Slash's Snakepit

Speed parade

And then, the way she went ice fucking cold when I said the wrong thing.

And I should be pissed about that.

But, and this is the fucked up part, I liked it.

I mean, she’s nothing to me. A fake date. A business arrangement. Some chick my manager set up to keep my image looking halfway decent while I stick it to my ex.

I sigh, flicking ash into an overflowing tray.

I should call my manager. Tell him I want someone else.

Should put this whole Grace situation behind me.

But I don’t pick up the phone.

I just sit there, cigarette burning, thinking about her anyway.

I stare at the phone.

I should call her.

Not because I want to. Not because I need to hear her voice or some shit like that. No. This is business. We’ve got the AMAs on Saturday, and we need to get our shit together. Can’t be showing up all stiff and awkward, looking like we hate each other.

And yeah, maybe I also kinda need to smooth things over.

I take a long drag of my cigarette, exhaling through my nose. My fingers hover over the phone for a second before I grab it.

Fuck it.

I dial.

It rings.

And rings.

And then-

"Hello?"

Her voice. Flat. Clipped. No warmth. No nothing.

I lean back, rubbing my jaw. "Hey. It’s me."

Silence.

Then, "Yeah. I know."

Christ. Cold as fuck.

I smirk a little, mostly to myself. "Relax, sweetheart. I ain’t callin’ to proposition you."

A beat. "What do you want?"

Straight to the point. No bullshit.

I drag my cigarette from my lips, tapping ash into the tray. "We got the AMAs on Saturday. Probably should look like we don’t wanna kill each other, right?"

Another pause. Then, "Probably."

"Yeah. Thought so." I shift, drumming my fingers against my thigh. "So let’s fix that. We go out again. Smooth shit over. Make it look real."

"I see."

She says it all professional, like she’s answering a fucking business email.

I smirk again, shaking my head. "Jesus. You always sound this fuckin’ robotic?"

"I just don’t see why we need to go out again. We’ll show up to the AMAs, act fine, and that’s it."

I sigh. "Look, I get it. You don’t like me. Shit happens. But this thing only works if it looks real. We don’t gotta be best friends, but we can’t act like strangers either."

Silence.

"When?" she finally asks

I grin. "Tonight. Dinner. Someplace public. Let the press get their shots. I am gonna act decent, I promise"

Another pause. I can hear the hesitation.

Then, real dry, "That’d be a first."

I laugh. Can’t help it. "Damn, sweetheart. That hurt."

"You'll survive."

I shake my head, still grinning. "Alright. I’ll pick you up at eight."

She exhales, and for a second, I think she might say no. But then-

"Fine."

"See you then babe"

"Don't call me that"

Click.

I pull the phone from my ear, staring at it for a second before chuckling under my breath.

Well. That went better than expected.
She could’ve hung up on me. Could’ve told me to fuck off, could’ve said no. But she didn’t. She said fine.

And sure, she sounded like she was agreeing to a goddamn tax audit, but still. She agreed.

I take another drag of my cigarette, smirking to myself.

Tonight.

Shit, I should clean up. Shower. Wear something decent, at least.
Not for her, of course. Just for the optics.

I groan, dragging myself off the couch, stretching out the stiffness in my back. Flick my cigarette into the ashtray, watch it smolder for a second before snuffing it out.

Fucking Grace.