The Mighty Fall In Love

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Joe, Andy, Pete and I leave the Molson Canadian Amphitheatre escorted by many security guards as Canadian fans scream our names and ask for autographs after tonight's show and meet and greet. We smile and wave, clapping and shaking people's hands as we make our way down to the bus. I smile as the Canadians jump up and down in excitement at just seeing us, and can't help but yell, "I love you, Toronto!" which makes the crowd even more loud and rowdy.

We reach the bus and dive inside as pictures are being snapped rapidly and pleads are being screamed telling us not leave. Pete runs into the small bathroom as Joe, Andy, and I take our regular seats; I at the kitchen table, which folds down and doubles as a couch, and Joe and Andy in the living room, where the TV and Xbox are. After finally pulling away from the cluster of people, Pete comes out of the bathroom and closes the curtain between the living room and kitchen, as well as the one between the driver and us.

"Jesus," he grumbles, obviously annoyed by the hustle and bustle of the fans. He rubs his temples. "I love our fans, but they have got to stop screaming or I'm gonna lose it. This fucking migraine is gonna be the death of me."

He must've gone into the bathroom to get some ibuprofen, I realize.

He comes and drops next to me on the couch.

"Your singing was great tonight, Trick. As per usual," he gives me a sly side smile as he puts his legs on to my lap.

"Thanks, Pete," I say, smiling back. "Your running around and causing ruckus tonight was also great," I joke back sarcastically.

We sit in silence for a while, both of us thinking to ourselves.

I think of Elisa and how much I miss her. Already 2 weeks into the tour, I wouldn't see her until the end of the tour when we finish in Chicago. I really miss her; her warm embrace, her dumb jokes, and her gorgeous smile. I'm not sure how I'll last 5 more weeks without her, but on the bright side, I guess I'll have something to look forward to when I get home.

Pete unzips his sweater and pulls it off, revealing a thin muscle shirt drenched with sweat. I can't help but stare at his body, which I find myself doing a lot these past months.

We've been best friends for forever and each other's rock. Our friendship has lasted all these years, during shows and tours, during music writing sessions and interviews, and much through the hiatus. But I can't understand why I've envied his girlfriends for having him and being able to do what they want with him. What kind of friend am I, to be jealous of his girlfriends, especially when I have Elisa?

But my gaze falls back down to his ripped bod. His muscle shirt tight and wet against his wash board abs. His arms large and buff. His protruding collar bone, Adam's apple, and hip bones. His detailed tattoos, decorating his body with colour and stories. The outlines of each of his muscles, the veins popping out on his arms. His mighty upper body. And once again I was intrigued by Pete Wentz.

He catches me examining his body and snaps his fingers. My gaze lifts up to his face and he wears a devilish expression.

"Trick, I'm up here," he says, waving his hand near his face, eyes clearly amused.

I direct my eyes to my lap, where his legs rest comfortably over my arms. I twiddle my thumbs, embarrassed. I slip my arms out from under Pete's lap and push my glasses up and fix my fedora, before pushing my glasses back up again. I move Pete's legs off of my lap.

"I should probably go change," I start, realizing how soaked and sweat I was too. As I try to stand up, but Pete pushes my chest softly and tells me to sit back down. I sink into the seat.