“A little to the left, bro,” Jared joked, always the fucking entertainer. “Our room all set?”
“All set,” Alberto said, leading us through the throngs of people in the VIP section of the club to a small, glass door set in one of the hallways off the main dance and bar area.
We had to stop to greet what felt like a thousand people on the way in, as it always was when going out with Jared. The rest of us could keep a relatively low profile when out, or people could read the “fuck off” vibes we put out, but not Jared.
The man was a magnet for attention. I grudgingly played my part and was almost relieved when the door to the private room closed behind us. I usually wasn’t a fan of these private areas, but Jared had insisted, and for the first time, I was glad that he had.
Apparently, he didn’t want groupies hanging on him too much. It was still hard to wrap my head around it sometimes. Until just a couple of months ago, the man reveled in having as many groupies as possible, in every way possible.
Now he was booking private rooms even when it was just the two of us so he could avoid the hordes of horny women who would kill for the chance to try to steal his fidelity from his fiancée. Unfortunately for them, there was zero chance of that happening.
When the small glass door sealed us off from the thrumming club outside, Jared shrugged out of his leather jacket and went to help himself to a drink at the bar in the corner of the room, holding the bottle up to me. “Scotch?”
“Yeah.”
“Comin’ right up.” He produced two tumblers from a rack behind him, filled them to the brim with amber liquid, and pulled another bottle out from the stash on the counter.
The bar was dark wood, matching the tables, chairs, and the variety of clocks in the room. Club Niki was an older club that somehow managed to maintain its status as a favorite playground of the Hollywood types. Like us, I guess.
Their secret was simple: they were discreet. They could get you in and out without getting noticed, could get you anything you wanted, and no one would ever be any the wiser. Still, the main areas of the club had been modernized and spruced up, but the private rooms on this hallway retained their gentlemen-club feel.
A two-way glass mirror provided us with a stellar view of the main dancefloor of the club, but neither Jared nor I were interested in what was going on down there. I joined Jared at the bar instead and took a seat opposite him.
He slid my scotch and shot of tequila over and held his shot up to me. “Here’s to a long overdue Larsen boys’ night out.”
“Nostrovia.” I clinked his glass with mine and slammed the top-shelf tequila like it was the dime-store stuff that was all we used to be able to afford.
Jared followed suit and then raked the glasses back in to pour another. “So, I saw there’s a new profile on you out in GNM. Came out yesterday. You seen it?”
“Nope. You know I don’t read that shit. Just don’t care what they say.” Even if the author of the profile in question was a woman that I’d fucked several times over the course of the last week. Kelly was as much of a firecracker in bed as she was out of it, and I enjoyed making her explode, all puns intended.
I’d been keeping the fact that I’d seen her and been sleeping with her secret, though I didn’t even know why. Maybe just because Jared would probably be smug as hell about it. I didn’t feel like finding out.
“There’s an interesting metaphor in there that Kelly attributed to you. Something about lobsters and how they used to be a common food?” Jared lifted his eyes from the almost overflowing tequila shots to mine. “Something on your mind, Caleb?”
“Overexposure is a real threat, and we’re at risk of walking right into it. You shouldn’t just keep blowing it off.”
Jared looked me over for a second, all traces of humor dropping from his face. He got all serious, taking a deep sip of his scotch and closing his eyes thoughtfully before focusing on me again.
“All I ever wanted to do was to have fun and be happy. That’s all I want for you too, and I just don’t get it. We’re a successful rock band, we’ve made it all the way to the top, and you’re still miserable.”
“I’m not miserable,” I scoffed. “You’ve just turned into a chick. You’re overthinking this whole happiness, zen thing man.”
“I’ve turned into a chick, huh?” Jared raised an eyebrow, his seriousness fast fading from his expression. Instead, there was a familiar gleam entering his eyes. One that told me we were about to do something that was probably going to get us in trouble, along with a healthy dose of challenge.
“That’s what I said.” I’d never been one to back away from my brother’s challenges.
Jared smirked and tipped his shot glass at me before draining it. “I’ve still got edge, brother of mine. How about a little friendly shot for shot contest to prove it to you?”
Trust Jared to suggest a drinking competition to prove he still had it. “You’re on.”
“Excellent. Shot a minute?” It was a game that’d handed our asses to us many times before, but we’d always gone back for more, and it looked like we’d be doing it again.
“Line ‘em up. Let’s see what you’ve got left, loverboy.” I taunted him laughingly. Jared took the bait, winking and flipping me off before starting to line the entire counter with a variety of shots. He was definitely out to get slaughtered here.
“It’s loverman, I’ll have you know. No boy here.”
“You keep telling yourself that.” I knew he would anyway. Glancing at the clock again, I chose a shot at random and raised it. “Time to start. May the best man still be able to call for a ride later.”
Jared chuckled and downed his shot as I did mine. Already, I was getting a nice buzz going, and since it’d been a while since it’d been just me and Jared, I was enjoying the time with my brother. As the hours passed, we pounded back enough alcohol to take down a horse, but neither of us were backing down.
We were drinking to oblivion if it came to that, and I was perfectly okay with it. Jared had passed into the reminiscing stage of drunkenness, talking about a show we’d had back when we were first becoming known.
The crowd had been terrible that night, wondering who the up-and-comers were and booing each song they didn’t know, which at the time had been most of ours, if not all of them.
“Those fuckers took some working,” Jared said. “God, I thought I was going to have to fuck someone on stage to get them interested.”
“But you didn’t have to,” I reminded him. “You always know just what to do to get them eating out of the palm of your fuckin’ hand.”
“Nah, I just flash ‘em some skin and moan into the mic.” He laughed, miming his signature move of teasing the audience that he was about to take off his shirt.
“Well yeah, mostly that. But you’ve also just got it, man. You know how to read ‘em and give them what they want. I’ve always been kind of jealous of that.” It seemed I was passing into the brutal and embarrassing honesty stage of drunk. I slammed another shot and hoped to pass into belligerent soon.
“You, jealous of me?” Jared asked, incredulous. “Seriously?”