Badd Luck

by Jasinda Wilder

  She pointed a finger at me. "Traitor. I haven't played for a real audience since high school!"

  "No time like the present, right?" I said, giving her a cutesy oops grin.

  Canaan plugged a cord into a ukulele and held it out to her. "Come on, A! Play with us! Just one song, I promise."

  She hung her head, heaved a deep sigh, and then trotted up onto the stage, where Corin adjusted his mic for her and moved aside to sit on his box drum, which I think is called a cajon, or something like that. "Okay, fine. One song--one." She turned a shy smile on the audience. "But if I suck, you'll be nice to me, right?"

  The military audience cheered in encouragement, and Aerie and Canaan spent a moment quietly discussing something--which song to do, I assumed. After conferring, she turned to the mic and adjusted the tuning of the ukulele.

  "Fine, we'll do that damn song," she huffed as if irritated, but she was grinning, too. "But I hate you for choosing that song."

  "Do not," Canaan argued. "You think it's sweet."

  She rolled her eyes at him. "Fine. Maybe a little sweet. And you're lucky I remember how to play this damn song."

  Corin tapped his drum and counted out the beat, and then Canaan strummed a closed-chord intro, and Aerie joined in with the uke, picking a lilting, looping melody. When Canaan started singing and Aerie came in on the harmony, I instantly recognized the song: "Lucky" by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat.

  Of which the chorus goes "lucky I'm in love with my best friend"...

  Apropos? I think so.

  As talented as Canaan and Aerie both were independently, they were breathtaking together. Aerie brought her ukulele with her everywhere we went, since it was so small and easy to pack, and she was always sitting on the balcony of our hotel room in a bathrobe, sipping coffee and tinkering around with songs, some of her own writing as well as her favorite covers. Them doing this song together...it literally brought tears to my eyes, and I wasn't even sure why, other than that it was just so beautiful. Their harmony was eerily perfect, and they just naturally complemented each other in the way they each played.

  As the song came to an end, the crowd went wild, and started chanting One more, one more.

  Canaan grinned widely at Aerie as he spoke into the mic. "Come on, babe. You can hear 'em--one more song." He pointed at her. "You know you loved that. You're buzzed on adrenaline right now, I can tell!"

  Aerie rolled her eyes, shook her head, hesitated, and then burst into laughter, stomping her foot. "I hate you!" she shrieked, teasing. "Yes, I loved it, okay? One more."

  "What should we do?" Canaan asked.

  "Probably pushing my luck here, but do you know 'Just Another Love Song' by Haley and Michaels?" Aerie asked.

  "I actually do, but what's pushing our luck is playing Haley and Michael when these guys are here to hear Nitro Punch, who are...um, not country," Canaan said, laughing.

  At that moment, a massive, tattooed, pierced, dreadlocked, long-bearded monster of a man trotted up onto the stage with an electric guitar already plugged in--I assumed this was Mike, the lead for Nitro Punch.

  "Wanna know something surprising?" he said, leaning into Aerie's mic. "I know that song too, and I can play the electric guitar part. It wouldn't sound right without it, if you ask me."

  Canaan just stared at his friend. "You're serious?"

  Mike just laughed. "I told you on the phone, man, I'm exploring my sensitive artiste side...e.g., learning country songs."

  Canaan shook his head in disbelief. "Better hope nobody is recording this, Mike," he teased. "If the metal community gets wind of this, you'll lose any and all cool points."

  "Like I give a fuck?" Mike demanded, in a growling snarl. "I can still scream better than anyone in the business, and I can still kick ass and take names. I just like trying new shit. Now shut the fuck up and play the fucking song, you fucking twink."

  He lessened the effect of his harsh words by grinning at Canaan. The crowd was on their feet by this point and they were all cheering.

  "All right, all right," Canaan said, and nodded at Corin, who started them off with the rhythm.

  And again, as they played the song, I found myself emotional yet again at how amazing Canaan and Aerie sounded together. They sang like they'd been harmonizing for years, and their natural chemistry together blazed on that stage. They sang the song like they were singing each word to the other, which, I supposed, was true enough.

  Finally, Canaan and Corin were out of time, and they had to clear the stage so the techs could turn it over for the main event. Canaan and Corin unplugged their instruments, packed them up, and stacked them off to one side of the stage, and then the twins and Aerie joined me in the front row.

  I stood up as Aerie trotted toward me, both us doing the jump-and-squeal-and-clap thing. "Aerie, you were amazing!" I shrieked, hugging her. "Now say thank you for making you do it."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You were right...thank you, Tate," she said, affecting a fake-bored drone, and then ditched the fake attitude, clapping her hands. "Seriously, though, that was so much fun!"

  Corin, standing behind them, clapped Canaan and Aerie on the shoulders. "You guys sounded incredible together," he said. "You should do a whole set together at the bar next weekend."

  Aerie and Canaan locked gazes, and Aerie looked away first, shrugging. "I don't know. A couple songs is different than a whole set."

  Canaan raspberried. "Don't be a pussy," he said. "You'll love it, and you know it."

  She whacked him on the arm. "Don't call me a pussy, pussy."

  "Then do a set with me."

  "Just you? Or with you and Cor?"

  Canaan tilted his head to one side. "Good question. Cor?"

  Corin waved a hand. "Just you two. It'll be more...intimate."

  "You wouldn't mind me taking your place with your brother?" Aerie asked.

  "Nah, of course not."

  Canaan and Aerie began discussing song choices for the following weekend, which left Corin and me to our own conversation.

  Corin nudged me with his elbow. "You keep up with music at all?" he asked.

  "Yes, I play the kazoo in a polka band, actually," I joked.

  "Hey, the kazoo is a tricky instrument to play well," Corin shot back. "For real, though. You used to be pretty good with the cello."

  "I used to be pretty good with the guitar, accordion, and piano," I said. "I was amazing with the cello."

  "And? Do you still play? Just asking for a friend."

  I tilted my head side to side. "I plinked at Grandma's piano the other day. I haven't touched a cello in years, and forget about the accordion. I could probably pick up the guitar again pretty easily, though."

  "You should start practicing again," Corin suggested.

  I shrugged. "I've thought about it. It might be fun. I don't know what I'd do with it, though."

  "Do with it? You just play for the enjoyment of doing music. If you wanted to do something with it, we could form an all-twin band with Canaan and Aerie." He paused, making a face. "Well...I meant that as a joke, but now that I think about, we'd actually probably be really great as a band."

  The thing was, I had been thinking about trying to find a cello again. I'd sold mine years ago, when our modeling career took off and started replacing our other creative endeavors. Aerie and I used to play together a lot, actually, me on the cello, her on the uke. Which sounds weird, but it worked. Watching Aerie play up on the stage, I was realizing, had made me emotional because I truly did miss being creative. I missed playing, I missed the rush of feeling the notes pour out of me. I missed sitting down with a sketchpad and charcoals and sketching a still life. I missed the smell of oil paints. I missed collaging, and photography, and even knitting.

  "Maybe you're right," I said, finally. "I'll look into getting a cello when we get back home."

  Corin just grinned. "You're in luck, babe--I actually just recently picked one up, because I was thinking about trying to learn it. But now that you're back, you
can have it."

  I frowned at him. "For real?"

  "For real. If I want to learn, you can teach me." He winked at me. "You can sit behind me and show me where to put my hands."

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Me teaching you where to put your hands."

  He leaned close to whisper in my ear. "Tate, baby, that's not something you'll have to teach me."

  I whispered back. "Oh, I think there might be a few things I could teach you."

  "I like the sound of that," he answered.

  I was about to respond with something witty and clever when the four members of Nitro Punch went up on the stage, Mike with his guitar, a bassist, another lead guitar, and the drummer, and the noise of the howling, cheering audience silenced me.

  The show was...

  Um.

  I hate heavy metal. So...it kind of sounded to me like a lot of grinding and angry screaming, which set my teeth on edge and made me want to stab something. When it was finally over--thank you, sweet baby Jesus--we ended up in the back of a truly gobsmackingly enormous super-stretch Lincoln Navigator limo. Aside from the four of us and the guys from the metal band--I can only think the name Nitro Punch so many times before I go crazy--there were at least half a dozen scantily clad women, as well as four other men who I assumed were friends or guitar techs, making it at least sixteen people in the limo. It was hard to count the girls, though, because they were constantly moving seat to seat, giggling breathily and shrieking and fawning and being super slutty and annoying, and I hated them.

  A lot.

  The boys and Aerie and I were wedged into the far front of the limo, right behind the driver, Canaan on the far left, Aerie next, then Corin, and then me. Meaning, Corin had both Aerie and me on either side of him.

  And there were at least four bottles of whiskey going around, three joints, two glass bowls, and a flask of something I wasn't sure I wanted to try. Judging by the smells, nobody was smoking anything besides pot, which put me more at ease--I had no interest in being part of anything harder than that, and I'd be letting even that stuff pass me by. I'll drink myself into a blackout, fine, thanks, and can I have a hair of the dog. But hard drugs? No thanks. I watched too many other models and friends in New York get hooked on that nasty shit. Nope. Don't want to try it even once.

  It was a fun night, though. The limo took us to a club, and by the time we got there, we were all well on our way to being wasted. Most of the girls and the four guys I didn't know all got out at the club, but everyone else stayed in and the limo continued to cruise around Anchorage, the windows down, moonroof open, music blaring, drinks flowing plenty.

  I have no idea how long we cruised, joking and laughing with the guys from the band--who, despite their angry demon monster music and scary appearances, were actually all very sweet men. Eventually, though, we ended up at our hotel, and I was tasked with trying to check us in...while hammered.

  Ohhh boy.

  The poor bemused night clerk got us checked in, gave us our keys, and pointed out the elevators. None of us could even stay upright on our own, which meant the elevator ride up to our floor was spent with all four of us leaning together into a giggling jumble of mutual vertical support. When the elevator disgorged us, we stumbled clumsily down the hallway, each of us pinballing in different directions, bouncing off the walls, highly amused at our own drunken antics.

  We finally made it to one of our rooms.

  Which...was wrong.

  It was a double king room, and I realized I only had one little envelope with two keys in it, rather than two envelopes for two rooms; it took a lot of difficult mental calculation to figure that out, but I eventually managed it.

  "Bad news, ya'll," I said. "They fucked up our reservation."

  Corin was already collapsed onto the nearest bed, half on it, half off, his feet trailing limp underneath him as he tried valiantly to haul himself up the rest of the way. "Ohhh no. Bad hotel people." He peered at me. "What'd they do bad?"

  "God, you're wasted," I said, laughing.

  He cackled. "Yep!" He pointed at me. "Like you're any better?"

  I pointed at myself. "Me, on my feet. You, on the floor. I win."

  He gave up trying to get up onto the bed and let himself slide to the floor. "You may have a merit. A thing. Whass the word? An element."

  I stared down at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "A point!" he shouted, flat on his back, stabbing a finger at the ceiling. "You may have a point!"

  Canaan had vanished into the bathroom, and reappeared with his pants unzipped and unbuttoned, collapsing heavily onto the floor between the beds next to Corin. Aerie was halfway lying on the far bed, but she was slowly sliding off, clearly seeing at least double and losing the battle to stay awake.

  And, in the interest of honesty, the only reason I was still upright was because I had my knees locked and was focusing for all I was worth on staying on my feet. The room was spinning like a merry-go-round, only with a twisting, wobbling factor added in. I wanted desperately to make it to the bed.

  Corin's face appeared, sticking out from between the beds. "You can't walk, can you?"

  I peered at him, blinking. "Sure I can." I took a step forward, but ended up going sort of sideways. "No. Shut up."

  He laughed. "Silly. Drunky-fish Tater Tot is drunky-fish."

  I slammed onto the bed, rolled onto it, shouting triumphantly. "HA! I am on the bed." I wiggled to peer over the side at the jumble of people on the floor, staring at Corin. "Wha-the-fuck is a drunky-fish?"

  He pointed at himself, poking himself in the eye accidentally, and then sloppily at the rest of us. "We--us are drunky-fishes. I forgot how English, methinks."

  "But you can pop out words like 'methinks'?" I teased.

  "Methinks is a great word. Useful. One word 'steada two." He gazed up at me. "Why're you still up on the stupid bed, honeypot?"

  "Because I like beds. Beds are nice. Floors are hard and not nice." I snickered. "Also, I am pretty sure honeypot is an old word for vagina. At least, that's how Jamie referred to Claire's vagina on Outlander."

  "Honeypot," Corin mused. "Nice. I shall appropriate this word."

  I was beginning to feel the spins, then. I closed my eyes, but the spinning only felt worse. So I wiggled to the edge of the bed and put my foot on the floor.

  "Ow," Corin deadpanned. "That's my quadricep, Tate."

  "You called me Tater Tot. You deserved that." I did move my foot, though; maybe not in the direction of the floor, but...elsewhere.

  "It's a cute nickname," Corin said.

  "Is not. It's embarrassing and horrible. And how do you even know about that nickname, anyway?"

  "Heard your mom call you it, once." He poked my calf. "Also, if you're trying to play footsie with my dick, it might help to take your shoes off."

  "Can't. Too much work."

  "I help." He grabbed my ankle, stared at my foot as he tried to figure out how a wedge-heel sandal worked, and then yanked the shoe off, tossing it backward over his head; I heard it clatter across the bathroom floor. "Other foot."

  I twisted to offer him my other foot, and he yanked that one off and tossed it in another direction. "You make zero sense when you're this drunk, Cor."

  He peered up at me. "I am currently so drunk I'm not even Corin anymore." He patted the floor beside himself. "Hi, this is Floor. Corin can't come to the phone right now, because he's utterly obliterated. Please leave a message and he'll return it as soon as he stops being dead. Okaybye."

  I laughed because, for some reason, that struck me as absolutely hysterical.

  "You're too far away," Corin complained. "I can only reach your legs, and I'm not really a leg man."

  "No, you're a man-man. It would be weird if you were a leg man," I said.

  "No, no, no. I meant--"

  I wiggled my toes against his legs. "I know what you meant, ya goofy fuckball." I toed the outline of his dick over his zipper. "You're an ass man."

  "
This is true. Very, very true. There's nothing better than a thick, juicy, jiggly butt." He blinked up at me. "Speaking of which...get yours down here."

  He grabbed me by the calf and dragged me bodily off the bed, and I landed directly on top of him with a thud and an oooof!

  "Hey," I protested. "I wanted to stay up there."

  "Nah, you just think you did." He wiggled around so my head was on his stomach, my legs curled up. "You really wanted to snuggle me."

  "I did?"

  "Yep, you did."

  "Oh. I must have forgotten."

  "Easy to do when you're clobberated."

  "That's not a word."

  "It's a new word. I just invented it."

  "Corin?"

  "Tate?"

  "Shut up so I can pass out." I drifted toward sleep, but then a thought occurred to me, and I pinched Corin's belly. "Is my butt really thick and jiggly?"

  "Um, no?"

  "Corin."

  "It's actually not very jiggly. You're in too good of shape for that. It's more...taut and firm and round. Which is also really, really, really hot and sexy."

  "But you'd rather my butt be jiggly and thick?"

  He sighed. "Tate."

  "Corin?"

  "You're being dumb. I want your ass to be whatever your ass is. Thick and jiggly, taut and round...somewhere in between...I shall desire to do a great many things to it, regardless of the descriptors used to describe said object of my desire."

  "You are ridiculous."

  "Yep." He patted my butt. "Now shush. I'm trying to sleep."

  The pat turned into a casual resting of his hand, with an occasional rub and caress now and then. Which...I liked. A lot.

  I resolved to not get drunk tomorrow, because I planned to get us the second room we were supposed to have gotten, so I could spend the night with Corin.

  Sober.

  Alone.

  Preferably sans culottes, and also sans any clothes at all.

  I woke up at some point, my mouth pasted together, murderously thirsty, disoriented, hot, and uncomfortable. I worked myself off the floor, stumbled and tripped to the bathroom, turned on the faucet and slurped water directly from the spout until my belly was sloshing and I felt something like human again.

  I stripped out of my dress and sweater, and collapsed back into bed, asleep again before my head hit the pillow.

  I was woken again, some time later, by the flush of the toilet and the faucet running, and a male belch, and then the mattress dipping behind me. I wiggled against him, feeling his hand clutching my belly, low. He murmured sleepily, nuzzling against me, shifting his hips.