An hour later, Mal was in loud, manic mode. He only had a bottle of water in his hand. Our words had gotten through to him at least. Just like the first night I met him, he stood on top of a coffee table, doing his groove thing. There were a lot of women willing to heed his party call. Plenty of slick, shiny women watching my man with avarice in their eyes. It was something I’d have to get used to. I couldn’t kill all of them. I mean, where on earth would I hide so many bodies? This dating rock stars business was harder than it looked. One such young lady tried to climb up onto the table with him and no. Not even a little. I grabbed her arm. “Not happening.” “Get your hand off me,” she spat. “PUMPKIN!” shouted my drumming delight from above. Holy hell, my ears. They were ringing. The woman gazed up and gave Mal a foxy grin.
