“You call me an ass but don’t cha don’t cha don’t cha want a piece of that? Say I’m a d**k but that’s just you know you want it.”
Paol covers his eyes with his hand and sighs into his palm. The guitar riffs from the band’s song drown out the rest of the world, the drums are a tight back beat, and he can’t deny that Adam has one hell of a voice. It trills through the song as if tripping down stairs, but the lyrics…
Lewis sits beside him with a sphinx-like expression on his face. Paol can’t tell whether he likes it or not, but given the way he and Adam got off on the wrong foot earlier, Paol’s betting Lewis hates it. Cautiously, he offers, “Can I just tell you their slow stuff is better?”
He doesn’t think Lewis will answer. If he does, it’ll be a simple, “Cut it,” which in Lewis-speak me
