“God, who knows, but it feels like a hundred pounds by the end of the day.”
I pressed my lips together as Reese scooted away, a full two feet of emptiness between us. Who fucking cared about her cymbals?
“Yeah,” Reese said. “I know what you mean. The drum seems like it gets heavier and heavier sometimes.”
Great. They were bonding.
Then Smith showed back up, drinks and crackers in hand, and I knew it was a lost cause. I huffed out my irritation as I accepted the beer he’d retrieved for me. “Thanks,” I acknowledged, the word clipped. I took a quick swallow and then held the bottle loosely in front of me, using it to camouflage what was left of my erection.
Reese took the cup filled to the brim with Goldfish and sent Smith a blinding smile. Over some fucking crackers. I scowled. She stepped aside, and Smith settled into the open space between us.
Willa touched my shoulder and asked me something about the schedule tomorrow, but I barely heard her, muttering a quick reply about checking her email, my eyes repeatedly drawn back to Reese.
I might not have been standing next to her, but she was aware of me. It was in the way her eyes flicked to mine, and then quickly away, her tongue slipping out to wet her full lower lip. The way she sucked in a quick breath when I continued to watch her, ignoring Willa’s blathering next to me. Hell, it was even in the way her shoulders and hips faced me, despite placing her at an awkward angle within our little circle.
Smith distracted me, asking me a technical question about stick height during the opening number. “Nine inches to start,” I answered without ever looking at him. It was rude, but I didn’t care. I was thoroughly preoccupied by the sight of Reese chasing an errant fish out of the loose neckline of her shirt, her fingers disappearing into her cleavage.
“That’s what she said,” Marco jeered as he shoved his way next to me, dragging a redhead with him. April? Amy? Her name was something like that.
“Right,” I deadpanned, in no mood for his company tonight. The beer tasted like shit when I took a long swallow, but it was cold and wet and made Marco infinitely more bearable.
Smith tipped his head toward Marco. “That piece for sight-reading this afternoon was pretty wicked. Any chance we’ll get to play something like that for the drum break?”
“Ooh.” Willa clapped. “I’d be happy to be your partner for that again this year, Laird.” Okay, whatever. I smiled weakly when she grabbed my bicep and squeezed.
“Not likely,” Marco snorted. “Unless you guys do a hell of a lot of practicing between now and then. Most of you NADs fell apart on that exercise.”
Reese hadn’t. In fact, she’d had one of the cleaner executions of it. She lifted her chin, her shoulders rigid, but she didn’t say anything. I started to speak up, then stopped when I caught the way her eyes narrowed in warning at me. No special treatment… And, shit, I wouldn’t normally defend another snare—because they would’ve fucking done it themselves.
“Nah, man. Me and Reese were playing around with it later, tweaking the intro a little. We could show it to you tomorrow if you want.” Reese shot Smith a grateful smile.
What the fuck? It was fine for him to speak up, but not me?
“Yeah, not gonna happen, man. You’re NADs. You don’t change the music around, and you definitely don’t help decide the drum break. Shit, you’re not even on the line yet.”
Smith kept his face neutral, but his fingers tapped a quick, agitated rhythm against his thigh. “Right. Of course,” he bit out, his voice walking the fine line of apology and sarcasm.
Reese’s jaw was set and she stared at Marco flatly, no doubt holding back that sharp tongue of hers.
“Anyway, kids,” Marco continued, oblivious to the tension in the air, “Amber and I”—ah, right her name was Amber—“are headed out for a little private practice session.”
“I thought you already took care of that,” Reese snorted. I grinned, not sure why I loved the way she gave him shit, but I did.
Marco assessed her coolly. “Just a warm up, babe. Just a little warm up. Don’t be all jealous now. You want to join us?”
Oh, hell fucking no. Not in this lifetime. If she left with anyone in this room, it damn better sure be me. My chest swelled, and my fingers tightened into fists.
“Here’s the thing.” Reese spoke softly, stopping me in my tracks, and Marco was forced to lean in closer to hear her. “When I sleep with someone, I don’t want him to still need practice at it. I prefer my men to already know what the fuck they’re doing in the bedroom.”
Silence descended on our group as her words hung in the air.
I might have fallen in love with her. Just like that.
Smith pressed a fist to his mouth, eyes crinkled with barely hidden mirth, and Willa muttered an impressed, “Damn.” Her deep Southern accent stretched the word into two long syllables.
Marco’s face transformed, twisting into an ugly sneer, and I automatically took a step closer to Reese, a telling action that Marco registered. Snapping his tight gaze between us, the tendons in his neck bulging, he raised his hand and pointed his finger at her. “You better be ready for tomorrow, little girl. You’re gonna pay for that on the field.”
Then Marco snatched up Amber’s hand and yanked her behind him as he stalked to the front door, slamming it behind them hard enough to rattle the frame.
At the commotion, Bubba wandered out of the kitchen, two full plastic cups in hand. He looked at me inquisitively, and I gave my head a slight shake, signaling him not to make a big deal out of it. Bubba kept his path toward us though, delivering the cups to Reese and Smith upon arrival.
“Drink up, children. The night’s still young!”
Smith tapped his cup against Reese’s. “To surviving day one!”
“I’ll drink to that.” She smiled, her whole face lighter, as if the last five minutes never happened. “Race you, Robin.”
Robin? I didn’t like that she had a stupid little nickname for him. Something hot twisted in my gut.
With that, they both lifted the cups to their mouths, guzzling the punch like a couple of frat brothers. Smith lowered his arm slightly ahead of her, crumpling the cup in his hand as he finished. “Batman loses. You’re going to need to hand over that cape.”
Swaying on her feet slightly, Reese giggled. “I don’t think you understand how this whole sidekick business works.” I wrapped my fingers around her hip to steady her, but she swatted my hand away. “Stop it. I’m fine.” She sounded like Willa, the way she drew the word out into a caricature of its original form.
She jerked her head to face me, her ponytail whipping out and landing over one shoulder in a silky waterfall. I had a brief vision of it spread out across my bare chest, her head nestled on my shoulder as she caught her breath post-orgasm, our skin hot and sticky from our combined sweat. Fuck. I wanted to feel it in all its iterations. Coiled around my fist while she was on her knees. Tangled in my fingers while I held her mouth to mine. Bouncing wildly around her face as she rode me hard and fast. Mussed and rumpled first thing in the morning, when she woke up in my bed.
I murmured to her, keeping my voice low to avoid causing a scene, “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
Reese
I had no idea what I was doing. Laird’s words from last night came back to me, and even as my head pounded louder than the snare drum I was tapping out a warm-up cadence on, I loved every second of it. Not the headache part, the not having a plan part.
I’d moved here from West Virginia precisely because I didn’t know anybody—and they didn’t know me. None of my baggage had followed me across state lines.
My plan was simple. Whatever I pursued, I’d do it wholeheartedly. No half-assed bullshit.
Although, after last night, I probably needed to take it easier on the alcohol next time. I hadn’t puked when I woke up, but I’d come damn close. The drumbeats echoed in my aching skull, a slow roll with a sharp accent on the third beat that sped up steadily every eight counts until it was just noise punctuated with other noise, my hands a blur as I struggled to keep up.
With a stinging slap to his drumhead, Marco ended the exercise and began tapping out the rhythm to the next one, starting out slow. Warm ups always went slow to fast, with the goal to keep the precision, regardless of the tempo.