Chapter One
Devlin Boyd
“Dude, where the fuck are you?” I yell into my phone. I’m not sure if Fiasco can even hear me over the crappy band playing on stage and the crowd cheering them on at the fairgrounds.
“Back at my apartment,” he says simply.
“Well then grab your ticket and get your ass back here! Traffic is still a mile long, and Wasteland Authority is going on next, so you’ll probably have to run your bike up the shoulder.”
“Yeah, see, there’s a slight problem with that plan of yours,” Fiasco responds, making me roll my eyes as I start strolling over to the concession stand to grab a beer.
“What now?”
“I locked myself out of my place,” he says. “My keys and my ticket are both inside.”
Why the fuck am I even surprised? Fiasco always finds a way to screw up everything he touches. It’s like a curse he was born with, and those of us who are his friends are usually the ones who suffer. I never believed there was any truth behind the offensive term “dumb blondes” before I met him. I would swear his parents must be a surfer dude and a stoner, but I’ve never met them, and Fiasco doesn’t talk about them.
Squeezing my eyes shut to refrain from calling him an idiot when he obviously can’t help his bad luck in the genetic pool, I tell him, “Break into the window, grab your keys and ticket, and then we’ll fix the broken glass later!”
“It’s supposed to rain tonight,” it sounds like he replies, which is so off topic I don’t even know how to respond.
“What do you mean it’s supposed to rain?” I ask slowly, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth to try and keep my cool while clenching my fist by my side.
Tonight, the Rockfest festival, is the most important thing in the world to me. I’ve had VIP tickets since the day they went on sale. I’ve wanted to see Wasteland Authority for ten years, but they never toured on the east coast until now, today. Seeing them alone will just be…pathetic.
“If it rains and my window is broken, then all my shit will get wet,” Fiasco explains, which is one of the few things he’s ever said that actually makes total sense.
“You’re right,” I agree with a heavy exhale. “Call your landlord or a locksmith and wait for them, but you’ll never make it back in time.”
Since none of the other members of the Dirty Aces MC are fans of the rock bands playing tonight, Fiasco was the only one willing to spend a thousand bucks for a VIP ticket to come with me and see them from the mosh pit at the front of the stage. He may be a ditz, but he didn’t even blink at wasting a grand on a band he’s barely heard of so I wouldn’t have to come alone. Now that money of his is wasted, swirling down the toilet because there’s no way he’s going to make it back to see the final show of the night. We missed the first three bands because of fucking traffic. Only when we made it to the front gates did Fiasco realize he left his tickets at home.
“You’re probably right. I don’t think I’ll make it back in time,” Fiasco agrees. “Sorry, man.”
“Not your fault traffic was a clusterfuck,” I say with a sigh.
“Want me to come pick you up when it’s over?”
“Nah, I’ll just get a taxi or Uber home.”
“Okay, see ya,” he replies before I end the call and shove my phone into the back pocket of my snug, leather pants.
Looks like I’m going to be enjoying the show alone — well, except for the thousands of strangers around me.
Sure, I could smile at a pretty girl, offer to buy her a drink, and then spend the night with her after the concert. It would be easier than easy to pull off, because the lord has blessed me with irresistible blue eyes and a pretty face.
But one-night stands were the old Dev’s MO. The new and improved Dev is all about making better decisions, you know, to avoid another pregnancy scare from batshit crazy, casual hookups. Twice now girls have been late and were certain that I’m the one who knocked them up. Thank fuck both times the stick was negative, Aunt Flow came, and all was well. I’m just not sure how many more chances I’ll get before the stick turns blue and then I’m a daddy like Fiasco and Malcolm, paying a woman I don’t know child support for a kid she won’t let me see for eighteen years. Not that Malcolm’s story went that way, but it easily could have if he hadn’t fixed shit with Naomi, his baby mama, now his fiancée.
Nope. Not me. I’m smarter than all that and have never been one of those guys looking to score with as many women as possible in this lifetime.
Maybe it’s time for me to set some priorities, you know, like finding a nice girl who enjoys the same things I do, so that in the future I won’t have to come to concerts alone.
Somewhere out there in the world there’s a woman who wants more than an unforgettable night in the sheets with a certified sex stud. She, of course, enjoys a good fucking on the regular but could also see herself eventually marrying me, moving in together, and having a family, all in that particular order.
So far, though, I haven’t been more than a good time in the sheets before chicks move on to someone else. I’m just a fun time fuck boy. A good lay. Women use me for my body. And while it’s been a great run, I’m certain that there has to be more out there than one-night stands.
Jetta James
It is hotter than hell out here this Sunday, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Being at the Cape Fear fair grounds in Wilmington at Rockfest, listening to some of the biggest bands of all time, is the best. And while it sucks that I had to come as the third wheel with my best friend Carla and her boyfriend, at least I’m finally here, getting ready to see one of the most legendary bands of all time. Not to mention that Rob Lawrence, the lead singer of Wasteland Authority, is so freaking hot with his long hair, hard body, and beautiful tats.
But since Mitch, Carla’s boyfriend, didn’t want to end up in a mosh pit, and none of us had the cash to go VIP, we’re way back on the lawn, sitting on a blanket. I guess I’ll just have to watch Rob on the giant screens on either side of the stage.
“I’m going to grab a drink before Wasteland Authority hits the stage!” I tell Carla as the last band finishes playing. I get to my feet and brush the dirt off the back of my purple and black floral tube top dress I’m sporting without a bra because the girls need air. “You two want anything while I’m there?”
“No thanks,” she replies with a smile as she snuggles with her man even though it feels like it’s about a hundred and fifty degrees out here.
“Suit yourselves,” I tell them before I hurry through the maze of people making out on blankets to reach the concession stands on the far side of the grassy field.
All the happy couples make me start to miss Oscar before I remember what a low-life mooch he really was. Sure, he was oh-so-sweet to me for the first few weeks. And when he lost his job as a security guard and needed a place to crash, I offered to let him move in with me, thinking it would be temporary. A year later, he was still unemployed, not even attempting to try to find a job, and hadn’t paid a dime for groceries the entire time, not to mention help me out with the rent or utilities. I asked him to move out, and he wouldn’t budge from the sofa where he played video games non-stop between naps. That’s when I convinced my landlord to transfer my lease to him when it ran out, tricked Oscar into signing the paperwork without him taking his eyes off the television screen, packed up my shit, and left Charlotte to come back home to Carolina Beach.