Rough Ride in an Elevator

Even though it was mere days before Christmas, it was like any typical night at Tommy’s apartment… plenty of alcohol, plenty of drugs, plenty of chicks, and a shit ton of drunk and high guys banging the chicks. 

After Tommy was evicted from the Motley House, he moved into a fifth-floor apartment of an eight-story building with his girlfriend of six months. She was tall, slender, and sexy, and she was also a cunt; someone who liked to try to keep Tommy on a short leash. And that was the very reason why he was glad that she had a two-day modeling gig down in San Diego the week before Christmas. 

No leash equaled no rules.

Channeling booze down his gullet? No problem. Snorting coke up his ruby-tinted nose? No big deal. Sticking his dick where it didn't belong? So what. Wreaking havoc with his best friend and bandmate? The highlight of it all.

Nikki…

The pair were destined to become best friends. Same height, same look, same coolness factor, same taste in music…. what else was there? 
Actually a lot…. There was a lot that was different between them. Drums versus bass, Coke versus Pepsi, spandex versus leather. Oh, and one other thing Tommy was infatuated with Nikki and it didn’t appear that the admiration was matched in reverse.  

In-fuckin-fatuated…. since day one. 

Tommy didn’t know what that was. The dude was too … too uhh… too something… sigh… He didn’t know. He couldn’t explain it. Heh heh, it wasn’t like he gay or anything. It was… well, it was just something… that’s all. 

What was the point of trying to explain it? Who cared? Tommy didn’t care… everyone was infatuated with the spiky-haired bass player. Okay well, not Vince. And not Mick. And definitely not most of the other dudes who regularly partied with them. No, not their photographer. Not their roadies. No guys from other bands.

But there were fans… fans who were obsessed with the band, and um, were also obsessed with the girls that came along with the band. But still, Tommy noticed guys staring at all four of them. Perhaps they were just wannabees, but you know… he couldn’t be the only one who carried this fascination. 

Then there was Arnie who was always at the parties. Arnie stared, but he also wore purple and shimmered. And tilted his hips when he leaned up against the wall, accentuating his slender frame. Yeah, that dude had to be gay. But Tommy… no way. He just… well, what could he say? Nikki was hot as fuck, who could blame him for ogling.

He couldn’t be the only one who thought so. The dude was a people magnet, for chicks and dudes. Which was actually pretty funny because Nikki was as antisocial as they came, at times rivaling Mick’s reluctance to get down, get in, and mingle.

But the problem was… and there was one… Nikki always seemed to catch him mid-stare, and in return would glare harshly at the drummer, with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw. That classic, inflamed what-the-fuck look. Yeah, there was no way that Nikki even remotely had any mutual feelings. 

Still, there were a few things. Like a squeeze on the hip when he walked by. And he knew that those mysterious green eyes had cunningly followed him around the room from time to time. How about that time when Nikki slapped his knee, inviting Tommy to sit on it to do a line off of a mirror that he held up for him.

Aah fuck, who gave a shit about all of that? The party was popping, the night was young, the women were hot, the music loud, and the dirty dog was off-leash. Time to take a swan dive right into the center of it all.

Two hours later - 

Tommy stumbled around his apartment in a daze, eventually tripping over nothing and landing with a face plant. Fuck, man, he said to himself as he laid on his stomach face to face with a new cigarette burn in the carpeting. He cradled his head in his arms, as he tried to recall anything that happened in the past two hours. There were at least two blowjobs, more than a few lines, and several bottles.