The very last thing that Christine Hill expected was the exponential success of Mötley Crüe-the band she loved to hate.
And she never would've surmised that she'd be dragged-kicking and fucking screaming, by the nape of her neck-along for the wilde...
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Christine didn't feel the need to turn on her heels and greet whichever of her favorite deranged men as she heard the apartment door slam against the wall.
Just by the fervor with which the wood hit the plasterboard, she knew that it couldn't have been Vince or Mick. And if it had been Tommy, he would have made more of a grand entrance.
She was leaning toward the possibility of it being Nikki, but when she felt a pair of strong, yet oddly soft, hands rest upon the dips of her waist, Chris knew who had waltzed in first.
"Hey, Robbin."
Christine smiled warmly while she continued to stir sugar into her coffee. She could almost feel the guitarist's mouth hang open in utter disbelief.
"This one is good." He chuckled to himself. "How'd you know it was even me, 'Stine?"
She quirked an eyebrow, turning around. "'Stine?"
"Yeah. Just trying it out. Sounded better in my head, though..."
"Well, keep that one in your head, honey." Christine said. "And I knew it was you 'cus you're quiet. If it had been Tommy, I'd have probably burst my eardrums by now, Vince would've smacked my ass, and Nikki would've just—"
"If you're talking shit about me, then I suggest you stop." Nikki griped as he walked in through the door, further solidifying Christine's intended monologue for the bassist.
"He would've just done that." She whispered to Robbin, laughing softly.
"Miserable bastard." He added, slinging an arm around both of her shoulders.
Chris adored Robbin, he was one of the sweetest souls she'd encountered whilst being involved with such a feral group of people.
He was such a genuine, nice man. An incredible guitarist whose life changed, flipped upside down completely, when Stephen Pearcy came along with Ratt and pushed himself and Crosby onto the glam metal scene fairly quickly.
She was so grateful to have met a guy like Robbin, grounded and headstrong. Though, like Nikki, he had his vices. And Christine wished that, perhaps, one day he would see what he was doing to himself and those around him.
"Miserable, fucked up bastard." Christine corrected.
It was always obvious when he was on something, he had dark circles beneath his usual glistening eyes, and his entire mood was off from the get-go.
"Don't anger it." Tommy put a hand on Chris's shoulder when Nikki stormed through the apartment, slamming the bedroom door shut before she could go after him to figure out what was wrong.
