Bandom One-shots book 3

Padded Bra? (Sammy Hagar x Eddie Van Halen)

I knew rehearsals with Sammy were gonna be... interesting. But this? This was something else entirely.

It was the day of the big show. We were all in the rehearsal space, working through the setlist for the night. I was already a little on edge because it was Sammy's first time performing with us. It's not that I didn't like the guy—hell, he was a hell of a talent. But I was used to David up there, you know? Sammy was... different.

And right now, that difference was grating on my nerves in the worst way possible.

We were going through Panama—a song I knew like the back of my hand—and Sammy was up there singing with his usual flair, but something was off. He kept stumbling over the lyrics.

"Panamaaaaaa..." Sammy belted out, leaning into the mic with that signature Sammy energy.

But then came the next line.

"I... I wanna reach out and touch you, Padded Bra..."

Padded Bra?

I stopped dead in my tracks, fingers hovering over the fretboard.

"What the hell did you just say?" I blurted out, turning to look at him, my voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance.

Sammy shot me a grin, clearly oblivious. "Padded Bra, man. It's what the song's about, right? You know, something soft and cushy?"

"No, Panama, Sammy! Panama!" I could feel my face heat up. "That's the line. Not 'Padded Bra'! Christ, are you messing with me?"

Sammy blinked at me, his smile widening. "Oh, right, right. Panama, not Padded Bra. Got it."

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake it off. This was gonna be a long day.

We picked up the tempo again, and Sammy, the ever-enthusiastic showman, dove right back into the next verse.

"Panamaaaaaa..."

And there it came again.

"I wanna reach out and touch you, Padded Bra..."

No. He didn't just do it again. Did he?

I slammed my guitar neck down, hands gripping the edge of the stand as I stood up. "Padded Bra?! Again?!"

Sammy looked at me, completely unfazed, like I was the one who had the problem. "Yeah, man. Padded Bra! What's the big deal? It fits with the vibe, don't you think?"

I stared at him, my hands trembling slightly with the urge to toss something at his head. "No, Sammy! It doesn't fit! It's Panama, not Padded Bra! For the love of god, Sammy, we've been playing this song for years!"

I could feel the sweat starting to bead on my forehead, my patience evaporating quicker than the booze I'd consumed last night.

"Okay, okay!" Sammy laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Panama it is. I'll get it right this time."

But no. Of course, that wasn't it. No. He didn't get it right. Not even a minute later, we hit the chorus again.

"I wanna reach out and touch you, Padded Bra..."

I swear I could feel my blood pressure rising. "Goddamn it, Sammy!"

This time, I really couldn't hold back. I threw my guitar onto its stand with a violent thud, stormed over to the mic, and got right in Sammy's face.

"Are you trying to drive me insane?!" I yelled. "It's Panama, Sammy! Panama! Not Padded Bra!"

Sammy took a step back, eyes widening for a split second, but then he just burst out laughing, the bastard.

"Oh, come on, Eddie. It's a funny mistake!" he said, grinning like he was getting some sick amusement out of this whole thing. "I mean, what's the difference? Padded Bra, Panama... it's practically the same thing. Soft, cushy, supportive... I'm just trying to make the song more comfortable for you."

I couldn't even look at him anymore. I was standing there, my hands on my hips, seething. "Supportive? Sammy, I swear to god, if you say 'Padded Bra' one more time, I'm gonna throw you out of this room."

He just chuckled and grabbed the mic again, swaying it in his hand like a goddamn rockstar. "Alright, alright, no more Padded Bra jokes. But I think it could really work, man. You should try it sometime. I'm just making it more relatable."

I threw my hands up in exasperation, turning back to my guitar. "Relatable? This is a rock song, not a goddamn lingerie commercial!"

Sammy just winked at me. "Whatever you say, man. But, hey, you gotta admit it makes the song a little more... interesting."

I grabbed my guitar again, strumming hard enough to get a decent riff out of it just to drown out the sound of Sammy's obnoxious laughter. My hands were still shaking from the frustration of the whole situation.

"Alright, let's try it again," I grumbled, picking up the tempo. "No more Padded Bra. I'm serious."

Sammy nodded dramatically, his face all sincerity. "No more Padded Bra. I swear."

We ran through the song again. I stared at the neck of my guitar, silently praying he wouldn't mess up again. But I was about to get a rude awakening.

The moment came. The line came.

"I wanna reach out and touch you, Padded Bra—"

I stopped playing. Dead stop. My fingers froze mid-chord. I spun around, the guitar in my hands a blur of motion, and I just looked at him, wide-eyed and on the verge of losing my damn mind.

"SAMMY!"

He burst out laughing so hard I thought he was going to choke. "Okay, okay! I was just messing with you! I got it this time! No more Padded Bra. I swear!"

At this point, I was just too tired to argue. My head was pounding. I rubbed my eyes and sighed.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy," I muttered. "You're lucky I like you."

He smirked. "Yeah, well, you're gonna love me even more when I nail Panama tonight. I promise, no Padded Bra. Just pure, unadulterated Panama."

"I'll believe it when I hear it," I muttered under my breath as we finally started the song again, this time with just a little less sarcasm on my end.

For now, though, I could only shake my head and keep playing, wondering how the hell I ended up in this mess. Sammy Hagar had officially earned a spot in my musical life—but if he ever said "Padded Bra" again, I was out.

At least the show was gonna be interesting tonight.

~Padded Bra?~