*Disclaimer: Identifying details changed to protect the not-so-innocent. The rest is true, if a bit rose-colored by memory.*
I met Tom met through my best friend when he was on tour. I hadn’t planned on prowling that night; to be honest, I was done with guys in bands, guys on tour, and guys in general. I was too fucking busy for their bullshit, their neediness, their requirements of my devotion and attention when they were in town.
I arrived at the bar after work, but before sound check, and everyone was well on their way to being merry. It was supposed to be a low-key night, with a shitty band on stage and free booze. My best friend (and partner-in-many-crimes) Kate met me outside, her too-short dress riding up as she navigated through the crowd of commuters on the busy street. She grabbed me by the arm and tugged me around the side of the building, quietly telling me to listen up. The memory of this moment is wildly vivid for me, from the sweep of her dark hair against her pale cheek to the lusty catcall she got from a bike messenger. She smiled. “There’s a guy inside,” she said, snapping her fingers. “You’re either going to kill him or fuck him senseless. We already have bets going. I’ve got $50 on you two fucking, don’t let me down.” I remember asking, “What if I do both?” She rolled her eyes; we went inside.