“For Unrequited, sure. But for me? That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
“You’re not leaving us, Mae-Mae,” Murray called, eyes still on his screen.
My eyes met Santiago’s. There was no privacy on this bus, not that we’d been talking about anything personal, but it was something to keep in mind if we ever did.
“You really think you won’t stay with the band after the tour’s over?” Santiago asked.
“I’m hopin’ it’ll work out.” I shoved my hand through my hair. “I haven’t stayed with a band for longer than a couple months.”
“That’s what I was like at your age. Floating until I landed.”
“I’m not floating. I’m pretty well grounded, mostly biding my time until the right opportunity comes along.”
“You don’t think this is it?” he asked.
“I hope it is. I always pictured myself in a girl band, like Hole or The Donnas, but I don’t know. I might like being the only woman.”
“The fans fucking love you,” Mo said. “I think half of our audience last night would have been happy for me to leave the stage so they could see you better.”
My mouth twitched. “Maybe my kit should be at the front…?”
“That dude who kept yelling out proposals to you all night would’ve been happy,” Murray said.
“Ah…well, I hope they start admirin’ me for my drumming abilities over my tits.”
Murray finally tore his eyes from the screen to ogle said tits. “Can’t it be both?”
“Don’t talk about Maeve like that, man,” Santiago all but growled.
“Why not? I didn’t hear you complaining when all the girls were screaming over Mo’s dick in his leather pants.” Murray’s eyes flitted over Santi as though he was a robot, attempting to scan the human lifeform to figure him out.
“Not the same.”
“Hey.” I waved my arm in the air. “I second Santiago’s motion. I promise never to talk about Mo’s dick in his leather pants if you stop lookin’ at my breasts like you have X-ray vision.”
Mo threw down his controller. “I’m burning those pants. No one told me they could see the outline of my dick in them.”
“I could tell whether or not you’re circumcised,” Murray said.
Mo gave him a wry look. “I’m Jewish. Pretty sure you knew the answer pre-leather pants.”
“Don’t listen to us. Your leather pants are totes adorbs,” I teased.
He groaned. “Those fucking pants. Clark hired some stylist who picked all this shit out for me. What’s wrong with just jeans and a T-shirt?”
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s all I wear on stage, minus my drag queen days.”
Santi nudged my foot with his. “But your T-shirts are special.”
“Which brings us back to the subject I’m no longer allowed to talk about.” Murray hung his head.
“My breasts?”
He perked up. “Has the ban been lifted?”
“Momentarily.”
He deflated somewhat, but kept going.