Page 3 of Shame Me
“So gimme your autograph,” he said, sliding the napkin over to me and handing me the pen. I’d never done this before, had hardly ever had to sign my name toanything, but this felt important. Huge. Exciting. The pen kept tearing the napkin and not writing, so I had to keep retracing certain parts, making me wonder if he’d be able to read it at all. As soon as I finished, Ihanded the pen back to the impatient bartender, stifling the urge to tell him to keep his crummy piece of shit pen.
But my newfound fan picked up the napkin, scrutinizing my signature. “Dani?”
“Yes. Short forDanielle.”
Looking intensely at me, he seemed to be examining my features. “Youlooklike a Dani.”
I smiled. “I guess that’s good—but what’s a Dani look like?”
“Like you—cute. Beautiful but you don’t know it. Not shy, but kind of reserved. Good at what she does.”
By this point, I knew he was just buttering me up, but that didn’t mean the flattery didn’t puff me up a bit. “Well, thank you.”
“What’s the last name?”
Teasing, I said, “I wrote it down.”
“Yes, but it’s kind of hard to read.”
“Mankin.” As much as I liked the compliments, I was growing uncomfortable as the center of discussion. “What’syourname?”
“Rick.” Tucking the napkin in his jeans pocket, he said, “Thanks for the autograph.” Had the bartender not been on the other end of the bar serving thirsty patrons so that he could overhear our conversation, my new friend might not have been so fresh. But the bartender’s presence—or, rather, lack thereof—wasn’t a problem. “So, I gotta tell ya, Dani. I’ve been attending concerts here for years, and women in hard rock are few and far between. Especially drummers. I think I’ve maybe seen one female drummer in an indie metal band until now.”
“Yeah? What band?” I already felt outnumbered, and connecting with another female metal musician would have been refreshing.
He shrugged. “I don’t remember.” Putting his hand on my shoulder and rubbing the muscle through the cotton t-shirt Iwore, he said, “I’m impressed when I see women playing hard rock.” Making eye contact, he said, “It’s a bit of a turn on.” The blood in my veins reacted as if the temperature dropped a degree or two while his hand continued massaging my upper arm. “What say you and me disappear for a little bit?”
I wasn’t sure what to say; I only knew my answer wouldn’t beyes. “I’m pretty sure my bandmates are going to want to leave pretty soon.”
“I can give you a ride home—but don’t you want me to make you come hard first?”
Swallowing, I silently prayed that one of the guys would find me and whisk me away, because this was one of the most awkward conversations I’d ever had. But no such luck. It was then that I found an unknown strength buried deep inside me, something I didn’t know I had. “Thanks for the offer, Rick, but no.”
His eyes searched mine for a bit. “Ah. You’re dating one of the guys in the band. Makes sense.”
I only wished that, but I was fine letting him believe it. Swallowing again, I felt my hands turn moist and clammy, and I forced another smile.
“At least I’ll always havethis,” he said, removing his hand from my shoulder to tap on his jeans pocket. At first, I thought he was talking about his dick until I remembered he’d put the napkin I’d signed there.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, hoping I sounded polite enough. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe.”
I couldn’t tell if he was taking the rejection well or not, but I needed to find the guys. My stomach was still churning at the thought of sleeping with that guy.
He thought I’d only said no because I was with someone in the band.
While that was my deepest wish, even had I not wanted Zack, I wouldn’t have wanted to sleep with a guy whose last name I didn’t know and who’d turned out to be kind of gross.
As I began walking back toward the stage, I spied Braden heading my direction. “Who’s that guy?”
“Just a fan.”
And while I wouldn’t have felt comfortable sleeping with any man that much older than myself at that stage in my life, he did set my mind churning.
That night in bed, I lay awake as I often did, wondering why Zack very obviously despised me. Not as a friend, of course, but as a love interest, I might as well have been a leper. And there was nothing I could do about it. Matters of the heart couldn’t be influenced through persuasion. Either he thought of me in that way or he didn’t.
And he definitely didn’t. He would have rather shaved five years off his life, if I’d read him right.
