Low lights. Thick smoke. Crowds. Darkness lit up briefly amid the chaos. Yes, it was a normal scene. I downed the last of my bear and dropped it to the bar with a clink.
How many was that? Three? Four? Nine?
I’d lost track. I put my hand to my head, another? But there was that cute blonde eyeing me across the room . . . A tiny tube top, a short skirt . . . I could handle that. And she had a cute friend . . . Almost twins, down to their skimpy outfits . . . Two blonde girls . . .
Can you handle that Carter?
Sure . . . One in front, one in back. Another beer first? Or two? One for each . . .
I ordered another and surveyed the room once more. There was another cute girl, and another, and another . . . Endless. All sex bunnies. I licked my lips once more before downing more of my drink, smirking only to myself.
Yes, the blond God was in the bar tonight.
The smoke was cloudy.
Was that me or the club?
I raised my hand to my mouth slowly.
No . . . Can’t drink and smoke together . . . Forgot that . . .
Must be nine beers . . . No, ten . . . Wait, I have a new bottle, eleven?
So goes the life of a pop star . . . Endless parties . . . Women as far as the eyes can see . . . It’s nice to be an idol. Everywhere you turn, people bow at your feet. Carter, if you didn’t wear the same clothes time and again, I’m sure they’d kiss them too. And, of course, the sex bunnies, wanton women hanging on each word, hoping for a chance below the belt.
Did they even have to listen? Heck, Carter, you’d take them if they showed up naked at your doorstep with beer in their hands. Speaking of which . . .
Downed another. I needed a smoke.
Forget the alcohol for a minute, Carter. You need a cigarette, then you need to haul your ass off this chair and go dance with the sex bunnies.
Which one though . . . The blondes. Better go with the blondes.
I downed the last of my beer and set the bottle back on the counter. Standing up from the counter, I brushed my hair back and pulled a carton of cigarettes from my pocket. My eyes caught a flash from my cell phone. I pursed my lips as I held the cigarette between them, leaving my hands free to flip open my phone.
A new text, huh?
My face soured.
Carter, you must look like you found dog shit in your shoe, because even you can feel that damn expression.
Fuck you, Brent. Lord only knows you can’t keep a set schedule, but I’m your friend, bastard.
Can’t you even feign being on time for me?
I shoved my phone back into my pocket with a scowl. I needed that damn cigarette after that bastard’s lame text.
B late, 4got bike, hot broad.
Bastard.
There were plenty of sex bunnies here. And how the hell did he forget his bike? Isn’t that piece of crap the thing that attracts women to him in the first place? Wait, I forgot. It’s because the damn bastard knows the blond God.
You, Carter, he knows you.
I kicked the nearest wall, stabbing the toe of my shoe into it as I let out a low growl. I pulled my lighter from pocket and snapped it open. It’s bright flame lit up the scowl on my face as it caught the cigarette. I took in a breath and removed it from my lips.
Damn bastard, I hate him.
Why were we friends then?
Hell if I knew.
That wasn’t quite true . . . We’d been friends as long as I could remember. He wasn’t one of the so-called “friends” who just followed me around for women, and money. Is there a term for male groupies? Let me know if you know it. Well . . . I guess some of my girl friends want me for sex on top of the money . . . and presents. Are they groupies then? Or in a sick, twisted way, does that make them girlfriends?
You’ll be a polygamist yet, Carter.
I drew in another breath, and let out a murky cloud of smoke as I surveyed the dance floor again. The blonde twins were gone, probably found another God to dance with.
Or a pair of Gods. Why was it that women hated sharing? There was plenty to go around. Isn’t that the whole reason people have a front side and a back side?
I shook my head as I breathed the smoke deeply. Who else was around? Earlier the club had been packed with blondes, had they already picked their play dates?
It was only just after midnight; all the clubs down here don't close down until three.
Much to my annoyance, I felt a vibration against my ass. I pulled my phone from my pocket with a scowl. As I stared at the screen, I must have resurrected that same dog shit in the shoe expression. And, it must have worsened as I raised the phone to my ear, opening it with a flick of my wrist.
“What do you want, bastard?” I growled into the phone.
There was silence on the other end.
Okay, not silence; it was actually a motor and heavy traffic. Which pleads me to ask, how many Goddamn people are out driving just after midnight?
Was the whole fucking city into the bar scene?
“Sorry dawg,” he responded after an eternity.
“Can’t talk and drive?” I asked dryly.
When he finally showed up, I’d beat his ass.
“The light was about to turn red.”
He can’t talk at a red light? Did he forget to stop?
“Speed through it, you dumbass.”
“Can’t speed and talk.”
Sure you can, it’s easy. One hand on the bar and one hand on your phone. Foot to the gas pedal. Not hard at all.
“Did you get my text?”
“You’re a piece of work, like a neurotic girlfriend. Yes, I got your text.”
“Wanna hear about the broad.”
No . . . But you’ll tell me anyway. What I really want to know is how you got a broad without your broad magnet . . . Did you actually get some personality since I was last here?
“She was fucking gorgeous, with legs from the floor to God knows where!”
His voice was rough. The image must have been vivid for him.
He forgot his damn bike and was late because he found eye candy, well good for him. Whatever woman he found tonight, I’d bring her back to my place along with mine.
“She had dark hair . . . almost black with this cute mole above her lips. It moved every time she smirked.”
A girl smirked at Brent? That was news!
I let out another breath, the smoke curled away from my lips.
“Dawg? You aren’t saying anything. Doesn’t she sound gorgeous?”
She sounded like a centerfold; as in, no woman that pretty would talk to him. That bastard was looking at porn again wasn’t he? I knew it was too good to be true if he’d forgotten his bike. Then how’d he get to the store anyway? Wasn’t he too cheap to buy anything?
“Dawg?”
“What?!” I growled at him. A moment ago, I must have looked puzzled, but I probably had that dog shit in the shoe look again. Strange, I was pissed off because he stopped me from thinking. Normally I would thank him.
“I hit traffic.”
What the hell? Why was there goddamn traffic after midnight on a fucking Wednesday?
Sounds like another pop concert had hit town or something. I knew that schedule all too well, damn weird days for the public to be out until God knows what hour. Especially the fans of pop concerts, it was tweens these days, wasn’t it? Hell, most groups were lucky to get actual teenage girls. I guess that just meant Backstreet was past its prime. We had it all, tweens, teens, hot women, mothers, and the sex bunnies.
Thank God for those sex bunnies, or life on the road might be boring.
“Dawg?”
I growled again at Brent interrupting my thoughts.
God, this man should get a medal, that’s twice in the past five minutes he’s pissed me off for keeping me from thinking.
I took one last breath of the smoke and dropped it to the ground. I smashed the flame out with my foot as I ground in into the cement floor. “How long will it take?”
“The traffic?”
No, your intelligence, yes... the traffic.
“Yeah.”
“Twenty minutes?”
Was that a question? Dammit, there must have really been a pop concert in town.
Was he on the freeway? He didn’t live that far from the club.
“Are you leaving? Are there chicks still hanging around?”
I glanced over the area once again. The two blonde twins had come back. A smile cracked through my lips.
Well, no sense in talking to that bastard Brent for twenty minutes . . . Or God forbid, more.
“Of course there are dawg, but I think I’ll have taken them all by the time you show up.” I slammed my phone shut and returned it to my pocket.
If he had the audacity to call back while I was dancing with those twins, or quadruplets wasn’t it . . . Anyway, I’d only get more than I bargained for.
I smirked as I approached the girls.
“Do you fine ladies need a dance partner?” I grinned, flashing my trademark smile at them.
They giggled briefly, seeming to recognize me.
Of course, after all, I am the blond God.
The girls were quick to get into their groove.
Thank God. I had a lot of time to kill before Brent showed up, meanwhile, I had to keep myself amused.
You’re probably wondering, ‘why do you act like such an ass?’
Aren’t I the blond God?
‘Of course you are, but weren’t you mean to your friend?’
Who, Brent? He needs someone to knock him in line every so often.
‘And all the women?’
I’m entitled. I am fucking Nick Carter.
And now you’re thinking, ‘I don’t like it.’
Those are the facts, darlings . . . But . . . I guess you’re right . . . it’s not . . . really me . . . The blond God, no, every aspect of Nick Carter is a sham. Being pretentious, after all, inspires women to fall at your feet. Who wouldn’t like that?
Me?
Maybe . . . Maybe not . . . But, in truth, I guess all I’ve ever wanted is a place to put my heart.
Author's Chapter Notes:
We're writing this as we go along, expect lots of updates and enjoy it. ^_^
