Deep (Stage Dive, #4)(10)
My rage toward the drummer in question, Malcolm Ericson, had dropped from boiling to a simmer. The precarious way Anne was swaying atop her high perch worried me more. “Please don’t fall off the coffee table and break something.”
“Ohmyf*ckinggod.” Dark liquid sloshed over the edge of her glass, splattering onto the scuffed wooden floor below, only narrowly missing a red-faced Lauren. “Stop being such an adult, Lizzy. I’m the older sister here. You’re the kid. Act like it.”
I opened my mouth to tell her what I thought of that bright idea, but a hand swiftly covered my lips.
“Do not engage,” Ev whispered in my ear, her arm draped over my shoulders and palm still silencing me. “She is drunk off her ever-loving ass and arguing with her will get you nowhere.”
The hand withdrew, though the arm remained.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I said.
It probably should have felt weird, being so friendly with her on Anne’s impressively soft new velvet love seat. I’d only just met Ev. There was something about her, though. Her and Lauren both (I’d met Lauren once before, briefly). You had to appreciate women who exuded an air of no nonsense. Whatever happened with dickhead Mal, I hoped they stuck with Anne. She needed real friends, not the money-, time-, and energy-sucking leeches she’d attracted over the years with her momma bear ways.
“Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think your sister lets herself blow off steam very often. She might just need this.”
I frowned. “Perhaps.”
Up on the table, Anne hummed along with the music playing softly over the stereo. Lost in her own little world. At least the sad face was gone. I’d seen enough of it to last me a lifetime. Just the same, I made a mental note to beat Mal Ericson bloody if I ever saw him again. About the billionth thought of its type for the day.
“Did you enjoy seeing them practice before it all went south?” asked Ev.
“Yeah. I really did.” I gave the woman discreet side eyes. “The bass player … what was his name?”
“Ben?”
“Hmm.” I nodded, feeling my way through the conversation ever so carefully. “He seemed interesting. Pity we didn’t get to head out for a meal.”
“It was a pity. Couldn’t help but notice you noticing him at practice,” said Ev, ending any charade of subtlety.
Awesome.
“Relax. I’m not going to say anything to your sister.” The woman sighed. “Ben, Ben, Ben. How to describe him? He’s a great guy, very laid back.”
I said nothing.
“Be warned, though, he’s not known for actually dating.”
I gave her side eyes.
She gave me a small grin. “Of course, neither was David until we got married. Anyhoo … Ben. How serious are you about him?”
“Are you asking about my intentions?”
A startled laugh flew out of her. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I am. I’ve got a man now, so I have to meddle and play matchmaker. Apparently it’s what women do. But seriously, it’s not him getting hurt that I’m necessarily worried about.”
“You going to tell me I’m too young for him?”
“That would be hypocritical of me, considering I got hitched at twenty-one. And you’re what?”
“Nearly twenty-one.” I shifted in my seat.
“Well he’s nearly twenty-nine, just so you know.”
Eight years. Not so bad.
I stared into the murky dregs of my second martini as if somewhere in the muck lay a clue. You need tea leaves, though, to tell the future. Vodka, cream, and chocolate liqueur didn’t quite cut it. “I probably won’t get to see him again anyway, so…”
“You give up that easy?” she asked. “The way you were looking at him, I thought you were more determined than that.”
“He’s a rock star. Are you saying I should stalk him?”
She shrugged. “Rock stars are just people too. I don’t think standing outside his hotel in the rain would be a lot of fun, though.”
“No. Probably not.” I could just see myself doing it, however, sad but true. The idea wasn’t entirely stupid. Maybe it would work. He’d definitely been interested. At least, I’m pretty sure he had been, what with the staring and vague smiling.…
Yeah, okay, I needed to find out. “Which hotel, just out of curiosity?”
A certain twinkle came into Ev’s eyes.
“Yo,” a voice hollered. It took about a year, but with movements painfully slow and deliberate, Lauren eventually got to her feet. “Let me grab you another drink there, kiddo.”
“I’m fi—” My glass was torn from my hand and the night’s self-appointed bartender stumbled off toward the kitchen.
“I better help her out with that or you’ll be served straight vodka.” Ev sat forward, withdrawing her cell phone from her back jeans pocket. Her fingers moved over the screen, then she tossed it onto the seat at her side, giving me a meaningful look. “I’ll just leave that there. I’m sure I can trust you not to look up any bass player’s number while I’m in the kitchen, right?”
“Absolutely. I have no intention of searching N for Nicholson in your contacts index.”
“Try B for Ben instead.” She winked at me.