Twenty-Two
TWENTY-TWO
UGGOS NEED NOT APPLY
The front lounge is crammed full of people. Twilight is playing on the TV which has sparked a lively debate about whether it qualifies as a vampire movie or not. The mood is light, people laughing, drinking beers and shouting if they’re Team Edward or Team Jacob. I’m surprised to learn Emily is Team Edward and not surprised Mo is Team Alice. Jasmine declares she’s Team Charlie which makes Emily throw popcorn at her head. Mateo argues that being Team Anything takes away from the vampire-ness of the movie and we should all shut-up.
Then there’s me and Kick. We played the set of our lives. Our meet-and-greet was a wild success. What I thought would be a trainwreck was a full-blown Best Night Of My Life. It’s confusing. It’s not supposed to work, me and Kick. I’m supposed to be against the duo arrangement, supposed to push for being a solo act, doing my own songs. But singing with Kick was unlike any experience I’ve had on stage.
He keeps catching my eye every time I glance his way, a look on his face I can’t pin down, like he’s giving me everything while holding something back. Like he has a secret he’s dying to tell me but swore on his grandma’s grave he wouldn’t.
Bella has just told Edward to put his seatbelt on when I nudge Kick’s foot from across the aisle. I cock my head toward the back of the bus and lift my eyebrows. His eyes light up. He leans forward, arms resting on his legs, his fingers grazing my knees. I shake my head no, letting him know all I want to do is talk.
I quirk an eyebrow and silently urge him to be subtle. If the two of us head for the back lounge at the same time we will never hear the end of it.
He bites his bottom lip and again, I shake my head no. Kick leans back against the couch and dips his head down, chin on his chest, an exaggerated frown tugging on his lips. In another world, I’d be sprinting to the back lounge to do exactly what’s written all over his face. But I’m going to be good.
I stand up and stretch my arms over my head. My Tears For Fears t-shirt rides up and Kick stares. “I’m going to bed.”
“No way,” Mo says. “First night of tour we all stay up.”
“I’m exhausted,” I say, giving her a high five. “But I support your right to party.”
I step through the tangle of legs in the aisle and slide open the door to the bunks.
“Where are you going?” Mateo says. “It’s just getting good.”
“I’ve seen it,” I call over my shoulder. “Team Edward all the way.”
“Charlie’s hotter,” Jasmine cries. “And alive.”
Kick’s crowding up behind me before I even reach the door to the back lounge. So much for subtlety.
“We’re just going to talk,” I say. “No funny business.”
He flashes an unfair smile. “But we’re so good at funny business.”
Kick’s feather-lite touch is on my lower back as I slide open the door. Rod the Stage Manager and Cheddar are sitting on the couch, drinking beers, a baseball game on the TV.
“Hey, guys,” Kick says, plopping down next to Rod.
“What are you two doing back here?” Cheddar says.
“Escaping the bloodlust,” I joke .
“That’s not going to be a thing every night is it?” Rod asks.
“They do love their vampires,” Kick says.
Rod tips his beer my way. “After they go to bed, I’ll hide the remote.”
“Cheers to that,” Cheddar says, clinking his bottle against Rod’s.
There’s an awkward silence, Kick and I exchanging glances and Rod and Cheddar not getting the hint. Finally, after what feels like hours, Rod stands up.
“This game’s a bust. I’m turning in.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ve got some emails to send,” Cheddar says.
“Y’all keep it PG back here,” Rod jokes, “or at least PG-13. Nobody wants a tour baby.”
“Whoa,” Kick says as I say, “We’re not…that isn’t…”
“Calm down, kids, it’s a joke. Get freaky if you want, no one cares.”
I don’t dare look at Kick, but I can hear his low chuckle.
Cheddar follows Rod out and turns around to wink at us as he slides the door closed behind them.
As soon as they leave, the unspoken tension between me and Kick jumps one hundred percent. The baseball game is still on, the commentators in the background seemingly narrating the two of us.
He’s moving around the bases like he’s on a mission.
This has been one wild season.
Everyone here can sense what’s coming up next.
“You know they think we’re gonna?—”
“Yeah I think so.”
I don’t know what to say. This is the first time we’ve ever hung out without an agenda, or at least, an out loud agenda. I instigated us coming back here but now I’ve completely forgotten why.
“Seems wrong to disappoint them,” Kick says. “I mean, you did ask me to come back here with you. ”
“We went through a lot today. I need to decompress about it away from teen vampires.”
“Technically, Edward is not a teen. He’s a very, very old man.”
“Are you into that?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you?”
“We’re the same age, Kick.”
He crosses his arms, a satisfied grin on his face. “Why am I the first person you thought of?”
I ignore that and motion to the TV. “You into baseball?”
He watches the game for a second before he says, “I’m more of a YouTube guy.”
“What, like, videos of birds dancing to hip hop? A baby elephant sliding down a muddy embankment? A cat scared of its own meow in a microphone? Or wait, please tell me you don’t watch those videos of other people playing video games.”
“Cass is right. You are clueless about movies and TV.”
“You’ve been talking to Cass?”
“You think you’d know more about YouTube since your manager runs a popular channel.”
“What do you know about my manager?”
He doesn’t answer, just smiles at the TV. “So, tonight’s show get you all hot and bothered? You need to work out some tension?”
“There are ten different people who could walk through the door at any moment. It’s not like I’m going to hop in your lap, yank off my top and let you motorboat my boobs while we watch baseball.”
“It’d be a good start.”
“Are you ever serious?”
It’s not a real question. I saw a glimpse of his serious side after soundcheck, when he told me about his brother. But just as soon as it surfaced, he squirreled it away in favor of flirty, sexy Kick who doesn’t have a care in the world .
“Okay, here’s a serious question,” he says. “Why are you on this tour?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
He feigns shock. “I thought we were being serious here? Tell me what deep emotional wound made living on a tour bus for the entire summer seem like a good idea.”
As far as I can tell, he’s being genuine. I remain suspicious, but decide to give him a portion of the truth.
“My father was an artist. He got his start in Nashville, playing gigs around town and writing songs with friends. I have his old songwriting journal and reading it feels like knowing him, if that makes sense. His songs are all so personal, which is probably why I write the way I do. Even though I don’t remember him, he taught me how to be a songwriter.”
“How did he die?”
“Heart attack. My mother says he got his heart broken and then it just gave out on him. We lived in L.A., I grew up there, but I came to Nashville three years ago to, I don’t know, find him? Somehow? This tour sort of showed up at the right moment.”
Kick nods. “I know what you mean.”
We fall into a comfortable silence, the bus rocking back and forth in a soothing rhythm, vibrating us closer and closer. I consider telling him about Sparrow and my father, about the mystery I’m hoping to unravel, how my father’s the one who wrote their first big hit, how he has the starting pieces of other hits in his songwriting journal, how none of this would be happening without him.
“What about you?” I ask. “What emotional wound brought you here?”
“My brother.” He’s not looking at me. “It’s something he would have wanted.” He blows out a long breath, eyes closed. “But that’s a story for another night. When there’s not so much sexual tension in the air. ”
I grab a pillow from the far end of the couch and throw it at him. He throws it right back at me.
“What was your brother’s name?”
“Steven.”
“How would Steven feel about you blatantly flirting with your…what are we? Song partners?”
“Duo bros?”
I laugh at that. “I will never be your duo bro.”
“Give it time, Goldie.”
We turn our attention back to the game, neither of us really watching it.
We keep drifting closer, inching toward one another, our bodies moving on their own accord. By the time a new inning starts in the game, we’re practically nose to nose. All I have to do is reach a little further and my lips will be on his lips.
Kick reaches up and rubs his thumb softly underneath my eye. “You had a little mascara.”
His hand is cradling my face. His eyes are soft, open. If I don’t move, we’re probably going to kiss. And if we kiss, it will absolutely go further. And if it goes further, it will change our dynamic. And if our dynamic changes, it might ruin our performance, which is too good to let go.
I know I have to be the one to move.
“It’s pretty late,” I say, backing away and faking a yawn that quickly turns into a real yawn. “I better get my beauty sleep.”
Kick rolls onto his back and lets out a deep, dissatisfied sigh. “You should do that. I don’t want to share the stage with an uggo.”
“You’re right. Only room for one uggo up there.”
A smile crosses his lips. “See you in the morning, Goldie.”