singer wears a baseball cap. That’s his first mistake, right there, but he has charisma. He’s no Cooper Ryan, but he has a cute smile. The crowd claps half-heartedly as he comes off-stage and heads for the bar. Even the pretty blonde bartender looks bored when the guy leans over and asks for a drink. The singer’s gaze rolls over me, and he leans against the bar and watches me drink my beer.

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

I laugh, because I don’t know what it is about me that attracts his type. Is it the lucky red Cons? The red hair I can’t be bothered dying? Or is it the fact that I’m so completely oblivious to the supposed swagger of rock stars that it makes me seem unattainable and therefore like someone they should pursue?

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

I raise my plastic cup to him. “I already have a drink, sorry. I’m sure you’re a really sweet guy.”

“Not that sweet,” he says, and he attempts to smirk. The only thing that pisses me off more than a smirk is a bad smirk.A smirk that doesn’t work.

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asks.

“No, I’m not. That’s a keen observation though.”

“Where are you from?”

“Australia,” I reply, and skull the remainder of my beer.

“Well then, Australia, now that you’re finished, you gonna let me buy you that drink or not?”

“No, I’m really not,” I say, and stand up from the stool. “To be honest, I already have way more rock star than I know what to do with. So thank you, but no thank you.”

Realisation dawns on his face. “Wait, you’re the redhead.”

“I am a redhead, yes, again, very keen observation.”

“I saw your video.”

“What video? What are you talking about?”

“The video with you, Cooper Ryan and Levi Quinn.” He arches a brow at me and prompts, “In the elevator?”

The blood drains from my face. I feel it. There one minute, and gone the next. I stagger a little on the spot, and Smirky grabs my elbow to steady me. “That was you, wasn’t it? Fuck that shit was hot. You know, if you want a future in porn I know someone.”

Oh my god. I sit down hard on the stool and he grins at me. “Wait till I tell Mikey about this. Hey Mike!” he screams across the bar to the stage. “I found the redhead.”

Everyone in hearing distance turns to look at me, and I shoot up from my seat, sprinting from the venue. I run as fast as my feet will take me, and I have no idea where I am, but the streets are dark and I think I’m in a less than desirable neighbourhood because the buildings all around me are run-down, some with missing windows, some completely picked bare of building materials that might have been of a use to someone.

My phone rings, the shrill sound echoing into the empty street, but I ignore it in place of bending over and vomiting on the pavement. And all over my lucky red Cons, which aren’t so lucky any more, it would seem. My phone rings out and then starts up again immediately. I let it ring as I bend over, clutching my stomach, trying to rid my body of the bile, and then, because my day couldn’t quite get shit enough, it starts to pour. Fat raindrops hit my face and body.

This time, when the phone rings I answer it. “What?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Coop says.

“I don’t know.”

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