Deanna • Duff McKagan

Chapter Thirty-Seven: 1987

December 31st, 1986

"Can we talk, Deanna?" Duff asks, following me around backstage at The Glamour. He's about to go on, his bass already on him, literally two seconds from walking out onstage.

"Remember what I said, Duff?" I sigh, running around like a mad woman to make sure the night goes perfectly. "No fuckups. Going out on that stage late counts as a fuckup."

"You haven't said anything about what I told you, in front of hundreds of people," he sighs, following me across the room. "You know, that I love you."

"I remember what you said, Duff!" I snap, pausing in my tracks to turn and look at him. "I just had the most stressful month of my life, and I would appreciate if you could just not add to it."

"Deanna, I haven't had sex since you," he says, a deadpan look on his face.

"So you professed your undying love for me to get fucked? You're ridiculous, Duff McKagan," I scoff, moving to go back to the task at hand.

"No, Dee, that's not what I meant- fuck," he shakes his head. "I don't expect you to sleep with me, I just was trying to make a point that I'm in love with you."

"Have you gotten a blowjob since me, Duff?" I turn my head to the side, anxiously awaiting his answer. I know the answer, I just wanna watch him lie.

"I didn't know that counted," wow, he didn't lie. I guess some men are somewhat trustworthy.

"Get the fuck out on stage, we'll talk about your undying love for me in 1987." 1987. I didn't think that through, since it would literally be the end of their set in 1987. Duff would want to talk about whatever is going on between him and I, just like I said, in 1987.

The set goes uninterrupted, the boys playing one hell of a show. Maybe they're serious, maybe they do want me back. I sigh, standing backstage as the five band members file through the door, staring at me intently.

"So, are you going to be our manager again?" Steven asks, a smile on his face. In a sense, the betrayal from Steven hit me worst of all, even worse than Duff. I don't know how I could ever forgive the three that decided I was so unimportant to them that they could throw me away like trash.

I raise my eyebrow at him, crossing my legs as I sit down on the black leather couch. "I'm managing you, aren't I?"

"You know what he means, Deanna," Izzy pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by me. "Are you going to do this permanently, or what?"

"I don't know," I shrug, rolling my eyes. What they did absolutely destroyed me, and I can't let myself trust them again, especially not this quickly. "I could just say fuck it and pose for Playboy, who knows." Little did they know, Hugh Hefner himself asked me for a photo shoot a few weeks ago.

"Damn right you could," I ignore Duff's laugh, unable to get his painfully sexy smirk out of my mind. Would it be wrong of me to fuck Duff McKagan right now? "I would also like to remind you that it happens to be 1987."

The busboy enters the room after Duff's words, thankfully saving me from a conversation I didn't want to have. But, just my luck, the kid trips over his own feet, spilling all six drinks on his tray all over me. "What the fuck!" I groan, standing up and making an effort to ring out my shirt.

"I-I'm sorry!" The kid can't be older than fourteen, which makes me wonder why they trusted him to serve alcohol. I just shake my head, gesturing him to leave, which he does.

"Why do all the shitty things happen to me?"

"Haley kinda ran off with my kid, so I don't think the shitty things happen to just you," I look at Axl in shock, but he simply shrugs. These past few weeks that I've been back in contact with the band, I haven't asked about Haley, although I haven't seen her. I knew she must've had the baby by now, but I had no idea she'd just run off with it.

"Okay, I stand corrected, why do all the shitty things happen to us?" Not caring that I'm in a room full of testosterone filled, sweaty hand members, I pull off my soaked shirt, leaving me topless in a bra that's a couple sizes too small, one that I stole from Haley a few years ago.

"Deanna, what the fuck!" Within two seconds, Duff sets his bass down, pulling off his Misfits t-shirt and yanking it over my head. "What are you doing?"

"Duff they've seen me naked before," I say, adjusting the shirt. "I believe you and I were fucking and the Peanut Gallery decided to watch."

"That doesn't mean you should just strip in front of them!" I'm going to do it, I'm pretty sure I'm going to fucking do it.. it's been months, and I'm horny, so fuck it. It's 1987, I can just fuck someone, right? It's not like I'm adding to the count, I've fucked Duff before.

"Yeah, we should leave," Axl nods, heading to the door as I take a few steps toward Duff. "We're going to get drunk," Axl shoves a hand into Steven's pocket before tossing a condom at the two of us. "Don't fucking get her pregnant, Duff. We can't afford her going on maternity leave as we're touring the fucking world."

With that, I'm left alone with Duff McKagan, backstage at The Glamour. And boy, I should've known that he wouldn't just fuck me - because he for sure wanted to have his conversation in 1987... and unluckily for me, it's now the year of fucking 1987, otherwise known as the year I'm going to be forced to figure my fucking shit out.