Page 11 of Drum Me Away
Faith gave me a quick glance. She seemed nervous. “Do you, um, need any pointers? From Dahlia, I mean.”
I almost laughed. She truly had no clue who I really was. How long had we been friends? Hell, it’s been thirteen years since we met at that party when we were college sophomores and the band scheduled to play never showed up, so she and I and Craig had spontaneously jumped up onto stage and put on a show, with no planning, no playbook, nothing. Craig and I were already friends by that point, but I’d never talked to Faith until that night. And yet we’d clicked—as a band, anyway.
It hadn’t occurred to me until right now that we’d never actually clicked as individuals, despite our perceived friendship.
“Nah,” I said. “I’m good. I think I can handle this. Besides, if Dahlia thinks I’m doing it wrong, we all know she’ll jump in and let me know.”
Dahlia nodded, not the least nonplussed. “This is true.”
There was another knock on the door, and whoever was on the other side shouted, “Time to hit the stage!”
Dahlia glanced down at her ever-present iPad. “I’m going to find the opening band, see if I want to help them fix their image. Go kick some ass, boys and girls.”
I held open the door, and Dahlia swept out into the hall and hooked a left. Faith turned to the right. I fell into step with her, my drumsticks fisted in my left hand.
“Ready?” I asked. She wouldn’t know I was talking about Dahlia’s new plan. But honestly, I wasn’t worried whether she was ready to go out on stage. She was born ready for that.
She bounced as she walked, rolling her shoulders and breathing from her diaphragm. It was her usual routine as she prepared to sing her heart out. I’d bet all the money in my checking account that she’d recently downed half a gallon of lemon-infused water, too.
Did she have any idea of my warm-up routine?
We reached the elevator that would take us up and deposit us on stage. The rest of the band was already there. The energy in the air was like a living, breathing thing. This was our first concert in more than six months, and there was nothing—nothing—like playing live in front of thousands upon thousands of screaming fans. It was better than any drug anyone had ever developed, hands down.
Matt lifted his hand, and I smacked it, then Faith followed suit. Craig touched his guitar pick to my drumsticks. Ice fist-bumped each of us.
The elevator pinged, and the doors whooshed open. We all stepped inside, and as soon as the doors closed again, Dean lifted his arms, motioning for us all to move in close. We slung our arms over the shoulders of the person on either side until we formed a tight circle. It wasn’t unlike the football huddles from my freshman year in high school, back before I figured out I’d rather beat on drums than get knocked around on the field.
We all made eye contact, glancing around, nobody avoiding anyone else. Faith’s gaze locked with my own.
“Ready,” she said with a sharp nod.
We’ll see.
The doors opened on a roar from the crowd. Laser lights flashed and dragged their beams across the ceiling. We all jogged onto the stage, stepping up to acknowledge the screaming fans with our fists in the air.
Instead of heading straight to my drum kit, I turned toward Faith, wrapped my arms around her, pulled her flush to my body, and ignoring the bewildered look on her face, I planted a smacking kiss on her lips.
The noise in the place was deafening, but I still heard Ice’s snicker. I released Faith. She staggered a few steps before regaining her footing.
A renewed wave of screams filled the arena.
Matt gave my shoulder a shove. “Get up there so we can get this show started, lover boy.”
I chuckled and headed toward my drum kit, twirling my sticks between my fingers.
Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.
* * *
Well, I certainly had the flustered bit down pat.
Ignoring the fans who were losing their damn minds, I turned my back on them and watched Lucas as he climbed up onto his drum kit. His gaze zoned in on me, and he waved with his stick, probably telling me to stop staring and get to work.
Shit. What the hell was wrong with me? It wasn’t like Lucas and I hadn’t ever kissed before. We staged kisses all the time, or at least, whenever Dahlia told us it was necessary to feed the fan frenzy.
We’d never done it on stage before, though. And never… like that.
I twisted back around with my fingers pressed to my lips. I swear, I could still feel the pressure of his lips pressed against mine. Trying to get into the game here, I let my gaze rove over the crowd. Made eye contact with a couple of chicks in the front row who pretended to swoon.
