OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

one-hundred-thirty-one.

For once, Taylor had been the one with a stroke of moral reason.

Dave drained the rest of his drink and looked to his left where Taylor was, chatting up a busty brunette with electric blue eyes. It'd been Dave who spotted her first, intrigued by the fact that she one, was not redheaded, and two, had blue eyes rather than green ones. But of course she'd beelined for Taylor, her eyes sliding right past Dave without a second thought.

He snorted under his breath. What good was it being the lead singer of a band when in a reversal of standard practice, his fucking drummer was pulling all the women?

Not that he was looking. Or maybe, he was but hadn't yet accepted it. That night was the first that he'd finally been able to notice, truly notice, any female within a five foot radius of him. The groupies of the past had been painkillers, as much as he hated referring to them as so, but it was plausible now for him to browse for someone who'd actually sustain him.

It was, on the other hand, implausible that he'd settle down any time soon. He hoped that he'd be able to try again and not die alone one day, turning to dust beneath the ground next to a guitar for all eternity. But now? Jumping into another marriage seemed wrong from every angle. His heart wouldn't have been in it, anyway.

"Fuck dude, that one's a talker," Taylor said, appearing at his side and exhaling a sigh of relief. He raised the straw in his drink to his mouth, flashing a paranoid glance over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being followed.

"What did you guys talk about? The weather?" Dave asked with faux-sincerity, grabbing Taylor's drink out of his hand and replacing it with his empty one. It was the least Taylor could do.

"It was fine until she started telling me about her grandmother's sex life."

"Dude, what?"

Taylor shrugged. "It was actually kinda' interesting. Her grandma was married seven times."

"Alright. Brunette is off the list. You might as well stay away from brunettes for the rest of the night, actually," Dave said. He was feigning interest in his best friend's ability to attract women exceedingly better than he did, but being a wingman was better than moping into his drink.

"What are you thinking? Blonde?" Taylor asked, cupping his hand around a cigarette and sparking his lighter to life against it.

Dave considered the options, but not necessarily for Taylor. He thought about what he'd want, imagining a woman that was the stark opposite of Reagan but would still manage to rouse a flicker of attraction in him. Perhaps even more than a flicker, if he thought about it long enough.

"Blonde," he agreed. "Blue eyes. Medium height. Cute smile. Great body."

"That's kind of specific," Taylor said, laughing through a puff on his cigarette. "Is the next one supposed to be for you or me?"

As soon as he asked, another woman sidled her way up to them both and flashed a blinding smile, her eyes of course fixed on Taylor. She was blonde incredibly enough, but nothing like the picture Dave had verbally painted. She was short and had brown eyes, though that did little to negate how good-looking she was. By all means she was the hottest woman in the bar that night.

"Hi," she said, her smile never wavering. "You're Taylor Hawkins, right?"

Taylor flashed Dave a borderline smug smile. His track record was impressive. It hadn't even been a full minute since he'd moved on from the brunette.