Page 29 of Revelry

“You know, Ginge, you’re about to spend every waking second of the next three months with one or all of us on tour. By the end of it you’ll be so used to cock, you won’t even bat an eyelid.”

He snatches up the can of whipped cream that I’d been periodically spraying into my mouth and disappears with it and his ice cream into the bedroom.

“Hey, I was eating that.”

“Your arse will thank me, Ali.”

Damn him, he’s probably right.

My phone buzzes on the couch beside me, and I pick it up and glance at the screen, opening the message.

Coop: Ali-Cat. I have people over and we’ve run out of booze. Tell me you’re not drinking right now, and can come save my life?

I glare at the screen as if he could see my seriously pissed off face and type out my response.

Me: Seriously? Save your life? Are you choking in some way? Having a heart attack? Has a serial killer invaded your home and cut out your voice box, rendering you unable to call triple zero?

Coop: No. Why do you sound like you’re wishing one of those things had happened?

Me: Because I see no other reason for you to be texting me in the middle of the night to come save your life.

Coop: Question? If the other guys called you in the middle of the night, would you come?

Me: Without question.:)

I’m pretty sure he knows that’s not true, but I sort of love pissing him off.

Coop: Ouch, so catty.

Me: Oh, was I mean to da poor widdle wock star?

Coop: Yes, my feelings are seriously hurt. You should come kiss them better.

Me: Bite me.

Coop: Just tell me where.

Me: We fly out at five am, Cooper. Now let me go to sleep.

Coop: Can you really sleep through all that noise from Zed’s room?

Me: How do you know he’s being noisy?

Coop: He’s a nervous flyer. He likes to fuck out all his anxiety beforehand. If he disappears into the bathroom a hundred times during our flight, he’s more than likely going to jack off, or he’s roping some attendant into joining the mile-high club.

Me: I really could have done without knowing that information, Coop. Thanks.

Coop: Wanna know a secret?

Me: Does it involve the words I, jack and off?

Coop: No, but now I’m sorta wishing it did.

Me: What’s your secret, Coop?

Coop: I’m afraid of confined spaces. Fucking hate them actually.

Me: And yet you’re preparing to live on a tour bus for three months.