Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 2

My smile stretched out even further as I yanked the cigarette pack out of Brian's hands and crossed the room, sneaking someone's lighter as I passed by and lighting another stick along the way. I plopped down on the stool next to my benefactor and leaned against the bar, pinning the cigarette in between my lips.

"About time you showed up," the man greeted cheekily as he picked up the pack I had set down on the counter and pulled out a cigarette for himself.

"Well that's what you get when you invite us out of the blue to a bar that's three hours away, Freddie." I lifted the stolen lighter and brought the flame up to the end of the white stick, holding it long enough for the singer to light up.

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen, Rog," he muttered through the space in between his lips. Freddie took a long drag and let it out slowly, the stream of smoke cutting through the air as he looked back to see Brian standing behind us. "What did I say about there being only one drama queen in this band?"

The curly-haired guitarist shook his head, avoiding the misleading question by proposing another one. "So, where's this new guy, Fred?" Freddie raised his hand and pointed at the stage at the other end of the bar. Brian and I exchanged a confused look before he cleared his throat and spoke for both of us, replying, "Freddie, we can't take another band's bassist."

The man with the noticeable overbite scoffed at Brian's assumption, as if he should've known better. "No, no, no," he pointed in the same direction again, "Not the guy on stage, you idiot. The guy beside the stage."

I leaned back on the stool to look around Brian, my eyes falling upon the long-haired, lanky man swaying side to side to the music with his hands positioned as if they were holding an imaginary bass. Plucking the invisible strings, he played along with the band and kept time with his legs, his pants hugging his waist and thighs, flaring out at his calves, and disguising the heeled boots he wore. I raised a curious eyebrow, slowly losing myself in the mystery that was Freddie's conquest.

Where did he meet this guy, and what was so special about him? That he could play air bass? That his eyeliner competed with Freddie's? That he was the only guy who could pull off a look like—

My quickly derailing train of thought was cut short when I felt a hand around my upper arm, snapping me out of the daze I had fallen into and breaking my one-sided staring contest with the fascinating stranger. My distracted gaze traveled up to meet Brian's, who nodded his head towards the rowdy crowd that Freddie had ventured into without us, implying we needed to follow suit. I heaved a sigh and put the cigarette back up to my lips, inhaling the biggest breath of nicotine and carcinogens I could and letting it escape through my nose and mouth like a dragon. "Let's get this bloody thing over with, Bri," I grumbled, smashing the butt into the ashtray on the counter and standing up, "The sooner we do this, the quicker we can get home."

"What makes you think I'm driving you home?" Brian retorted with a smirk, "I only said I'd drive you here."

Before I could build a snarky remark to respond with, Freddie's voice sounded over the room, attracting our attention. "Boys!" He excitedly motioned us over, acting as if we and the man he claimed was worthy of joining the band were the only people there. "Come meet John!"

"John," I repeated annoyedly under my breath, forcing a grin on my face and matching Brian's actions as we both waved to the man who had shyly raised his own hand first. "How traditional, just like Paul."

"Stop it," the guitarist growled, nudging me in the side and eliciting a shocked gasp and glare. He widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows, tacking on an authoritative and threatening, "Now," to his previous statement.

"Yes, Father," I sneered, rolling my eyes and grabbing the box of cigarettes off the bar, pushing forward as Brian tagged along like a puppy who was afraid of being left behind. We approached Freddie and his new friend, and the singer wasted no time in getting us acquainted. As Freddie rambled on and on about why he thought John would be the perfect fit for the band—not really letting the man speak for himself—I found myself, once again, staring at him. There was just something about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on; something that made him different than all the others we had attempted to collaborate with.

"So, does Friday work for you?" Brian inquired interestedly, bringing me back to reality and making me realize that I had missed the entire conversation. "You can meet us at my place after class. It's right by the school."

"Yes," John replied simply with an accent that none of us had ever heard before, adding yet another cryptic layer to his identity.

"Marvelous, darling!" Freddie exclaimed flamboyantly, clapping his hands together and smiling at me with that big-toothed smile of his that still managed to irk the dentist inside of me, though I promised him I wouldn't say anything. "Roger, why don't you be a doll and get us some drinks to celebrate?" Before I could object, he quickly added with a wink, "You owe me."

I shoved my finger in his face, clenching my jaw and gritting my teeth to hold back the insult that wanted to escape. It would've found its way out if it wasn't for me catching a glimpse of John's stare that oozed with anticipation and eagerness, the corner of his lip curling up ever so slightly as if he was waiting for me to go off on Freddie; as if the impending quarrel was bound to be the highlight of his night. I'd be damned to let that be the first impression I make on this guy, though, so I bit my lip and slowly dropped my hand to my side, clasping it in my other hand behind my back and forcing another grin on my face as I replied as politely as I could manage, "I'd be honored to, Freddie."