by Kendall Duke
“I’m not the drummer for Groovebone anymore,” he said, and shrugged, his lean, strong body moving with graceful ease. Talking might not be his strong suit, but his body was articulate in several languages. I found myself appraising him in a way I hadn’t thought of a man in a very long time. Very long.
“Because there is no Groovebone, because you beat them all to death in my bar?” I grinned up at him, unapologetically enjoying my memory of the fight, but he just shook his head and watched me with those piercing eyes. “Yeah, they were snoring so loud I thought the bassist survived and started a solo career at first.” He gave me a tiny smile. “There ya go. Look at that. See? I told you.” I winked up at him. “Sexy.”
“Alright,” he said softly, still peering down at me with an intensity that didn’t match his voice.
“Not that I intend to do anything about said sexiness, considering your career choice,” I said in an off-hand way, beginning to meander towards my car. I wondered if he really didn’t have anywhere to be—what did this mean? I’m sure he could call an Uber or something… “You’re probably a case study for the CDC.”
That did make him laugh, and I spun on my heel and grinned up at him. It was a pleasant sound, just as sweet—in a dark, husky way—as the smile that accompanied it; and it was gone just as fast. “R-rude,” he finally said, his eyes boring into mine.
“Absolutely,” I said, feeling sassy. “But I have a feeling you like that.”
“M-maybe,” he said, his voice dropping another register. His eyes had a more predatory gleam to them; I shivered and took a step back, and he seemed to understand immediately. “And I have a feeling you like that,” he said quietly, and there was something almost psychic about the way he gave me a little more room, stood just a little farther away, his gaze just as intense but with the wattage turned down. He’d seen me shiver, but he didn’t let go of our chemistry. We stood there, assessing each other, while I wondered what to do.
I wasn’t really ready to do much.
I was still pretty fucked up, actually, if I was being honest with myself; the run-in with Disappointment #3 still jangled in my bones, as if he’d done more than grab my wrist.
But he hadn’t. And I had the feeling that no matter the circumstances—if I hadn’t recently been followed, if I swung at him with the corkscrew, whatever—Leo would’ve still bashed Tony’s face into the bar with the force of a Greyhound bus.
I liked him.
I liked that I didn’t need to tell him to back off; I liked him in spite of the fact that my instincts were prickling, my whole body beginning to tingle with adrenaline as fear wormed its way through me. I’d probably never feel safe again, I thought, and my fury promptly overwhelmed it. Fuck fear. “Hey,” I said, making up my mind, “listen, sexy—it seems to me that your choices tonight boil down to getting a cab to one of our lovely local motels, or coming to my place, playing me music and eating porkchops and biscuits. What do you say?” I somehow knew I didn’t have to explicitly tell him, unlike every other man I’d met in my life, that this wasn’t an invitation to fuck me. It was just an invitation.
Oh, that smile. Jesus, it was enough to make a girl fall in love—until it wasn’t, the light turned out, the only windows to his thoughts those dark eyes. “I l-like porkchops,” he said slowly, and I nodded and pointed to my car.
Sexy indeed.
Leo
I don’t think anyone has ever called me sexy before.
I’ve been playing in a band my entire adult life. I’m a fairly well-built guy—well, I’m probably being modest there, given that I’ve spent a lot of time carrying around heavy shit on a construction site. A couple girls have told me that I have ‘nice eyes,’ which really meant they didn’t get a chance with Tony or the other guys, usually, because I don’t have ‘nice eyes.’ My eyes are dark, unremarkable, really, except for the fact that I am very good at using them to see what other people might not want me to. That’s kind of the opposite of ‘nice.’
But sexy… Nope. That was new.
And I could tell she meant it—she meant everything she said, which was exhilarating. It was such a sudden change, to go from Tony and the record execs and all the people who wanted things from me… To this. To someone who could not, for the life of her, tolerate a single ounce of bullshit.
I was in serious danger of falling in love.
I mean, I’m exaggerating… Kind of. I walked after her and folded myself up to get in her car, then inhaled her scent once the doors were closed—under the stale aroma of a long night of work in a bar, she smelled like that flash of ozone that hits the atmosphere right before a lightning strike. And… Fresh oranges, the smell of the rind before you even rip them off the tree. And—
“What are you thinking?” She was watching me in the rearview, a small smile on her face as she turned the key in the ignition. “I should warn you, if you’re planning on being a piece of shit you’re better off just staying here. I have four brothers, and they like to fight just as much as you do. But, you know, math.” She shrugged, turning the car into the lot and edging it into the empty street. “They’d kill your ass.”
“I don’t know,” I said, cracking my knuckles theatrically. “I think I could t-t-take them.”
“Maybe,” she said, raising her eyebrow. “You do have a mean left hook. But I doubt it, sexy.”
I was quiet, waiting for her to tease me again, but she seemed content to either drive in silence or wait for a reassurance that I was not, in fact, planning on being a piece of shit. I was torn—I never initiate conversation. It’s just not a thing I do. But… I really liked talking to her. “You l-l-looked like you were going to kill him with that c-c-corkscrew.” The long pauses that could interrupt my speech loomed before me, the embarrassment, the rejection. What the fuck was I thinking? I should’ve just gotten an Uber, kept the memory of her beautiful face—
“I thought I was going to have to, before you laid him out,” she said seriously. “I… I had a problem with a guy after hours a couple months ago. He took offense to something I said—kinda like your boy Tony in there—and he…” She inhaled deeply, making a right turn as her eyebrows furrowed at either the memory or the road, I couldn’t tell. “He waited for me outside until I was alone.”
I felt a streak of anger so explosive I wondered if the words would start smoking as they left my mouth, bitter ashes coating my tongue. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, obviously,” she said, giving me a smile. “But it shook me up. Bad. Worse than I realized at the time.” She glanced back at me again. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I said honestly. “You want me to kill that guy?” Or Tony? Or anybody else that for one second might have made you feel unhappy, or unsafe?
Because in that moment, I would.
Instead, she laughed—a lovely, hearty laugh, the kind of laugh I would’ve expected from someone much bigger than her. She was so tiny; up close, I towered over her, my arms and legs almost as thick around as her waist. “No, tough guy,” she said softly after a minute, and then, to my surprise, she reached over and patted my leg. As if I were the one that needed reassuring. “Sexy and funny. Nice.” She pointed at me in the rearview. “But no bullshit, okay?”
“No bullshit,” I promised, still choking on the rage that had consumed me just a moment ago. I couldn’t really tell you why; I had no claim on her, none at all. In fact… I didn’t even know her name. “Hey, um, w-w-what’s your name?”
“Benji,” she said with a smirk. “Charming, right? They have one daughter, and they name her Benjamina.” She rolled her eyes.
“What would you have chosen?”
“I don’t know,” she said, watching the electric river of headlights ahead of us as we merged onto the highway. “Something girly. Something like… Araminta. Maybe Gothika.”
“So something from a horror movie,” I said, and it was my turn to laugh. She grinned at me.
“Well, girly can still be tough, right?”
&n
bsp; “Gothika is not tough,” I said, still laughing. “That is probably the dumbest name for anything—including a movie.”
“That movie was creepy as hell,” she said, and I laughed until she elbowed me, that beautiful grin still on her face. “What?”
“You think Gothika is a creepy movie?”
“Like all normal humans, yes, I think Gothika is a creepy movie.” She laughed along with me for a minute, mostly, I could tell, for the sheer delight of laughing itself. “Alright, alright! What’s your favorite horror movie?”
“Hmm,” I said, thinking it over for a while. “L-lately? I’ve been watching a l-lot of L-Lucky McKee. May, The Woman, all that.” I needed to work harder to avoid my nemesis, the letter ‘L.’ I tried to concentrate and continue smoothly. “But actually, the scariest movie I saw most recently was called Hush. Have you heard of that one?”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head, a funny expression on her face, as if she were holding in another laugh.
“It might still be on Netflix.” I looked at her again. “What?”
“I brought a weirdo home from the bar,” she said, and started giggling again, which made me laugh a little bit. But then I thought, just for a minute, that she was about to… I don’t know. People are cruel. And I’d gotten so comfortable with her so fast… “Hey,” she said, watching me in the rearview. “Hey, Leo, I’m sorry—I was just teasing you. Leo?” She was almost ready to pull over, cutting into the right lane and slowing down. “Leo? I’m sorry—”
“I’m okay,” I said, shrugging, but she was still staring at me.
“I was just trying to be funny,” she said softly, and we rumbled along in the right lane for a minute as she bit her lip. It was almost painful, the sight of that; something about it just tore me up. I was an idiot. This was definitely the sexiest, funniest, most interesting girl I’d met in ages—of course she didn’t want to fucking hang out with me, as soon as I started fucking stuttering at her she— “Leo.” Her voice was serious now. “Come clean. Seriously. I invited you to my house because… I like you. After that thing that happened, and a night like tonight, this is a really big deal for me.” When I looked into her beautiful, huge eyes this time, she was… Nervous.
Nope. Not doing that to her.
“I’m okay,” I said immediately. “I’m sorry—I just… I get in my head about it. My stutter… People can be real assholes, and sometimes it’s a little hard for me to tell if s-s-someone is just b-being funny or… Or… Or….” I closed my eyes, wishing I could just die. Blocks always came at the worst possible time, always. And then, instead… I felt the tiniest, warmest hand on mine. These strong little fingers, just winding their way through my own. I looked down at them and I felt… I don’t know. It’s impossible to explain. I took a deep breath, focusing on the way she felt, the way she made me feel. “Or just b-b-being an asshole.”
“I am definitely an asshole,” she said right away, and we both laughed then, the tension in the air billowing around us and blowing away with the night breeze. “You got that right. But I was…” Benji took another deep breath, her face growing more serious. I managed to keep myself from holding on to her when she pulled her hand away. “I guess I was flirting with you.”
“Then do it s-some more,” I said, and she glanced at me, surprised.
“Really? I thought I’d managed to ruin our budding friendship already.”
“No.” The word ‘friendship’ rattled around in my guts, but I could find a way to live with that. Maybe. “No—I was about to. It’s been a l-l-long night for me too, and having a stutter can be a real h-head trip.”
“Have you always stuttered?” She tilted her head, studying me in the rearview, and I realized she wasn’t the kind of person that would ignore it to make me feel better. She was the kind of person that wanted answers.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “Since I was very young.” I couldn’t help sighing when I talked about it. “It’s a l-l-lot better now, be-l-lieve it or not.”
“I didn’t notice it at all until we were in the car,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “But, then again… Is that why you don’t talk?”
“I talk,” I said, turning so I could look at her profile. Watching those huge eyes take in everything I said through the rear-view was too much.
“Not much,” she pointed out. “You won’t even order a damn drink.”
“No,” I said, grinning, “I don’t l-like to drink before I get on st-stage. You know, l-like goddamn a professional.”
“Good for you,” she said, grinning back. “So you thought that was a poor showing too, huh?”
“Those guys are just having fun,” I said, then almost bit my tongue. I didn’t want to defend Tony. She seemed to read my mind, her mouth tightening.
“Those guys are fucking pricks,” she said evenly. “I have no idea why you’re in a band with them.”
“I’m not,” I told her. She glanced at me, eyebrows up. “I quit.”
“Because of the fight?” Benji frowned. “I thought for sure that was a publicity stunt or something.”
That made me laugh out loud. “Hell no,” I told her, and she laughed then too. “I don’t make a habit of beating up drunk guys, especially my b-band mates,” I told her, then shook my head. “Ex-band-mates, I guess.”
“Did you really break up the band?” She sounded serious again, and I got a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror.
“No,” I said, knowing it was true as soon as the thought formed in my brain. “They’ll keep making music.”
“But… But what about you?” She turned and frowned at me. “What will you do? It’s been you and that nightmare lead singer since the beginning, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Since high school.”
“So… What will Groovebone be without you?”
Ugh. That fucking name. “I don’t care,” I told her, suddenly feeling free. “I think I wanted out ages ago. I’m kind of a grunt—I do a l-lot of the studio work, l-l-laying the tracks down, that sort of thing.” I nodded, savoring the words. “But it’s Tony’s band now. Has been for a l-long time.”
“Well that’s the end of that, then, I guess,” she said, sounding genuinely sad.
“You were a fan?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, “big time. Well, I loved the first album, and I thought the second one was good.” I noticed she didn’t mention the next two, which was fine with me. I didn’t consider those my albums, but Tony’s.
“You l-loved The Kissing Game,” I said, and she grinned.
“Yes!” She shook her head, her eyes starry; I felt this strange warmth in my chest—pride. I hadn’t felt that about our music in ages.
“That’s my album,” I said, and she frowned and looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I basically made that album by myself,” I told her. “I needed a front man. A l-l-lead singer.”
“So Tony… He didn’t write any of the lyrics?” She stared at me, her mouth hanging open. “He didn’t sing the damn songs?”
“Watch the road! He sang with me,” I clarified, then bit my lip, remembering. “But I wrote all of the l-lyrics. Every one.”
“Holy shit,” she snarled, then hit the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. “I should’ve known a piece of crap like that couldn’t write lyrics like those! That’s my favorite song, I’ve loved it forever, and he just—” She broke off, shaking her head. I felt a little dizzy; her passion was… Intoxicating. My chest swelled. It felt good. “No fucking way a walking trashcan like that could’ve written the Kissing Game,” she concluded, still shaking her head at the road in disbelief or disgust, I couldn’t tell. “I should’ve known.”
“Nobody knows,” I told her. “And nobody can, okay? Seriously.”
“How do I know this isn’t just a sweet line from some horror movie loving drunk-puncher?” She gave me a sideways glance, her mouth tilting up at one corner.
“Are you teasing me again?�
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“Yes,” she said. “Kind of.”
“Those are my songs,” I said, “all of them. I l-lived them. But I can’t tell anyone—I signed a bunch of paperwork and I don’t want to l-lose the money I’ve got saved.”
“Hmm.” She shook her head, still mulling over the entire story. “So… What are you going to do now?” Benji tilted her head the other way, and I smiled at her as she gave me a rascally grin in the rearview. “You up to making an album tonight?”
“Tonight I was planning on eating some porkchops and biscuits.” And day-dreaming about spending a couple weeks eating her pussy, but that didn’t bear thinking about.
“Good man,” she said, still smiling. One of her eyebrows slid up on her forehead, and a more mischievous expression has never existed in the entire history of humanity. It went straight to my chest, then seared into my spine, and I felt my cock harden. I shifted my hips, pulled my jacket over my lap; I didn’t want to upset her. She’d been through a lot, and I… Man, I liked her. I liked her way too fucking much. “But how about while I work on the chops and biscuits you check out the sweet set-up in the living room and write me a song?” She batted her eyelashes in a way that was meant to be comedic and just made me imagine… Something I shouldn’t. “My room-mates are all on tour. And they left all their good equipment at home so it wouldn’t get lifted out of the van.”
“I remember those days,” I said, smiling, and she looked so happy I didn’t feel like I could say no.
“This is going to be the best night ever,” she said, her eyes squarely focused on the road, and I didn’t disagree.
