Page 3 of Love Off the Rocks
“Cool,” I say.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “So, what do you usually do on train rides like this?”
“Read.” I hold up my e-reader. “Listen to music.” I show him my earbuds.
“Makes sense,” he says. “I didn’t bring anything with me.”
I nod and smile sympathetically. I would never go anywhere on a train or plane, really any mode of public transportation, without an e-reader/book and my earbuds. I’d go insane if I had to sit there with nothing to do. Case in point, Chaz drums his fingers on his thigh, his foot bouncing in time.
“What are you drumming?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s just some new piece my band and I are working on,” he says.
“You’re in a band. I didn’t know that, that’s so cool! Do you play an instrument? Or sing? Or?”
“Drums,” he shrugs sheepishly.
“Oh, yeah, duh. I should have guessed that based on the finger work.” I gesture toward his wiggling fingers
“Yeah.” He glances down at his hands and smiles, like they are something to be admired. “So, what are you listening to?”
“Me? Henry Files. Loved him in One Movement and I love him even more as a solo artist.”
“Really? You like that shit? No offense, but that’s not music.”
“Of course, it’s music. It’s on the radio, and they’ve won awards. Their last hit is in a national car commercial, for god’s sake.”
“Yet it still sucks.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and I can’t help but notice how puny his biceps are. Shouldn’t he be more muscular as a drummer?
“It’s better than that other crap people love so much,” I argue.
“Like?”
I shrug. “Take your pick: Weigh Station, Slitherbox, or worse, Faux Fisted.”
“My band does covers of Faux Fisted songs all the time. It’s our best material. They’re amazing.”
“Oh. Shit. Sorry.”
“Yeah.” He looks out the window, hurt blankets his face, which makes me feel bad. But Faux Fisted, really? How good can his taste in music be if that’s his go-to band? If he doesn’t like decent music, then we’d never get along.
I stop myself, realizing I’m falling into what Tricia calls “my pattern.” She says it’s a flaw of mine. I break things down to the smallest details, finding everything I can wrong with a person before giving them a chance to be in my life. It’s why my crushes are best left being from afar. And why I don’t date. And haven’t had sex in god knows how long.
We sit there in that awkward silence that only two people who barely know each other often occupy. I’ve yet to put my earbuds back in. But I can’t now with the Faux Fisted comment just hanging out there. I need to say something nicer before I cut him off completely and go back to my music and book.
“So, Chaz, what are you most looking forward to learning on this trip?” I ask.
I take that back. That question just brought us to the next level of awkward.
He stares at me for a moment, so I try to clarify.
“You know since it’s a work retreat, we’ll be learning new things. . .”
“I really want to see what kind of hotties the East Coast has to offer.”
“Hotties? Like from the other company?”
“Yep.”
