Free P.J. Morse - Clancy Parker 02 - Exile on Slain Street by P.J. Morse

a camera crew, because Kevin had to keep me around for a while. Then again, a woman commands attention when she spits fire.
    Patrick led me over to a patio sofa with plush red cushions. When I sat down, he pulled me a little closer to him, and I wriggled away in response. Then I realized that dating on reality television is like a Chipmunk record, with everything at top speed. We’d barely exchanged any words, yet he kept his arm around me as if we were on our second or third date.
    “So, are you going to be my tomboy?” he asked. He was already slotting me into a role, but there were worse roles out there than “Tomboy,” and it fit in well with Greg’s “redneck” story line, so I went with it.
    “I guess. I’m sorry to say I’m not much of a lap dancer.”
    “That’s okay. We all have our talents. What do you do for fun?” he asked.
    “Oh, probably whatever you find boring.” I lifted my beer can, which was mostly empty. “I drink beer, I spit fire, I work, I play guitar, I shoot guns.” All of that was true. My license let me carry a weapon, although Kevin wouldn’t let me bring it on the show.
    Patrick’s jaw dropped open. “I have to ask… what is a girl like you doing on a show like this?”
    Instead of saying, “Earning a great paycheck,” I smiled and told him, “I love your band.”
    “Now, am I going to have to worry that you are some kind of groupie? You strike me as the independent type.”
    I decided it was time to play my card. “I grew up listening to the Nuclear Kings. I’m from Gardenia.”
    “Get out! Man, I feel so old!” He rubbed the top of his freshly shaved head.
    “It’s totally true! I learned to play guitar because of you guys!” The truth was that I actually started begging for guitar lessons after a babysitter played me a Sonic Youth record, but at least I owned a Nuclear Kings album in the past.
    He took my hand and stroked it. “I knew you played guitar. I saw the calluses earlier. And I like it.”
    I was all ready to talk music and maybe even squeeze out some tips about dealing with a record label, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lorelai approaching. She was ready to steal some camera time. I realized that she was wearing what seemed to be a dress, but the dress was, upon closer inspection, merely a dark blue negligee.
    “Hey, there,” she said, touching him lightly on the shoulder. “I have something to show you.”
    “Just a minute, sweetie!” Patrick said, raising his finger. He turned back to me. “I gotta talk to you later. Did you bring a guitar?”
    “Nope. They limited me to one bag, but I’d be happy to try whatever you’ve got.” I briefly performed some air guitar.
    “Absolutely.” Then his face came right at me. I was stunned — I’d barely had a conversation, and he was aiming his lips at my mouth. If he hadn’t been making out with at least ten other women that evening, I might have given him a chance, but I had a slow reaction. I turned my head at the last minute, so that he kissed my ear and received a faceful of hair.
    “Coy!” he yelled, pulling back and removing a few red hairs from his mouth.
    “I need a little music first,” I said, looking anywhere but his face. The last place to be coy was on reality television, but I found myself reacting as if it were a first date.
    I even felt a twinge of jealousy when Lorelai slid her body next to his and gave him an intense kiss. I scooted aside so Hare got a clear view. I had to hand it to Lorelai — she knew which camera angles were good and what sped up the storyline. But no woman liked to have her territory encroached upon, whether she was actually interested in a guy or not.
    Once the cameras were off me, I walked back toward the house, stepping over the body of either Tracy or Casey, who had passed out across the paving stones and was snoring loudly. The woman wasn’t in a hot-pink dress, and that was the only way I could tell Stacy from the other two members