Page 108 of Bad at Love
I feel sick. I know I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t let this get to me but it’s getting to me.
“You need to go over there and claim your man,” Naomi says, egging me on. “Beforeshedoes.”
She’s right. I should go over there and make my presence known. But before I can, Laz and the band head up on the stage and the redhead takes a spot among the other girls at the front of the stage.
Too late.
Shake it off,I tell myself.Don’t be a crazy girlfriend.
I’ve never really been anyone’s girlfriend, so it’s not really surprising to find out I am of the crazy variety. I mean, what about me has been normal so far?
Nothing.
See, now I’m talking to myself.
“Hiya,” Laz says into the microphone, guitar slung on his shoulder. “We’re Magic 8 Ball and we’re here for your pleasure.”
Even though I’m kind of pissed at myself for being pissed, I still smile at that cheesy opener.
“I can’t believe he still says that,” Naomi mumbles into her beer. She looks around. “And I can’t believe how popular they’ve gotten.”
“It’s Laz’s book. Now everyone who knows him for poetry is showing up at these things.”
“And this is why you need to keep an eye on him,” she says. “He’s just going to get more ginger vixens hanging off of him.”
“Do they have to be ginger?”
The band starts off with the new keyboardist, I think his name is Hugh, hitting a few notes and samples, then the drummer comes in.
“John the revelator,” Laz starts to sing, his deep voice pitch perfect as it soars across the crowd. It’s amazing how good he is, how his voice still reaches far inside me and fills up each hollow part.
Then the song hits the chorus, the tempo goes up, they get louder somehow and the whole crowd starts to groove and dance. I guess Laz was right, people really do want to be able to dance to their rock music these days.
“Seven lies, multiplied by seven, multiplied by seven again,” he sings and the crowd starts to sing along with him.
It’s pretty incredible. Any angst I had earlier over him and the redhead is gone and I’m just like everyone else. I’m a fan. His biggest fan. I’m in awe, lost in the throes of his performance, the music, the way his voice makes me want to climb on that stage and fuck his brains out. I can’t blame him in the slightest for having groupies because I know exactly what they’re feeling.
By the time the show is over, an hour later, everyone is happy, sweaty, drunk. I think a lot of people are getting laid tonight and I’m hoping that includes me.
Laz comes off the stage, his shirt damp and sticking to him, ramping up the hotness factor, and the redhead finds him again, grabbing hold of his bicep for a moment.
To my surprise, he takes her arm and starts leading her toward me through the crowd.
“What the fuckity fuck?” Naomi says.
Laz and the redhead stop right in front of us. “Marina, I’d like you to meet someone.”
Okaaaaaaay.
He nudges the redhead, who is even prettier up close.
“This is Samantha.”
“Hiya,” the girl says with the same Manchester accent as Laz and gives me her hand. “So nice to meet you. I grew up next door to Laz.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. I guess that kind of explains why they were a bit more touchy-feely with each other. “Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand and look at Laz. “Did you know she would be here?”
“Nah,” Samantha says. “He had no idea. I follow him on Instagram and Facebook and I was in LA with my boyfriend, and decided I should go to the show and say hello, remember me!”
