Bad Boy Read Free Page B

And it’s not even midnight yet,” Laura commented.
    “I’m just . . . up tight. You know, Mother’s Day weekend always bothers me,” Tracie admitted. And the story. And Marcus. And Phil being late. And . . .
    “Look, take it from me: Having a mother p. 16 can suck, too,” Laura told her, and put her arm around Tracie’s shoulder.
    Tracie stood on a rung of the bar stool to look over the crowd. Her hair fell in her eyes and that, along with the lights, made it impossible to see. No Phil. Instead, Tracie motioned for another drink, and this time the bartender saw her. “I’d just like to know that I’m going to go home with Phil tonight and cocoon tomorrow in bed.”
    “While I quietly weep on my cot,” Laura said, then added, “Hey, you deserve it, working so hard on that Mother’s Day story. Marcus shouldn’t have assigned it to you. It’s totally harshed your buzz.”
    “Newspaper editors are rarely noted for their sensitivity. And my roommates always have big mouths.”
    “I’m not a roommate,” Laura interjected. “I’m only visiting till I get over Peter.”
    “God! That’ll take years.”
    “No. It took years to get over Ben .” Laura stopped, considered, and continued. “It’ll just be months to get over Peter. Unless he calls and begs.”
    “Tell him to drop dead.”
    “What?”
    “Tell him to forget it.”
    “Regret it?” Laura yelled.
    Tracie pulled out a Post-it notepad ‌ —she was never without one ‌ —and scribbled on it. She slapped it on the bar. It read “ Just Say No. ” In a corner, a group of die-hard punk rock musicians sat in a booth. They were sucking down p. 17 beers. “The Swollen Glands,” Tracie said, and indicated to Laura. “Phil’s band.”
    “Well, they don’t look like my type, but it’s better than sitting here. Let’s join ‘em,” Laura suggested. “Maybe they’ll buy us a drink.”
    “Yeah, maybe they’ll win a Congressional Medal of Honor, too.” The two girls made their way through the crowd and over to the group in the corner.
    “Hi, guys,” Tracie said. “Glands, this is Laura. Laura, the Glands.” Tracie sat down next to Jeff.
    “This music sucks,” Jeff, the regular Glands bass player, said.
    “Yo, Tracie. Doesn’t this suck?” Frank, the drummer, asked as Laura took the seat beside him. There was a silence until a beautiful blonde walked by.
    “Yum, yum. Come to papa. I’ve got something for ya,” Jeff said.
    “Forget her. She works with me at the Times. She’s a barracuda.”
    “Well, I’ve got something I’d like to hook her with,” Jeff said.
    “Now I know which Gland you are,” Laura said. She turned to Frank. “And you? Lymph, perhaps?”
    There was a commotion at the door. Tracie brightened as Phil entered. She gave Laura a look, and Laura turned her head. “God. He is tall. And good-looking.” Tracie nodded. Her guy had a lot of grace and charm ‌ —when he wanted to use it. In his hand was a bass guitar, but she was disturbed to see that beside him p. 18 was an extremely thin, pretty woman. The two made their way through the crowd and approached the corner table. “He doesn’t walk,” Laura said. “He swaggers. And who’s the skank? Heavenly Host, he’s worse than Peter.”
    “You haven’t even met him yet,” Tracie protested, though she was already nervous about the so-called skank herself. “Give me a break.”
    “Hey, girl. I got out late from rehearsal.” Phil put his arm around Tracie.
    “Phil, this is Laura,” Tracie said, introducing them. Uh-oh, one look at Laura’s face and Tracie recognized her mood. It was overly protective. She was staring at Phil as if instead of being late and accompanied by this nobody he had thrown acid on her face. Laura tended to overreact in situations like this. On the other hand, Tracie had the same tendency when Laura was being mistreated.
    “Hi, Phil. Nice to meet you, too. Oh! And what have you brought us? Your tuning fork?” Laura