"I really do have to get home, you know."
"I have to get back to my hotel, you know, but here we are."
"Aww, an outsider. Where're you coming from?"
"New York."
"Ooh, classy. But why didn't you just see them there? I'm pretty sure Madison Gardens is always one of the first shows-"
"Eh. So what brought you to KISS?"
"Six months of saving my tips."
"Tips, huh?"
"I'm a waitress. Sunspot Diner. Pays alright, but it has the most God-awful food. What brought you to KISS?"
"What brought you to those two guys?"
"Avoiding the question again, big city boy?"
"City boy, really?"
"Well, you could tell me your name—"
"None of your concern right now."
"What, are you wanted in six different states?"
"No."
"Then why don't you just tell me?"
"Not important. Not right now."
"'Kay then... At least tell me what brought you over to me?"
"The stage door."
"What? The stage-? Wait do you work here? That would explain some things."
"You could say that."
"Oh...?"
Why not just say you worked there? Or give me your name? I didn't know why he was being all weird and secretive. I wouldn't judge him for saying he was the sound check guy. He smirked, seeming to enjoy my confusion. After a few seconds of watching me struggle to understand, he stuck out his tongue, which confused me even more until I realized how long it was. The wild, curly hair, the rough voice, the calloused hands all started to make sense. Even the crazy height, I thought, as my eyes darted down to his shoes. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed the seven inch platforms sticking out of his cuffs. It all clicked in my head. "Oh my God," I whispered. Never in a million years has I expected to actually MEET a member of the band at this concert, much less for Gene fucking Simmons to save my ass from two drunk gang members. And he called me pretty... I thought for a split second before freaking out again. He laughed again, watching me, amused. I could have melted into the ground. Melt. Like the Witch of the West, I thought, sarcastically. What a world. Oh what a fucking world.
Well, I had to give myself a bit of credit. The odds of this happening were... Well I didn't know what they were but they were slim. There was no way I could have seen this coming. Why would I just assume that a rock star would show up to save me from a couple of drunks? I wouldn't. Yet, here I was. Good grief, I thought. Good grief, good Lord, and holy-ever-loving shit. I tried to pull myself together. He was still staring at me, his dark eyes alight with laughter.
"Um... nice... show?"
"Glad you liked it."
"And... it's, um, pretty cool to meet you Mr. Si—"
"Oh, don't give me any of that shit, Gene's fine."
"Ookay. So you're... mingling with the common people, I see?"
"There's that tongue."
"You're one to talk. Don't you have women to fuck right now?"
"Right now, I have you to drive home."
By this point, all my wits and quick comebacks had completely gone down the drain. My face grew hot and I could see Gene- again, GENE FUCKING SIMMONS- relishing it. "You don't have to do-" I started, but he cut me off. "No."
I raised my eyebrows. A rockstar driving me home wasn't exactly on my bucket list but I wasn't about to pass it up. "...Okay," I said, defeatedly.