great suggestion, as far as I was concerned. I’m terrible at making small talk with normal people under the best of circumstances, so trying to do it with a freaking music mogul, in his mansion, after watching him rip some poor dude a new butthole wasn’t my idea of a good time.
“Let’s get this party started!” a male voice yells playfully, eliciting a cheer from the small group. And when I turn my head, the proverbial puke attack I’ve been staving off for the past few hours rises sharply in my throat. It’s 22 Goats. All three members, walking onto the patio, along with a beautiful young woman.
Based on his body language, it appears it was Matthew Fishberger—Fish—the bass player in the band, who shouted that boisterous greeting. Or maybe I’m assuming that because in every interview I’ve seen of 22 Goats, and in every one of their music videos, Fish is the one who makes me smile and laugh the most.
I know this is a minority opinion, but I think Fish, not Dax, is the heart and soul of that band. Simply because I get the feeling Dax is only free to let loose the way he does, because he’s got his trusted best friend holding down the fort next to him—singing those incredible backing harmonies and playing his bass so brilliantly. Or maybe I’m just projecting that dynamic onto the band, since, my whole life, Georgina’s been the Dax of our sisterhood, while I’ve been the Fish.
As the three rock stars waltz onto the patio, the crowd enthusiastically greets them. Violet, the sophisticated brunette who was sitting on a lounger earlier, beelines to Dax and throws herself at him, and he kisses her like a drowning man gasps for oxygen. So, I guess that answers that question. Reed’s little sister, Violet, is definitely Dax’s wife, Violet. The woman who inspired 22 Goats’ masterpiece of a second album.
As I continue staring at the happy crowd greeting the Goats, the young woman who arrived with the band slides her arms around the drummer’s waist in a way that suggests she’s his date. Hmm. Does that mean Fish doesn’t have a date today? Or will she, or he, be coming later?
Gah.
Fish is so cute.
Obviously, I’m excited to see all three members of the band in person. Even if they weren’t famous, they’re three young, incredibly attractive dudes, so I’d surely be peeping at them, regardless. But . . . Fish.
There’s just something extra special about him. I love that he’s got boy-next-door charm mixed with a touch of rock star swagger. I think it’s that juxtaposition—his innate humility and normalcy mixed with the unmistakable glow of his stratospheric success—that makes him so damned mesmerizing to me. He seems attainable and relatable, and yet, also like a rock star, all at once.
In person, Fish is a bit taller than I’d expected. More fit, too, although his muscles are lean, and not bulky. Which means he’s exactly my type. I mean, if a girl who’s never had a boyfriend can be said to have a type.
Fish is dressed in a T-shirt and swim trunks. His light brown hair is tousled and a little shaggy, while his facial hair is well trimmed. As he hugs a pregnant blonde—a woman named Kat whom Georgie and I met earlier—I catch a glimpse of Fish’s iconic fish tattoo going down his left forearm. And for some reason, seeing that well-known tattoo in person gives me goose bumps.
“Are you totally freaking out?”
I look down at the pool to find my stepsister, Georgina, standing in the shallow end below me, her hazel eyes twinkling with amusement.
“You knew they were coming today, didn’t you?” I whisper-shout. “You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to puke in the pool?”
Georgina chuckles. “No, I swear. If I’d known, I would have warned you. I know how much you love that band.”
“I don’t love them. I’m obsessed with them.” I slide into the water, up to my waist, and grab Georgina’s hand. “Georgie. Please. Hold my hand while I regain my equilibrium, or I might pass out and sink to the bottom of the pool, never to rise again.”
“Oh, God. We don’t want that.” She squeezes my hand. “I’ve got you, baby. Take deep breaths.”
I take several deep breaths before murmuring, “Although, I must admit, there are worse ways to go than ‘Death by 22 Goats.’”
“Well, if you’re going to die today, then you should at least say hello to your favorite