Drive(23)

“What?”

“Well,” I said with a small smile, erasing the imaginary line I’d drawn in the sand between us with my orange Chucks littered with Stone Temple Pilots lyrics, “can I come?”

“It’s practice. We don’t bring best friend’s little sisters to practice, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I’ll be quiet. So quiet, no one will even notice me.” He hung his head and slowly shook it.

“Stella, you’re like a screaming neon sign. Everybody notices you. And no.” He made quick work of throwing off my diligent grip of his arm and took long strides to try to lose me.

“Please!” I called to his back.

“Go back to Paige,” he called over his shoulder.

“Please, Reid. Please! I need something to look forward to!”

He stopped walking, his whole frame tense under a yellow streetlight, and looked back at me. I tried my best to hide my victory smile. I was sweating buckets and hustled to catch up with him while I lifted my hair and tied it back before the lecture began.

“Mute. I want you mute. I’m going to introduce you as mute.”

“Got it.”

We rounded the corner, and at five-foot-five, I struggled as he kept his six-foot-plus pace steady and expertly navigated the streets.

“The band is good. Really good, Reid. How did you guys start?”

“Ben used to sing in a band called Everly. I was in another. We got together after a show at a club we both played at. Neither of us was happy, so we mutated.”

“Mutated. I like that.”

“Yeah,” he said absently. “My ex-girlfriend sang in my old band, but we didn’t work well together.”

“Oh? You didn’t like drumming for her?”

“I loved her voice, hated her style.”

“Is that why she left?”

He pushed his sweat-slicked, ear-length locks away from his face before he glanced at me. I could see the indecision. Either he didn’t want to talk about her or he didn’t want to tell me. Well, maybe it was both.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s not why she left. That was years ago, when she and I first got together. Ben and I started the Sergeants three years ago. He sucked on guitar and I knew a guy. After we jammed a couple of times, we all decided we worked and then our bass came along.”

“Do you miss her?”

Completely off topic, I bit my lips, knowing I better shut the hell up or I’d never find my way back to the restaurant alone. “Sorry,” I said as he glared at me. “Sorry.”

“You should probably ease into the personal questions if you plan on doing this for a living.”

“Technically,” I pointed out, “this isn’t an interview.”

“No, it’s the Latina Inquisition,” he said with a twist of his lips.

“What got you playing?”

“I hit a pot when I was a toddler, too, but I was good at it.” He stepped off the sidewalk, and I was too immersed in him, fixated on his story, and stumbled off. His arms shot out to steady me as I was about to take a good bite of the pavement.

“Thanks.”

He winced as he withdrew and gripped his cast with his palm.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

“I’m still sore from dragging your drunk ass to the cab on your birthday. You’re like Bambi on new legs, drunk or sober. Next time I let you fall.”

“My grudge-filled hero,” I sighed after him, stepping double time to keep up with his pace.

And even though the dark street recommended we remain eerily quiet, I couldn’t stop asking questions. “Who got you your first set of drums?”

“I played in school.”

“In band?”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t picture that at all,” I said with a chuckle. “A band geek? Not you, Reid Crowne.”

“Oh, yes, me. My parents couldn’t afford drums. It was the only way for me to learn and play.”

“I get it.”

“I fucking loved it. Marching, competing. All of it.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling out my peppermint lip gloss and smearing it on, “now you’re just screwing with me.”

His deadpan stare confirmed it. Reid was anything but social. I could only imagine how hard it was for him to partake in anything school related. In fact, it was probably a nightmare for him but a necessary sacrifice. As if reading my mind, he shrugged. “I got to practice as much as I wanted. I made nice with the director, Mr. Burris, so I was there every day after school until I got kicked out.”

“You know one of my heroes played in high school band and then ping-ponged around before he landed a gig playing back up for Linda Ronstadt.”

“Some career,” he said with pressed brows, as if trying to understand my logic.

“I think so. He played with Glenn Frey until they both quit and decided to bet on themselves. They formed a little band called the Eagles.”

Reid paused and looked back at me.

“Yeah, Don Henley,” I said, satisfied. I loved the surprise in his eyes. “Just a guy from our great state who played football and trombone in a high school band that ended up writing some of the best songs in music. And that voice, don’t get me started.”