“You okay?”
Angry, aroused, and more than confused, I turned on him. “What was that in there? Why the big show? You were against this whole thing.”
“I’m not as nice of a guy as you think. And sometimes I like to play devil’s advocate.” He shrugged, starting the truck. “Home?”
“No. I’m not going home tonight. My sister is probably having sex right now on the couch I sleep on. I HATE MY FUCKING LIFE!”
Reid burst out laughing as he pulled away from the curb. “It gets better.”
“Liar.”
“I totally am,” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes as he pushed the hair away from my bare shoulder. “I know a place.”
“Let’s go.”
He’d taken me to a show a couple blocks from 6th Street. It was a metal band he was crazy about. I appreciated them to a point—metal wasn’t my favorite—but Reid seemed in awe of the lead singer and pointed out a few interesting facts about how they got together. We spent the whole show yelling back and forth while I took mental notes. He told me a label would pick them up soon, and it would be in my best interest to write about a band that was going somewhere. I spent a good part of the show telling him what an idiot he was and that Dead Sergeants had their own future and were worth writing about. It was pretty much tit for tat between us until they started playing Queensryche’s “Silent Lucidity”. And all at once, I was captured by the execution and how they made it their own. I got lost in the deep timbre of the voice that filled the club. There wasn’t a word from the crowd, even after the last trickle of acoustic notes rang out. The club exploded with applause as Reid looked at me with I told you so written all over his face.
Reid knew a lot about the city, and at the show, he’d done the hand grasp with a few local musicians. Those who approached him seemed to respect him and kept the conversations short, probably because he wasn’t a man of too many words. And I spent a majority of our time together pulling them out of him. He wasn’t shy with his opinions, and that we had in common. Still, as I stared at him, laid back in his shoulder-high bench seat, his cast on the table, and his eyes on mine, it felt like he was trying to tell me more. Even with a set jaw and pressed brows, his eyes held his world, and I couldn’t help but enjoy every second they were on me.
After the performance, we spent the rest of the witching hour devouring salty, grease-filled burgers at a little shack called Arnie’s.
“Who’s your favorite band?” I asked, sucking on the side of my chili cheeseburger to keep it from dripping down my dress.
“Haven’t thought about it,” he said as he watched me devour the double stack of meat. “God, you were hungry.”
“Not anymore,” I said as I popped the last of it into my mouth and washed it down with Dr. Pepper.
“You don’t have a favorite?”
“Nope,” he said as he gathered the rest of his fries into his fingers and popped them in his mouth.
“Influences?”
“Everything,” he said with a small smile. “I wrote a song off a commercial beat once.”
“You write for the Sergeants?”
“Most of the originals. Ben’s good at lyrics, but I’ve laid down a few.”
“You sing?”
“Not if I can help it,” he said with a shrug. “Rye does most of the backup and comes up with a good riff in minutes, and it’s always good.”
“When’s your next show?”
“They play Saturday.”
“No,” I said, standing and stretching. “Your next show.”
I almost missed his smile. “Two weeks.”
“I’ll be there,” I assured. “I have a feeling about you.”
He stood, grabbed our trash, and threw it away. “It’s late.”
“It’s early,” I argued. “So, tell me about Lia.”
“Jesus Christ. Every time I think it’s safe to go into the water with you . . . No, I’m not talking to you about Lia.” Pushing through the glass door, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
“You’re not really a smoker.”
He lifted his cigarette and took a deep drag. “I would say I’m really smoking this.”
“You know what I mean,” I said as I stepped up on a curb and balanced my way over it in my heels, arms stretched as if I were on a high wire.
“I smoke when I feel like it.”
“Why don’t you just quit?”
“Why don’t you just let me smoke?” he said as he watched me execute a heel turn.
He shoved his cigarette between his lips and did a slow clap, and I gave him a wink.
“So, what’s your type? You obviously like blondes.”
“Women who don’t ask a lot of questions.”
“Har, har,” I said as I leapt into him, purposefully knocking the cigarette out of his hand.
He let out a grudge-filled chuckle. “You little asshole.”
“Seven minutes of your life I just saved you, Crowne. A cigarette takes that much off your heartbeat, buddy.”
“That’s a myth, pal,” he said, opening the passenger door.
“What if it’s the best seven minutes of your life? That’s two songs. I saved you two songs, Reid Crowne. Someday, you’ll thank me for it.”
He shut the door and took the driver’s seat, as if it was the most natural thing. I stared at him across the seat. “Well, I’m sorry if she hurt you.”
He sighed as he started the truck. “We hurt each other.”
“What happened?”
He sat back and winced, as if he was trying to see something through the wheel. “It was good and then it was bad. Too much static. Too much chaos. I got tired and she got pissed.”
“You really loved her,” I said as I watched him trace the steering wheel with his finger, touching every groove.
“There was love. There were a lot of things.”
“And then?”
“We crashed.”
Despite my protest, Reid drove us back to the complex and parked Neil’s truck.
“Wait here, okay?”
He nodded as I made double time up the stairs and opened the door to silence. I made quick work of dumping Neil’s keys and changing into a T-shirt, shorts, and Chucks. I grabbed four beers from the fridge and walked back down the steps, motioning for him to join me on a large patch of grass on top of a hill between apartment buildings.
“I’m not tired, you?” I asked as he shook his head, followed me into the grass, and sat next to me. I popped a beer and handed it to him.
“God, I hate this heat,” I said as I piled my hair on top of my head and fastened it before I downed the beer. Reid glanced around the complex and then back to Paige’s apartment.
“You scared of my sister?”
“Only when she’s pissed,” he said with a chuckle.
“I agree. She’s scary. She shrieks.”
“I’ve only seen it once. I’m good with only seeing it once.”
We laughed and clinked our beers.
“You met at work?”
“Yeah,” he said as he leaned back on his elbows and crossed his boots. He surrounded me with his length.
“You two are nothing alike,” I told him.
“I like being around her. She’s grounded and she smiles a lot. She’s easy.”
I couldn’t help but take offense. “Opposed to the big mouthed sister who’s loud and opinionated.”
“Most definitely,” he said smugly, “but don’t go changing to please me.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I snapped, taking the beer from him and drinking it. He took another one from the pile and popped it.
“So, that’s it, a quiet woman who smiles a lot? That’s your dream woman?”
“Guess so.”
“Never pegged you for simple.”
“Now there’s a word. Simple. My favorite fucking word. I’ll take that.” I heard the sad edge of his words and nudged him.
“You’ll have that cast off soon, and then you can make life your bitch. Two weeks.”
“Let the countdown begin.”
I lay on my back and looked up at the few stars the night sky allowed us. “I thought it would be different, moving here. I thought it would be more exciting. Real freedom, you know? But I have since learned being free involves its own chains. My sister acts like a ninety-year-old woman. She cooks dinner at eight o’clock and is in bed by eleven. What the hell is that, Reid?”
He looked over at me as I stuck out my lip. “This is totally boring.”