Page 20 of Hard Rock Love
“Everyone’s got something going on that can make life pretty tough to deal with sometimes. We’re kind of a damaged bunch,” he said with a rueful laugh.
“So you make gross drinks and play those games to help everyone else bond and let off steam?”
“I never really thought through why I do it,” Seth said. “It just seemed like a good idea the first time I did it, so I kept doing it. And now it’s sort of a tradition: Seth and his disgusting drinks.”
“That’s sweet of you,” I replied. “It’s a weird way to help the band, but you’re doing it for them.”
Seth paused, tapping his finger against the cool marble.
“I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Mostly I just like to see the faces they make when I’ve poured something gross in the shot glass, like pickle juice or mustard.”
“Oh god,” I blanched. “Do you really? That’s sick.”
“There are real drinks made with both those things,” he said. “It’s not totally weird. Pickles are sometimes even used as chasers.”
“I’ll stick to my strawberry cooler, thanks.”
I put the bottle to my lips and chugged the last few mouthfuls.
Seth’s eyes zeroed in on my lips wrapped around the bottle. The bright green went dark.
I normally would have flushed at that kind of look, but even the small amount of alcohol in my system had already turned my cheeks pink. As it was, the warmth that normally would have risen to my face had centered lower, sitting heavily in my belly.
I set the now-empty bottle on the counter.
“So aside from drinking, what else do you do for fun?” I asked.
“Music is fun,” he said.
“Music is work,” I pointed out.
“I’ve been thinking of taking up home brewing,” he said. “Making my own beer.”
“Disgusting beer?” I asked.
“Normal beer. It sounds fun. Combining a bunch of ingredients, experimenting with different things. It’s kind of like science, but you get to drink it in the end.”
“You said before that you like math and science,” I said.
“Those were the subjects I was good at, aside from music.”
“Did you ever think of going to school for it?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But I was never good at English or book stuff. And then I failed, and the band took off and…” he lifted one shoulder regretfully. “Ah well. Maybe in another lifetime.”
“I wish I was like you,” I said.
Seth blinked.
“You wished you were good at science and music?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I’ll leave the music to Everly. But you have all these interests. This passion. I feel like I’m just floating through life, going through the motions, but not really living.”
I stopped, looking down at my feet. I rarely voiced my thoughts out loud like that, and here I’d done it twice in one week, to Seth.
“You like learning,” Seth replied.
“I’m good at learning,” I corrected him. “I don’t have some passion for it. I don’t have hobbies. I don’t play a sport. I’m not crafty. I go to class and I study. I’m—”
