Loud is How I Love You by Mercy Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

him, he started to really pound me and he was swearing, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Emmy, you feel so fucking good,” and I was so gone with the feel of him I wanted to disappear forever inside that moment. I wanted to keep him there with me and never come back.
    “I’m going to go check on the gear,” Travis says, finishing his beer.
    But I know he’s going to go find Millie. I know it.
    “What’s wrong?” he asks.
    “Nothing,” I say. “Go check on the gear.”
    He gives me a hearty eye-roll, drops a few bucks on the bar to tip Greg, and then walks off without saying anything else.
    Fucking hell God damn it.
    I look down the bar and Mickey is now talking to someone else, someone I don’t know. He lights a cigarette and looks up and sees me looking his way, so I smile and he winks and gives me the thumbs-up. I have no idea what that even means, so I just sit where I am and let this frat brother in a Flyers jersey breathe all over the side of my head as he’s yelling shit into my ear about Monster Magnet and Slayer and Long Branch. Greg puts a shot in front of me and I take it down without even wondering who it’s from or if it’s a good idea. As soon as I do I feel lightheaded and I know it wasn’t. I look back over to where Mickey is and he’s not looking my way. Travis, Joey, and Cole aren’t anywhere to be seen, so I head over to the gear lounge and Joey is arguing with Dan the drummer in Circle Time over something stupid like Zildjians versus Sabians. I stagger to the bathroom. I’m glad to find Millie in there putting lip gloss on, because that means she’s not making out with Travis somewhere. She, Hanna Octane, and our friend Julia, the bass player from Circle Time, are talking about who’s going to get tapped to open for Ween at Ag Field Day.
    “Awesome set tonight, Emmy!” Julia says, raising her cocktail to me.
    “Magnifico,” Hanna says with a faraway smile, but then Hanna always looks like her mind is being operated remotely by tiny space monkeys. Except when she’s playing—then she’s sharp as a tack.
    “You guys nailed it tonight,” Millie says and wraps her arms around me in a drunk hug. “You were so fucking awesome, girl.”
    “Thanks,” I say.
    “Hey,” Millie says. “I need to ask, are you and Travis Bean a thing?”
    Oh shit.
    How the hell am I supposed to answer this now? First of all, she’s using my nickname for him and she does not have permission to do that, does she? Not from me, she doesn’t. I want to tell her to keep her fucking hands off of him, but I’m in no position to do that. I’m of the mind here that what I need to be doing is backing as far out of this weird headspace with Travis as possible. Get things back to normal, as in, not fucking him and making out with him. So no, we’re definitely not a thing in that regard. We’re friends, bandmates, and nothing else. And I need to make sure everybody knows it, too.
    “No,” I say. “We’re not a thing. Why would you even ask me that?”
    “Because I don’t want it to be weird if I hook up with him.”
    “Oh,” I say, but I feel like horking up every bit of alcohol I’ve consumed in the course of my college career onto her Doc Martens. I pull it together and say, “Well, it’s not like that with us.”
    “Good,” she says and plants a strawberry-scented kiss on my cheek. “Chicks before dicks.”
    I’m already most of the way to drunk, which isn’t helping that sick, angry feeling I have now, so what do I do? I march back out to the bar and ask Greg for another shot, which he pours for me on the house. I do it and oh shit. I push my way up front through the crowd where Red Five is killing it, really killing it. Ron, the singer, sees me up front and gives me the “what’s up, fellow musician” nod. Ron Red—all the local musicians get rechristened by Billy Broadband, the local music scene coordinator, if you will, with their band name as their last name, in the tradition of Dean and Gene