Page 4 of To Go
This feels like a grown up’s apartment, not some college dorm room for parties, beer bongs, and hookups. This is the place where a mature, intelligent, put-together man lives.
I just hope I can be him. I’m almost thirty as it is. Time to get my shit together.
“So, any big plans for your first weekend in your new place?” Nessa bugs as she puts the few novelty mugs I have into my nearly-bare cupboards.
“Not really. There’s a show tonight.” Usually, the band goes out after a show. No matter how much I try to psych myself up and get out there, I don’t have the same energy for it these days, the same enthusiasm.
When I first started touring with them, the freedom, the money, the girls, it was all overwhelming and it went to my head. I was down for whatever, whenever. Doing what I wanted had never tasted so good. Not being accountable to anyone, nothaving to deal with parental garbage, not having to worry about Nessa, every part of the lifestyle appealed to me.
Now that I’m older, the lustre of being in a band, touring, sleeping with random women, and getting drunk has lost its shine. It takes me days to get over a hangover, the sex isn’t fulfilling, and work… I’m all in my head about it. These days, after a gig, I’m more likely to sit in my hotel room with a beer and a sketchpad or a sappy series on TV.
“Wow, someone got boring on the road! I would have thought you’d be spending time with a special someone…” Nessa wiggles her eyebrows at me.
She’s talking about Beth McCallister, my high school girlfriend. Beth and I broke up ages ago. She wanted to go to college, I wanted to tour and experience the freedom of life on the road. All that aside, we were simply different people who weren’t suited for each other.
“It’s not news that Beth and I are over Nessie. But if you have any single friends, by all means send them my way.” I’m mostly joking, but going on a decent date like an actual adult instead of hooking up in the back of venues or hotels doesn’t sound nearly as torturous as it used to. Having a genuine connection with someone seems at least mildly appealing.
If it’s even worth investing in. It’s all about to go downhill anyway.
“Hey! Don’t make me remind you that dating my friends is against the rules. Besides, Hazel is practically engaged to Beck, and Mel doesn’t swing your way… and Stella is off limits to your kind.” She points her finger and takes a swig of my beer off the counter. I offered her a beer of her own, which she declined, because I knew this would happen.
Little sisters are so annoying.
“Why? Am I the big bad wolf or something?”
“First of all,” Nessa looks me up and down, “Yes you are.” Fair point. At 6’4” I can be intimidating, and hauling equipment, spending hours hitting drums all day every day, and having nothing better to do at hotels besides using the gym has made an impact in the bicep department. “Second of all, I would probably murder you if you fucked one of my friends. Again.” I’m well aware of how serious she is about that one. I dated a friend of hers in high school, and when it ended badly—she dumped me, for the record—she stopped talking to Nessa altogether. Since then, there has been a general ban on me dating any of her friends. As bubbly as she is, Nessa forming deep friendships is rare, and I have no desire to screw that up for her.
“And thirdly,” Nessa cuts off my internal train of thought, “you’re the experienced, worldly drummer. I have a hunch that she’s never even had a boyfriend, so she doesn’t need her heart broken by the likes of you.”
“No worries there Nessie. I’m not a heartbreaker anyway. Now, are you going to help me finish settling in before I have to go, or do I need to bribe you with food?”
“Food. Definitely food.”
There’s something about playing the same songs over, and over, andoveragain that starts to feel like a cheese grater dragging against your forehead after a while. Don’t get me wrong, I’m good at what I do, but I could keep tempo in my sleep at this point.
The songs Jill writes are catchy and fun. The downside is that they don’t exactly pose a challenge to me anymore. On one hand, it’s nice because it makes my job relaxing. On the other hand, it sucks because it means I get to spend more time in my head than I’m comfortable with.
I wonder if Mom and Dad have heard I’m in town yet, I consider while I hammer out the bridge.It’s not like Nessa would have told them. I don’t think my sister had spoken to our parents since last Christmas.Not that they would have replied to her.I give myself a mental shake, trying to refocus on the task in front of me, and look up into the crowd.
We’ve drawn a decent crowd tonight and the energy is high. The crowd seems pretty hyped to watch a fairly mid-level band, not that I’d call us that to any of my bandmate’s faces. I’m a realist though. If we were going to blow up, we would have already.
I’m comfortable with the level of notoriety we’ve achieved, though it would be nice to be recognized as a member of the band. Too often I’ve been getting us set up at venues and been mistaken for the bouncer, which I understand, I do own a mirror. If I was a woman, I’d be unfairly accused of having RBF. As a guy, people think I’m unapproachable, if not menacing.
A flash of yellow catches my attention in the sea of people and my eyes immediately track it.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
A little blonde thing in leather leggings, heeled boots, and a sweater that slips dangerously off her shoulder is looking right at me. I can almost map out the gentle curve of her lower lip as her tongue flicks against it.
And distracting.
I try my best to lose myself in the music, to focus on what I’m doing, but every time I look up, there she is, her wide, blue eyes raking over me. They’re bright and intrigued, and I’m inclinedto watch back. I’ve been a drummer for a long while, and rhythm comes to me naturally, so when her mouth curls up in an unmistakably sultry smile, I’m startled to realize I’ve missed a beat. It only trips up my rhythm for a second, and I recover quickly, but not without catching a “what the fuck” look from our bassist. The humour in her eyes is visible even from here, and I’m suddenly aware of my cock straining sharply against my zipper, which, given my current activity, isn’t super ideal
The curls in her hair tease across her face and shoulders, begging to be gripped in my fist. She slowly sips at her drink, and I can’t tell if she’s come here alone.
It’s a welcome distraction, daydreaming about all the things I want to do to her, the carousel of dirty images flickering through my brain. God, I hope she’s not here with friends… then it’s anyone’s guess if I’ll be able to taste that sweet, delicate mouth tonight. I’m shocked by my own thoughts, given the fact that a woman hasn’t caught my eye at a show in nearly a year now.
I’m antsy as our set winds down, and I’ll admit, I rush our last two songs, much to the annoyance of my bandmates. I’m past caring. I weather an icy glare from Jill as our last song fades out. It’s not the first time I’ve pissed her off and it won’t be the last.
