Page 143 of Bad at Love
“Do you think I should play bass or guitar?!” Noah yells up at me. “Or drums?”
“Drums! You can get all your aggression out and it’s a good work out!”
He nods and grins, pushing his long, pink hair off his face. He looks so much like Jane used to at this moment, it’s uncanny.
Magic 8 Ball plays a blistering hour-long set and by the time they do their encore—a boisterous, bass-heavy cover of Depeche Mode’s “Should Be Higher,”—the audience looks like they’re blown away (and definitely “higher” than they were at the start) while my heart skips every time Laz hits the high note while singing “Love is all I want.” He is so fucking good, in his element.
And all mine.
Then it’s over.
The crowd cheers.
Laz and the band are a sweaty mess.
I haven’t stopped smiling once.
“How was it?” Laz asks, handing his guitar to a tech and coming over to us.
I grin up at him. He’s wide-eyed, his dark hair sticking to his damp forehead, his dark-grey shirt clinging to him in sweaty patches. He looks thoroughly worn out and high on adrenaline at the same time. A rock god.
“You were amazing!” I say, grabbing onto his arm like a groupie.
He puts his arm around me, squeezes me close to him.
“What did you think?” he asks Noah.
“You’re the next Jim Morrison,” he says. “But without the crazy.”
“Oh, he’s got a bit of crazy in him, don’t kid yourself,” I tell Noah.
“Okay, without the naked Indian.”
“Noah, do you only know who Jim Morrison is because of Wayne’s World 2?” Laz asks with a wry smile.
Noah shrugs and Laz looks to me, brows raised in disbelief, shaking his head. “Kids these days,” he mumbles.
I reach up and kiss him softly.
“Careful, I’m a sweaty mess,” he says against my lips.
“The messier the better.”
“Ugh, can you guys just not. I’m right here,” Noah whines.
I ignore him. “I want you,” I whisper to Laz. “Now.”
“Now?” he asks with a grin.
He has no idea how turned on I’ve been watching him for the last hour.
But I’m about to show him.
“We’ll be right back, Noah,” Laz says to him, putting his hands on his shoulders and pushing him toward Frank who is drinking a bottle of water by the bass stand. “Here Frank, watch Noah for a bit, will ya?”
Then Laz takes my hand and leads me off the back of the stage and down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Frank yells.
