Playing the Pauses

by Michelle Hazen

  “I’m still surprised Jera let him out of bed long enough for that band dinner at her parents’ house.” I take a sip and smile at him over my coffee cup. “Considering all her dad’s dirty jokes, I might have made an excuse to stay home if I were her.”

  The band dinner was great: bickering and loud, and full of so many hugs in every direction that I got caught up in the swing of it and nearly forgot I was only a guest. Jera’s mom, Anne, made everyone’s favorite foods, and it’s the most I’ve seen Danny eat since I met him.

  Danny opens a cabinet and pulls out a Snickers bar. “Ah, Hank’s always like that. And it was kind of nice, seeing Jax when he wasn’t on anything.” He rips the wrapper and takes a quick bite. “I almost forgot I actually like the guy.”

  “He’s so ready to get back out on the road; he’s been texting me like twenty times a day with questions.” I make a rueful face. “I can’t believe he tried to talk you guys into playing clubs during the break. Oh, hey, there’s coffee, and I heated up water for your tea, but that was a long time ago. It probably went cold again.”

  He ducks around the counter and leans a hip next to my stool. “No time. I kinda dozed off again after I told Jax I’d leave for the gym.” His eyes flicker down my body, clad only in one of his hoodies. He trails his tattooed index finger over the bare skin of my leg. “If I’d known you were wearing that, I would have gotten up a lot earlier.”

  I laugh and lean forward to drop a kiss on his jawline. “There’s no way you can have enough stamina left for a pre-workout go-around. Not after last night.”

  Danny’s bed is equipped with a set of long, black silk scarves to go with the silver rings studding the edges, and it turns out he has a creative flair for bondage. It’s not just about the restraints; it’s about the positioning. About taking the edge of vulnerability and using it to hone the intensity of the pleasure.

  I swallow, and his eyes fall to my lips.

  Even last night, he didn’t kiss me on the mouth. It must be his way of keeping a little distance between us, the same way I’m not telling him how much I love whips. But I have to admit; it stings that he thinks he needs to protect himself against me. Obviously I’m not going to push for a commitment, and I would never do anything to hurt him.

  I doubt he needs to stay on guard the way I do, because I need every reminder I can scrape up that he’s only a part of my world for another few days. Year-round tour managers can have lovers. We can have phone calls and quick visits. But we can’t have anything as all-consuming as Danny. A life that changes by the hour is too fluid to contain something as gravitational as him.

  His hand comes up and his thumb brushes across my lower lip, leaving my head reeling in the wake of the simple touch.

  “See you later, okay?” He steps back and tosses a vague gesture at the kitchen. “There’s um, food. I think.”

  I blink and clear my throat to snap me out of his spell. “And how would that matter to the queen of takeout? Besides, I’ll probably be gone when you get back. I’ve got actual work to do today, unfortunately.”

  He drops onto the bench by the door, tugging on a sneaker. “’Kay.”

  I wait. “Aren’t you going to ask me where I’m going?”

  “Am I supposed to?” He glances over, puzzled.

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “Cool.” His shoulders relax. “You’ve got a key, right?”

  “Yeah, you gave me one.” I prop my chin on my hand, watching as he searches for a shoe to match the one he’s already wearing. I’ve never dated a single Dom who didn’t insist on knowing where I was going and when I’d be back. Even then, they usually text all day long to check on me. Some of my vanilla boyfriends did it, too, as if they didn’t realize how fast protective slides into irritating.

  “I’ll probably go in to work today,” Danny says. “There’s a tattoo I promised to finish before we take off.”

  He stops halfway through tying his shoe, his eyes falling on the dove gray of the wall in front of him. After a moment, he glances down again and yanks the knot tight.

  “Hey, uh, I don’t know if you’re free tonight, but I have this thing.” He bounds off the bench and snatches up one of his knit hats. He shoves his hair back, pulling the hat on and tugging restlessly at the edges. “Jera usually comes along, but I don’t want to mess with her last night with Jacob before we leave, you know?” His eyes come up, startling green and melting gold that gives me pause even from across the room. “Would you go with me?”

  I turn on my barstool, fighting the urge to go over and put my arms around him. “Of course I will.” I tilt my head with a casual smile. “Wanna give me an idea what to dress for?”

  “It’s not anything big. It’ll kind of suck, actually.” He glances down, bouncing his keys in his palm. “Just dinner. At my parent’s house.”

  My pulse jumps, and I try to play it off with a laugh. “Um, Danny, I don’t know if I’m the kind of girl you bring home to meet the parents. You know?”

  His face closes up tight. “You’re not on trial, Kate. If anyone is, I am.”

  What? With his own parents? And why would he need Jera as a buffer to visit his family? Worry flickers through me, and I push a strand of hair out of my face.

  “You know what? I’d be happy to tag along.” I shrug, trying to keep it casual because he obviously knows I’m not going as his future wife or anything like that. “It was fun meeting Jera’s parents, seeing where she grew up. Maybe I’ll get some blackmail pictures to wallpaper the bus in.” I drop a wicked wink.

  His hands close over his keys, his muscles loosening. “You wish. Maybe I was always incredibly cool and suave, even as a toddler.”

  “Not the way Jera tells it.” I smile. “Home by five early enough?”

  “Yup.” He opens the door, but then hesitates. “Hey, Kate?”

  “Mmm?” I dangle one bare foot from my barstool, wondering if Danny’s parents are dress up or dress down kind of people.

  “Thanks.”

  Something in his tone makes my throat go tight, but before I have a chance to respond, he’s gone.

  Chapter 18: Meet the Parents

  I don’t start to get nervous about meeting Danny’s parents until he gets silent. When it’s time to get ready, he doesn’t try to tease me into the shower with him, and he shaves, even though he knows how much I’m loving the five days of stubble that make his jaw absolutely mouth-watering. By the time he puts on a shirt with buttons down the front, I’m ready to call in an emergency refill on a Valium prescription.

  “You okay?” he asks me as I gather my purse, and I raise an incredulous eyebrow. He crams one of his nondescript knit hats down over his hair, adding just enough normalcy that I don’t call him on his twitchiness.

  Instead, I give him a reassuring smile. “Course I am. You driving?”

  He jerks a nod, and we head out the door for a twenty-minute commute to an older, blander Portland neighborhood. The house is standard suburbia, with buff-colored bricks and un-ambitious flowerbeds.

  Danny turns off the car and says, “My brother will probably be here. People always think he’s...” He dodges a look at me. “But he’s smart. Smarter than I’ll ever be. He can do anything with a computer.”

  “So...you think I’m pretty much a jerk who needs a warning not to judge your brother?”

  The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Sorry. Old habit.”

  He pulls the handle and gets out of the car. For a second I think the weird tension has broken, but as we walk to the door I feel it in the solid three-foot block of space between us. This week without the prying eyes of the crew, I’ve gotten used to Danny’s easy physicality: the way he always takes my hand or slings an arm over my shoulder, kissing the top of my head so absently I’m never sure if he realizes he’s doing it. But tonight, we’re obviously back to our platonic in-public act. It chafes, even though the secrecy was my idea.

  Danny knocks, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt as he
waits. I reach over and smooth the fold of his collar, but he doesn’t look at me.

  The woman who answers the door is slender, the top half of her black hair captured in a clip, her cardigan set the same beige as the bricks of her house. I offer her a warm smile. She blinks in surprise when she sees me.

  “Well, come on in,” she says to us, giving Danny a brief, one-armed hug. “Carl, Danny’s here!” she calls back into the house. A tall, broad-chested man appears behind her in chinos and an oxford shirt, the shape of his jaw just like his son’s.

  “Oh!” he says when he sees me. “Hello.”

  “Mom, Dad, this is my friend, Kate.” Danny’s shoulders sit laser-straight, and his weight leans subtly closer to me. “Kate, these are my parents: Carl and Ruth.”

  “I hope I’m not intruding...” I step forward with a smile that has a bit of a wince to it. I should have known Danny wouldn’t think to tell them he was bringing a guest. Carl shakes my hand, but Ruth’s tight-lipped smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  “So did you two meet on tour?” she asks.

  Christ, she thinks her son brought home one of the Backstage Blowjob Brigade.

  “Kate is our tour manager, Mom.”

  “So you work for her?” Now she looks even more skeptical, probably because I barely look old enough to drink.

  “More like the other way around, actually,” I say. “I get the band where they’re going and make sure things run smoothly when they get there.”

  “Hmm.” Ruth looks away. “You’re still wearing those hats?” she says to Danny.

  I bite the inside of my lip.

  “I forget to cut my hair sometimes.” He shrugs. “The hats keep it out of my eyes.”

  “Twenty-three years old and he can’t remember to cut his hair.” Ruth clucks her tongue, looking to me for backup. I manage a halfway sympathetic expression, though when I’m on tour, I’m lucky if I remember I have hair.

  “I’m sorry Lori wouldn’t come.” Carl’s voice is about two octaves lower than anything that would match the look of his oxford shirt, and I drink in the sound of it, realizing where his son gets the deep rumble I like so much. “Your sister is having one of her things. Thinks we’re the source of all her problems.”

  “It’s fine. I saw Lori earlier this week,” Danny says.

  I busy myself messing with my purse zipper. Judging by the amount of cash he took out of the ATM before he saw her, Lori’s not doing so hot.

  “Is Brian here?”

  “In the living room.” Ruth turns to call into the house, “Brian, come out and say hello to your brother!”

  “It’s okay, I’ll go find him.” Danny reaches for my hand.

  Screw appearances. I hold on hard as he steers me around his parents. “Nice to meet you,” I toss over my shoulder, because it doesn’t seem like they’re going to follow us. I catch a glimpse of a few pictures on my way down the hall: posed family portraits amidst the fall leaves, and one where the kids are small and they’re all wearing white sweaters. In that one, Danny’s sister has a fake, too-stretched smile across her face as she sits in the center. She has her father’s sandy hair but Danny’s sharp nose and sculpted cheekbones. Just before I turn the corner, I see a picture of a kindergarten-aged Danny leaping up out of a makeshift blanket fort with his face exploding into a grin and his black hair in an atrocious bowl-cut.

  I snicker and he tosses me a questioning glance, but then I’m distracted by the man standing awkwardly behind the sofa. He’s thick through the chest but with soft, rounded shoulders, his hands pushed into the pockets of his slacks.

  “Hi, Danny.” His gaze bounces everywhere in the room but us.

  The edges of Danny’s eyes crinkle softly. “Hey, Bri.”

  “I saw the magazine with your tattoos,” Brian rushes out. He’s almost shockingly handsome, with short black hair and light brown eyes with endless lashes.

  “Yeah? That’s cool.”

  “The...” His jaw works a few times, and he starts to rock just slightly forward and back from his toes to his heels. “...pictures were real good,” he says, the words all piling up on top of each other. “Wasn’t it...” His teeth click as his jaw works again, and the silence stretches longer and longer as he struggles to find the word he wants. I take a breath to smooth things over, but Danny squeezes my hand, signaling for me to wait. “Embarrassing?” Brian finally finishes, the word hitching tightly on its way out.

  Danny chuckles. “Yeah, a little bit. They tell you like, look serious. No, look tougher now. Suck in your stomach.”

  This time, we’re all laughing together; Brian’s coming out just a little too loud.

  Danny lets go of my hand to clap his brother on the back, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he steps away again to give him some space.

  “This is Kate,” he says, his voice gentle. “Kate, my big brother, Brian.”

  Brian blushes, eyes skittering across the ceiling until I wonder if he’s going to flee, but then he extends his hand and I take it, careful to let him release me as soon as he wants to.

  “Very...nice to meet you,” he says firmly, and with only the hint of a stutter.

  “Your brother tells me you’re the brains in the family.” I smile. “And that you might be able to help me with a problem I’m having with my tablet.”

  Brian straightens, reddening further. “I’m in software programming, not IT, but I...I could take a look. If you have it. If you brought it with you, I mean.”

  I lift a hand and shoo Danny toward the kitchen. “Go. Have a nice visit. Brian will get me fixed up.” I pull my tablet out of my bag, praying the rare glitch in my word processing app won’t let me down today of all days. Danny lingers, but after Brian reaches for my tablet and takes a seat next to me on the couch, Danny turns toward the kitchen.

  “Tablets are a very different operating system than desktop or even laptop computers.” Brian’s fingers dance across my tablet with a quick competence that reminds me of his brother. “There isn’t a lot you can do with them. Have you updated recently?”

  I keep an ear on the kitchen as he works over my tablet. Danny’s parents seem to be taking turns bitching about his sister’s latest troubles. Something about a lost job and late rent money is definitely in the mix, and I think I catch something about her selling her prescription drugs, too. Of Danny’s voice, there’s not much.

  By the time they call us to dinner, Brian’s installed a new word processing app for me and insisted on transferring over all my documents.

  “It’s nothing. You could have done the same thing,” he insists as he hands my tablet back. His speech is smoother, though he still doesn’t seem comfortable enough to look straight at me.

  “I probably would have just kept putting up with the glitch, so if nothing else, you saved me from my own laziness.” I smile as we both rise. He shows me to the kitchen, his shoulders hunching more the closer we get to the rest of the group.

  Danny looks up as we enter, and I can’t tell if he’s checking on me or Brian. Maybe both.

  “Your father wanted a roast,” Ruth says to Danny as we gather at the table, “but there are plenty of potatoes and carrots for you, and I made green beans, too. You probably haven’t been getting any vegetables at all on the road.”

  I glance at the giant pan of meat and then at Danny, who I’m pretty sure is the only vegetarian who hates vegetables, even though he shrugged off all opportunities to put in requests for the catering on tour. He shrugs now. Brian’s arms clamp tighter into his sides.

  I take a breath and give my best smile to Danny’s father. “I didn’t see you guys on the guest list for the Portland show. Did you fly down for the tour opener in San Diego?”

  Carl and Ruth swap an odd look. “Um, no.” Ruth takes a helping of roast. “The concerts are...well, they’re a bit rough for our taste.”

  “The fans can get pretty enthusiastic.” I force a chuckle. “Though we take that as a good sign. Next time, I’d be happy to get you s
eats in the VIP area so you can watch from someplace calmer.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Ruth lifts one of the serving bowls towards me. “Would you like some green beans, Kate?”

  “Um, sure.”

  The topic turns to the new secretary at Carl’s office, the flowers that Ruth planted this year that didn’t really turn out, back to Danny’s sister, and then to the faucet that’s getting loose on the kitchen sink. Danny’s not eating, and Brian’s shoveling in food with a determination that’s painful to watch, his eyes fixed on his plate. Finally, I can’t stand it for another second.

  “Did Danny tell you the tour’s not over?” My words fall right into the middle of Ruth’s complaints about Carl’s last attempt to fix the faucet. Everyone looks at me.

  “No,” she says. “What is he doing at home, then?”

  “Actually, they have a nine-date European tour next,” I announce. Ruth nods, cutting a bite of roast. I raise my voice slightly. “It’s a pretty big deal for their first tour as headliners to make it non-domestic. And the venues they’ve been able to fill over there are really impressive.”

  Carl looks up. “Good for you, son. The band is doing okay, then?”

  Danny nods. I hold my breath, but the room just lapses back into silence, a fork scraping loudly against a plate.

  “Better than okay, actually.” I put down my fork. “The Red Letters sold out every date for the last two weeks straight. Plus, that tattoo article they did on Danny’s art? It’s gone viral. The band website has been getting hundreds of requests per day from fans who want him to design tattoos for them, and Hank says one of the tattoo competition shows called to ask if Danny would be interested in appearing.”

  Danny has stopped pushing his food around his plate. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he watches me, and in between bites, Brian is sneaking quick looks, too. Ruth and Carl seem confused, but they nod politely before Carl starts to change the subject. And I bury them in numbers.

  Ticket sales, merch grosses, mp3 downloads, website hits, Spotify and Pandora stats, and a Rainman-like litany of every radio station, magazine, newspaper and internet site that did interviews with the band while we were gone. I talk straight through dinner, and I help Ruth clear the table while parroting praise about the band from music blogs, industry rags, and award nomination rumors.