Page 107 of Bad at Love
“I can’t believeI’m at another one of these shows,” Naomi says, taking a tepid sip of her beer, her eyes scanning the crowd. “I’m too old for this shit.”
“You’re supporting your friend,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. “No, I’m supportingyourboyfriend.”
Tonight is Magic 8 Ball’s first show since they got their new keyboardist, the first show since they’ve made a new setlist and the first show I’ve seen as Lazarus Scott’s girlfriend.
It feels pretty good, actually.
Well, except for the fact that he has his fucking groupies that keep swarming him, more and more of them filling up the place the closer we get to showtime.
It’s Saturday night and we’re in a small venue/club in Anaheim. People are here to party. It’s loud, people are doing the night’s special Jell-o shots. It’s so not Naomi’s scene, nor mine, but this is what you do in a relationship. You support each other, even if you’d rather have them all to yourself back at home. And by all to myself, I mean, riding his cock like a fucking joystick. It’s been a week since we’vebecome “official” and we’ve basically spent every day having copious amounts of hot, sweaty, monkey sex.
“What are you thinking about?” Naomi asks, frowning. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
I give her a smug smile but stop myself from the sex talk. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want to talk to her about it because sex is a brand new and shiny thing to me and I want to know if certain things are normal, what’s good, what’s bad, I want to tell the world just how damn good it feels. I want to run up and down Ventura with my arms open wide and yell “I’M HAVING SEX!”
But I don’t because Naomi is obviously still grappling with her divorce. Lately, Robert has been coming back and groveling and Naomi isn’t having any of it. Which is good. I’m proud of her. I know it must be hard to have to say no and stay strong and push away the person you’re still in love with.
So, I was hoping that tonight there would be some eligible bachelors who would help her take her mind off things but so far, no dice.
“What about that guy?” I ask her, pointing to a bearded fellow in the corner wearing a red shirt that saysBazinga!on it.
“Are you kidding me?” she says dryly.
I shrug and keep looking. I’m not a very good wing-woman though because the moment my eyes lock with Laz who is hanging out by the stage and talking with Frank and their keyboardist, I don’t see anyone else.
He gives me a small, knowing smile. It’s a secret smile just between us.
He looks good tonight. Real good. This is no surprise since he always looks good but I swear he might have borrowed some of my eyeliner before we left for the venuebecause his eyes are exceptionally squinty and brooding and dark. He’s a bona fide badass rock star, wearing his boots, tight, black jeans that accentuate the python he’s packing, and a thin, black T-shirt that fits him like a glove.
And I’m not the only one who thinks so, judging by all those damn groupies. Even now, they’re gathered around him and there’s a tall redhead that keeps trying to get his attention. And Laz, being Laz, and not being rude, is now talking to her, smiling at something she’s saying.
Jealousy is a bitch. I’ve always felt that touch of it when I saw him with his girlfriends but I was pretty good at ignoring it, plus I got used to seeing him with them day in and day out.
But now that Laz is mine, it’s rearing his ugly head. I watch him, waiting for him to look up and notice me. But he doesn’t, not for a while. And then I catch his eye, I’m waiting for him to say something to the redhead, something like “hey, that’s my girlfriend over there” and have them both look my way. But he just goes back to talking and smiling at her.
“Who’s the ginger?” Naomi asks. “She’s getting a little handsy for my liking.”
Sheis. She’s laughing along with Laz at something and leaning forward, her hand briefly on his chest.
“If she keeps doing that, I’m heading over there and opening up a can of whoop-ass on her white ass.”
“No,” I tell her, holding her back, because Naomi’s anger is feral these days. “It’s fine. It’s just a groupie.”
“Ugh,” she says, giving me side eye. “You better keep an eye on that boy.”
“I trust Laz,” I tell her. “They’re not all like Robert, you know.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Laz would never cheat on me.”
Right? I mean, it’s not exactly something I’ve thought about, it’s just been a given. We’re exclusive with each other, that means something. And as far as I know, he’s never cheated on any of his girlfriends.
“You don’t look so sure,” she says studying me.
I look back at Laz. The redhead is doing all the classic flirting moves. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, touching his arm. Now he’s leaning in close and saying something in her ear. His smile is cocky. She looks pleased.
