“Oh...” He shrugged and picked at the label on his bottle, peeling it free. “I don’t know. I’ve always liked to sing. I think it was an only child thing to help keep myself company. And then, when I moved in with my uncle when I was seven, he was gone a lot, so...” His shoulder lifted again, telling me he wasn’t too comfortable sharing his story. But he kept talking anyway. “I found an old guitar in his closet one day. It had this instruction booklet with it, and that was that.”
I blinked at him a good five seconds before saying, “Wait, you taught yourself how to play?”
An adorable, rueful expression crossed his face. “I had plenty of free time to practice.”
I was still amazed, and I’m sure my jaw hanging open made it obvious. “Shut the front door. You freaking taught yourself to play the guitar?”
He finished the rest of his Angry Orchard in one long draw and then sighed in one of those refreshed ways as he tapped the bottle against the bar top and motioned to Noel that he needed another.
When he turned to me, I could tell he was totally going to change the subject.
That intrigued me. A lead singer of a band who wasn’t interested in talking about himself. Weird. And not only that, he seemed more embarrassed than puffy-chested and proud that I was impressed by his self-taught skills. Fisher would’ve been eating up any praise that came his way and making sure I knew the whole story behind his greatness.
Not that I was comparing the two. There was no reason for me to do that, other than, you know, they were both singers in a band.
Still, I really liked Asher’s more humble approach on being so awesome.
“So, who’s your favorite band?” he asked, almost making me grin because I’d been able to read him well enough to know he’d steer the conversation away from himself.
I snorted and made a face. “As if I could narrow that down to one group.”
He laughed. “I know, right?”
“But if I had to name, say...my top ten or so,” I went on, curious if he had similar tastes. “I’d go with Metallica, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, The Stones, Incubus, Rush—but only because of Neil Peart.”
Asher grinned and nodded. “The drummer. Of course.”
I felt my own lips curve up in amusement and kept listing. “The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Joan Jett, Heart, The Bangles—”
Choking on the drink he’d just taken, Asher burst out laughing. “The Bangles?”
“What?” I scowled at him for laughing at my Bangles.
He waved a hand. “Nothing. I just wasn’t expecting a punk band listed among all the rock groups you were spouting off.”
“Hey, they were rock...sort of.” Then I shrugged. “They came up with ‘Walk Like an Egyptian,’” I argued my point. “That song is fun as shit to play on the drums. For me, it ranks right up there with ‘Hot for Teacher,’ ‘Enter Sandman,’ and ‘Tom Sawyer.’”
There were more girl bands I loved, but I didn’t want to somehow give my gender away by listing too many, so I merely watched Asher continue to chuckle.
“Trust me. I’m not bashing your choices in the least. I agree with every single one of them. And hey, I’ve been known to listen to Katy Perry and Taylor Swift with the best of them, so don’t worry about music genres with me.”
“Dude.” I leaned in closer. “I wouldn’t go broadcasting that to Galloway. I don’t think he’d be so—”
“Yeah.” He lifted his hand to let me know my warning was moot. “I know.” Then he shrugged as if unconcerned. “I just like all kinds of music. As long as it’s got a good beat, cool lyrics and resonates in my bones, I’m in.”
I nodded respectfully. “I get that.” I didn’t tell him I was pretty much the same way. Country, rap, alternative, hip hop, classics, I just loved music.
“But I grew up with my parents listening to Nirvana on a loop, so that’s probably why most of our songs lean more the way they do.”
“Hmm, I wondered about that. I can definitely see the influence.” I wondered if this meant he’d had a hand in creating any of our original songs. Just how many hats did he wear in our little group? Guitar player, vocalist, manager and now possible songwriter?
The guy seriously needed to stop saying and doing things to impress me.
He sneezed, and immediately said, “Excuse me,” as he reached for a nearby stack of napkins to wipe his nose. And dammit, I even liked his gentlemanly reaction while he tossed the used tissue into a trash can. Ugh! My tiny little crush was getting ridiculous here.
Needing to get my head back into the conversation and away from him being a hot, interesting piece of man candy, I finished my own beer and said, “I’ve really been getting into Breaking Benjamin lately.”
“Mmm.” He pointed at me as he took a drink, then had to wait to swallow before saying “And Five Finger Death Punch.”
“‘The Wrong Side of Hell,’” we said together, naming our favorite song from that group. Then we laughed at the same time.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Ten asked, appearing in front of us.
I tensed, hoping he kept his big mouth shut. But Asher let out a small moan, and waved his empty bottle in his friend’s face. “Don’t be a dick. Just get me another drink.”
“Dude, slow it down. What is this, your fifth of the night?”