Page 37 of Reverb
Hearing her voice, so normal, so right, was perfect. “His coffeeismagic.”
Her smile was magic, too. She held out the box. “And here’s the last of the scary, scary donuts.”
Inside was one of the hideously colored confections the band had bought at the truck stop. “Thank you, I think.” He took the box, then gestured at the couch. “Sit and talk?”
Her smile dimmed, and he swallowed his own apprehension. “Yeah, sure,” she said.
He placed the box between them, though the last thing he wanted was a barrier right now. Maybe this would go better if they kept some distance. “Ray’s told me four times that I need to stop beating myself up about last night.”
“Only four?” Her smile was faint. “He’s slipping.”
“Well, four so far.” David sipped his coffee and let his eyes flutter shut for a moment as the brew hit the back of his throat, warm and perfect. “Fucking hell. If I were into men, I’d marry Adrian just to have this coffee every morning.” He met Mish’s shocked silence and shrugged. “Though I don’t think I’m his type.”
“You’re straight?” Her voice pitched up and she wrapped her hands around her mug. “I mean, I don’t want to assume, but...”
“I prefer women, yeah. I don’t like the labelstraight, because it’s so often used in opposition to queer.” He took another sip of his coffee and steeled himself for what was next. “And I’m queer as fuck.”
“You’re...” Mish didn’t seem upset, just confused.
That was pretty normal, a drawback to passing as cis. He preferred it to shock and horror, though. Not passing had grated on him, but sometimes passing did, too. Fucking assumptions. But he did need to have this conversation—regardless of his interest in Mish.
He pointed at the donut. “I’m gonna eat that. ’Cause the rest of you did, and didn’t die from the horrendous food coloring. But blue isn’t my favorite color. Neither is pink. Too wrapped up in gender.”
“I get that. Blue is for boys, pink girls, like color has a gender.” Mish rolled her eyes, then took a sip of coffee. “What are you trying to tell me? I’m...missing it, aren’t I?”
“Missing what I’m trying to tell you? Maybe. But I’m not being clear.” He inspected the donut, then picked it up. “Part of it is that my mother used to make me wear these pink dresses with scratchy eyelet lace edging right up until the moment in time I told her I was a boy and tired of that shit.” He took a bite of the donut. “She didn’t believe me ’cause it was the ’80s and people didn’t understand being trans that well, but at least she didn’t force me into another dress.”
Mish’s eyes widened a faction, then she got a faraway look, as if running things through her mind. Finally, she took a swig of her coffee. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”
Nothing else. No waver in her voice. If anything, she’d relaxed more. Then again, her chosen family was pretty damn queer.
Whatreallysurprised him was the taste of the donut. “This thing isn’t half-bad!” Even the frosting was good.
“I know. We were all expecting nightmares and they’re actually decent. I guess that’s what we get for snarking on rest stop donuts.”
“Don’t judge a book and all that?” Not that she’d judged him.
Mish grinned. “So, is Ray gonna have to tell you a fifth time not to beat yourself up?”
David took a breath to settle himself. He hadn’t intended to come out to Mish, at least not like that, but the conversation he’d had with Ray had made him realize that if he didn’t pull back, he had to be completely open with Mish. He knew why, too—that sparkle in her eyes, the way he felt when she touched him, smiled at him, and teased him.
“Maybe,” he said. “Iamsorry about last night, and I keep going over it in my head. Ididrun after the dude, which left you alone. In retrospect, that wasn’t smart, especially after what we learned.” Each time he thought about the night objectively, the more he picked his actions apart. Ray was right—he needed to stop beating himself up.
She waved his words away. “Eh, I’ve already punched out one guy. Wasn’t like I was alone—the band was there, and the venue staff.”
“True. And yeah, you can throw a mean punch, but Ray would have my hide if you couldn’t play for six weeks.” There was that heat deep inside him again. “Even though your singing is fucking out of this world.”
That’s what shocked her. Not that he was trans, not that he’d failed to return her ring. Those words of praise. A blush rose to her cheeks and she looked into her coffee mug. “I know I’m decent, but I’m not sure aboutout of this world.”
“Stunning,” he said. “Beautiful.” Just like her. Rock royalty. “You weren’t out in the audience. People were screaming their heads off.”
“Stop.” She put up a hand. “Please. Adrian already showed me how the fans reacted.”
“You’re a goddamned rock queen.” He couldn’t help the gravel in his voice. “People should worship you.”
The look she gave him wasn’t anger or annoyance, but there was too much tension in it to be friendly. She set the empty mug down on the floor of the bus. Moved the donut box behind her, then reached up, her hand hovering close to his cheek. “May I?”
“Fuck yes.” His throat was dry and every nerve in his body was primed.
