by B. B. Hamel
“Fuck yes, we killed it,” Tom said ebulliently. He was practically glowing. Tom was a huge pain in the ass, but he was a damn good performer.
“That went pretty well,” Andy said, his usual dour self.
“It went pretty fucking well,” Tom said again. We slipped out through a side door and stood in the cool night air, gathering ourselves together.
“It was pretty good,” I said, trying to play it cool.
Tom laughed and clapped me on the back. “Sorry again for being late, guys.”
“It’s fine, I’m just pumped because that went so well,” George said.
“Lot of hot chicks in the crowd.” Tom laughed and waggled his eyebrows.
“Yeah man, plenty of groupies,” Andy said.
I laughed. “I’m sure maybe five of them had ever heard of us before.”
“I’ll say fifteen, I’m feeling optimistic,” George joked.
“All right boys, no more bullshitting,” Tom said.
“What, you want to be serious now?” George laughed.
Tom shook his head. “I want to thank our great and merciful Lord Xenu, first and foremost.”
I groaned and punched his arm. Andy rolled his eyes and George laughed harder. Tom just grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m getting a drink, catch you guys later.” I went to walk back into the bar.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Tom said. “We’re having a post show band bonding session. You’re not wandering off.”
I cringed. Tom’s idea of bonding usually involved drinking until one or more of us blacked out and vomited. Years ago, when I was younger and more reckless, that might have seemed like a good idea. But as I got older, especially with Emma sitting inside, I didn’t want anything to do with Tom or his bonding. Or his vomit, but that was a given. Nobody wanted anything to do with Tom’s vomit, regardless of their age.
“No thanks, man.” I walked off toward the front entrance.
“Don’t be a dick!” Tom called after me, but I ignored him. I turned the corner and took a deep breath, gathering myself.
“What’s going on?” I nearly jumped as George appeared next to me.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
He gave me a weird look. “I didn’t sneak, I jogged. You seem pretty on edge.”
“Sorry, I guess it’s my adrenaline.”
“You want to finally enlighten me, or do I have to go get hammered with Tom and never learn your secret?”
I laughed. George was my closet friend in the band, and probably outside of the band as well. He was pretty good at reading my moods, and that night was no exception.
“There’s a girl here I want to see,” I said.
He nodded, his face grave. “That’s very good, Jim. Had my questions about you.”
“Oh shut up. She’s a student at Temple.”
“Isn’t that like, against your rules or something?”
“Not exactly. She isn’t my direct student, so it’s not illegal or anything. Plus, I’m not really sure there’s anything between us yet.”
George shrugged. “But you might want there to be something.”
“I’m honestly not sure yet, but I guess that’s why I’m going to hangout with her.”
George nodded. “I’ll cover for you with Tom.”
I squeezed his shoulder. “I appreciate that, man.”
“Just make sure you get it in, like, tonight.”
“You were so close to being a good guy.”
“Can’t get too soft on you,” he said, grinning. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I said, and started back toward the bar.
I had to admit that I was a little nervous. I realized it was a little weird, but it made total sense to me. All those strangers, I didn’t care what they thought about me individually. I did care about them as a crowd, but I wasn’t nervous about any single one of them. I could get up there and play and know what I’d sound like because I had practiced over and over, and I wasn’t worried about making a mistake. But with Emma, it was all unrehearsed. For whatever reason, I cared about what she thought of me. The crowd was just a crowd; there would be plenty more crowds in my life.
But Emma, she was unique. I’d never have another Emma.
Which was exactly why, despite the unusual nervous fear and excitement swimming around in my veins, I had to go into that bar and find out if there was anything between the two of us.
Chapter Six: Emma
I couldn’t believe Jim’s band was decent, but they were. Even Lane and Dillon liked them, and they hated everything. The venue was packed and hot, and we were lucky to have spots at the bar. When Jim came on, the crowd went nuts; I think they actually had more than a few fans out to see them. Jim played lead and sang backup, and he wore slim dark blue jeans and a tight black T-shirt that showed off his surprisingly fit body. I kept picturing him as the buttoned-down adjunct, but on stage he looked much less boyish, and much more in control. I had to admit that I liked it.
“Holy shit, he looks delicious,” Dillon yelled in my ear. I winced at the word “delicious,” but I had to agree. In my mind, I saw his face coming closer to mine, his soft looking lips and his deep eyes, and I felt a jolt of desire run through me again.
“Yeah, seriously, you didn’t say he was hot,” Lane said.
“I told you he was cute.” I took a drink, feeling awkward.
“Cute does not do him justice.” Lane grinned. She was beyond excited that I had finally met someone I was interested in, and she plied me with questions every single day since I got home that night. Of course, Dillon spilled the beans immediately, and they instantly teamed up to pull out every possible detail. I probably wouldn’t have showed up if it weren’t for Lane and Dillon pressuring me into it. Sitting at the bar watching him play, I was glad they did. I had to admit, Lane was right: “cute” didn’t do him justice.
“I think he just looked at you!” Dillon practically screamed, grabbing at my arm. I had spaced out remembering their incessant joking and comments, and when I focused on the stage, his gaze had shifted over to the other side of the room.
“Probably not, it’s dark in here.”
Lane rolled her eyes at me.
“I am beyond, beyond, beyond fucking jealous. A hot rocker professor? Are you kidding me?” Dillon said. He was probably more into Jim than I was.
But he did have a point. Jim seemed exactly like my type: mature but not stuffy, literate but not pretentious, and attractive in an all-American kind of way. It was a bonus that his band was decent, and that he looked incredibly sexy on stage.
“Relax, Dillon. He probably doesn’t even remember inviting me.”
I hadn’t been to the library all week because I had switched out my shifts already in anticipation for a big Civics exam on Friday. I studied pretty much day and night, and luckily didn’t have too much time to dwell on whether or not he was into me. As soon as the test was over, though, I began to obsess over every detail of my time in the staircase with Jim. We couldn’t have been in there for very long, but it felt like weeks. Everything he said and every motion he made was somehow charged, amped up past the normal level of social contact. He was like a lightning rod at the top of a high building, attracting electricity and distributing it along his length.
He really was a hot rocker professor. More than that, I was pretty sure he was into me, or at least he was when we were trapped on that staircase. His band switched songs, and I found myself getting sucked into the music. Jim was obviously talented; I liked music a lot, and listened to a huge range of genres, so I knew a thing or two about good stuff. His guitar style was like Jimmy Page, and his voice was like early Ben Gibbard. The front man was electric and wild, but he was basically a rip-off of mid-career Mick Jaguar. Jim had something else, something special. He was a bit stiff on stage, but his playing was phenomenal. The front man definitely had the right swagger, but he was missing the technical side of music. Jim may have been backup, but h
e was definitely the star, or at least the band wouldn’t have been elevated beyond mediocrity without him. There was something special about the ease with which he played.
They launched into their next song, and I nodded my head along to the beat. Lane and Dillon began to argue about which bartender was hotter, so I tuned them out. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Jim, especially when he began to sing. There was something about his voice that I found irresistible, and even though it was overwhelmed by the front man’s screaming croon, I could still catch snippets of it wafting through the background.
Finally, their set ended, and the front man made a terrible joke about the encore being for all the single ladies back at his place. It got a surprisingly loud laugh, plus an enthusiastic round of hoots and clapping. As far as a local, no-name band goes, they killed it with that crowd. People were dancing, and I thought I saw a few singing along, and the applause afterwards was loud and heartfelt. I expected a shitty, lame group of old guys playing bad music, but they were actually pretty great. Even if I never saw Jim again, I would probably have followed his band.
“They were fucking awesome,” Lane said loudly.
“Yeah, I’m shocked. You said he was pretty dorky,” Dillon yelled in my ear.
“Not dorky, just a dork.”
“What’s the difference?” he said, making a face.
“I don’t know!” I yelled over the music. Jim and his band filtered off toward the backstage and disappeared outside as the venue staff started to break down their equipment and set up for the next band.
“You should go talk to him,” Lane said.
“No, that’d be weird.”
“Oh don’t be scared, we’re here for you,” she said, laughing.
“That’s the problem!”
Dillon and Lane were fantastic, but they could get a little overzealous sometimes. I wouldn’t want to bring a guy around them because they’d pepper him with embarrassing questions and make it seem like I was a crazy person. They meant well, but it was a little intense sometimes.
Dillon looked offended, but he was always offended about something. “We are fantastic people, Emma Trainer, don’t you ever forget it.”
I grinned. “I couldn’t forget even if I tried. You remind me all the time.”
He nodded seriously. “You’re damn right I do.”
Lane broke in. “Enough bullshit. Shots!”
Dillon joined in her calls for shots, and I reluctantly agreed. Lane ordered three whiskeys, which wasn’t my favorite, but would do the job. I glanced through the crowd but couldn’t find Jim anywhere. Maybe he had left with the band for a different after-show spot. I was a little disappointed, but I guessed it was for the best that way. If he wasn’t into me, then we wouldn’t have to do the awkward ‘Oh hey you came!’ meeting. We could skip right back to being strangers.
The bartender handed over our three shots, and Lane distributed them. She held up her glass. “To Emma, for finally trying to get some sweet man meat.”
I made a ‘nice one’ face, and then we all downed our shots. It was my first drink of the night, so the burning warmth of the whiskey hit my stomach hard. Dillon made a grossed out face, and we all laughed at him.
“Celebrating something?” someone said over the music, right behind me.
I looked back at Jim, standing there grinning at me. For a second I was at a loss for words. He was even cuter off stage than he was on, or maybe that was just residual rock star still clinging to his image. His shaggy hair was damp with sweat, but his deep brown eyes were bright and clear.
“We are celebrating,” Dillon said.
“What’s that?” Jim responded, looking at Dillon.
“Nothing, ignore him,” I said, turning my body toward him.
His smile grew bigger and I caught him running his gaze along the front of me. Normally that would have creeped me out, but for some reason I could tell it was completely unintentional. And it was cute that he couldn’t help but check me out. I felt my body flush with his nearness and gaze.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“Me too, you guys were awesome.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Can I buy you something?”
Lane gave me a big grin, and I nodded. “Sure, just a gin and tonic.”
Jim moved away against the bar and tried to catch the bartender’s eye while Dillon and Lane both waggled their eyebrows at me. I was plotting how I’d murder them slowly when Jim came back with my drink and a beer for himself.
“So have you guys been here before?”
“It’s my first time,” Dillon called out.
“Yeah, none of us have been here before,” I said.
“It’s a pretty cool venue. Been here for a while now too, it’s like a Philly institution at this point.”
“Do you guys play here often?” Lane asked.
Jim shrugged. “Not that often, actually.”
“Well, I thought you guys were awesome. What’s the name of your band again?” Lane asked.
“Honest Mystery,” he said.
“That’s a good one, who came up with it?”
He grinned. “I did, though I sort of stole it from a novel Father John Misty wrote.”
“Who’s that, your Rabbi?” Dillon asked.
Jim and I both laughed, while Lane and Dillon exchanged a look.
“He’s a musician,” I said.
“Yeah, totally weird, like an L.A. new age shaman or something.”
“Like Jim Morrison.”
“Exactly! But if him and Frank Sinatra had a baby,” he said, grinning.
“Not as pretty though,” I joked.
Dillon and Lane continued to exchange looks, but I was too busy laughing with Jim to really care. He seemed to perfectly understand my sense of humor, and our jokes were easy to riff off each other.
“What are you guys doing after this?” Jim asked the group.
Lane shrugged and looked at Dillon. “We’re probably not doing anything, but I don’t know about you two.”
I blushed, and Jim smiled at me. It was only a matter of time before Lane or Dillon said something awkward that totally made me look like a crazy clingy stalker or something. And they wondered why I never brought guys around. Well, that was because I was never interested in anyone, but still. They would have scared them off regardless.
“Well in that case, want to walk around or something?” Jim asked me.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘walk around or something,’ but Dillon was giving me a look, and Lane was practically itching to answer for me.
“Yeah sure, whatever,” I blurted out.
“Cool, let’s finish our drinks.”
“To new friends!” Dillon cried out, and then chugged what was left of his first drink. We all laughed at him, and Lane joined in the chugfest. Jim and I both sipped a little more conservatively. I wasn’t into getting wasted, which was why I was trying to stay at or below two drinks. Dillon and Lane, on the other hand, embraced all things college and cliché, and were definitely down to black out from time to time. I was usually the designated driver as far as our nights out went. I was also the mother, the taxi-payer, and the general practical person.
When Lane vomited, I took care of her. When Dillon vomited, I made him go home. We had a pretty good system.
“To be young again,” Jim said, laughing.
“How old are you anyway?” Lane asked.
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“You don’t look twenty-seven,” Dillon said.
“What do you teach?” Lane asked.
“I’m in the music department, adjuncting right now. I teach intro to music theory classes.”
“So you’re not a real professor?”
He laughed. “No, I’m not, not at all.”
“Good, real professors are so lame,” Dillon said, rolling his eyes.
We all laughed. “Do you like teaching?” Lane asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, I do. I wasn’t sure I would, but
I guess I’m pretty good at it.”
“Do you like your students?”
“More or less,” he said.
“All right, enough grilling him,” I cut in.
“What? We’re just trying to get to know our new pal,” Dillon said defensively.
I looked at Jim and he smiled back as he finished his drink. I could tell he didn’t mind fielding their questions, but I was one more awkward comment away from being full-on embarrassed. Lane and Dillon seemed to be holding back, but I decided it was time to get out of there before they went too far.
“Want to get going?” I asked him.
“Sure, whenever you want.”
“Leaving so soon? We just got started,” Lane said, grinning.
“You can resume the interrogation another time,” I said.
“You kids be good!” Dillon yelled. I stood up and shrugged at Jim. He smiled.
“It was good meeting you guys,” he said to Lane and Dillon.
“You too,” Lane replied. Dillon waved as Jim and I walked back toward the exit. The next band was getting started, and most of the crowd was up toward the stage, so we had an easy time slipping out the front entrance. We spilled out together into the cool night air, the wash and thud of the live music following us out. We stood by the curb and I grinned up at him, feeling butterflies in my stomach.
“I’m really glad you came,” he said again. I stood close to him.
“Yeah, me too.” He reached out and took my hand in his. I felt a thrill run through my stomach, like a cliché schoolgirl, but I couldn’t help it. I was getting all worked up because a boy played in a band and wanted to hold my hand. I couldn’t stop myself though, and truthfully, I didn’t want to. I was afraid to get involved, but I loved how he made me feel.
He faced me in the street, his lean, tough body close to mine, his face inches from mine. Adrenaline flooded my body and my pulse quickened as he moved closer, and began to lean in. I saw the outline of his soft lips in the streetlight, his shaggy hair layered over his handsome, boyish face, and a deep thread of panic began to unwind inside of me. Distractions, work, and more bubbled to the surface as he drew nearer.
