CHAPTER NINE “21 Questions”
CHAPTER NINE
“To your left, hot shit coming through,” I yelled as I ran into the kitchen at The Plate Bar.
“Damn it, Stella!” Paige jumped, spilling a dish of salsa on her tray from where she stood next to Reid at the stainless-steel counter while he thumbed through his tips.
“No sour cream,” I taunt the cooks. I sauntered up to the line and blew them individual kisses before I reminded them of the earlier conversation, I overheard in our native tongue.
Only one of them had the decency to lower his eyes.
“What’s she saying now?” Reid asked behind me.
I turned around and crossed my arms. “I heard them talking earlier about how tight my ass is, and you don’t even want to know what they said about you, sister. They didn’t think I could understand them. They’ve been schooled. You’re welcome.”
Smiling, Reid slowly shook his head while Paige blew out a heavy breath.
Paige snatched a bowl of fresh tortilla chips from my hand.
“I can’t believe I agreed to let you work here,” she muttered as she pushed through the swinging doors with a tray in hand.
“One big happy family!” I called after her and winked at Reid. He took his apron off and folded it a few times before he joined me to get our side work done. I’d been at the restaurant for a week, and though the tips were decent, I hated it.
“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”
“Au contraire, mon frère, me and my notorious mouth are going to be wildly popular. Honesty will get me everywhere, especially as a journalist.”
I ignored the smell of Irish Spring as he leaned in close. “Honesty will get you enemies.”
I shrugged. “I call shit like I see it. Sugarcoating doesn’t help anyone, and it’s bad reporting. If I do a good enough job and stick my neck out there, I better be ready to deal with the backlash.”
“So, this you take seriously.”
Shoulder’s touching, we loaded up the napkin dispensers.
“Music, always. I’m twenty. My education, my future, I take that seriously.
This place?” I looked around the kitchen and wrinkled my nose.
“Hell no. And why should I? If you ask me, you, Neil, and Paige are a little too stuck in this bullshit bubble of adulthood. This isn’t the future for any of you. ”
I paused to look over at him. Our eyes locked. “For any of us.”
“Good to know. Now you can predict the future? Tell me, what’s mine?” His voice was filled with condescension.
“Better than what it is now.” I waited a beat. “You’re just going through a rough time.”
His back went straight and he narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t know anything. The world swings at you long and hard enough, little sister, you’re eventually going to hit your knees.”
“Well, I can take a punch.”
“Good for you.”
I let my eyes drift down his arrogant stance.
From his plain black V-neck, dark jeans, and crossed black boots.
I felt the confrontation radiating from him.
He was tired, bitter, and pissed off at the world.
As he should be. I saw a glimpse of his life in that apartment.
Mr. Crowne seemed to be the king of nothing.
I could feel his desperation as he stood next to me with a hand full of shitty tips, though his face gave zero away.
His eyes always had a hard edge, even when he smiled.
“Things will get better, Reid, believe me. Okay?”
He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and gave me a lip twitch. “Sure, little sister, whatever you say.”
“You just need something to look forward to.”
“All right already, enough with the pep talk I didn’t ask for and don’t need.”
“Oh, good, then you know everything, too.”
His green irises seemed to grow brighter, and his nostrils flared. He stared at my lips as if he were willing them to stop moving. I smiled despite him. We were in a silent standoff as Paige walked back into the kitchen and put a ticket up.
“I just got two more tables. It’s going to be at least an hour. Why don’t you guys take off for a little bit?”
“I’m going to meet up with the guys. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Reid said as he gathered his apron and his cash.
Paige’s eyes lit up. “Take Stella. She would love it.”
“What would I love?” I asked as Reid looked between the two of us.
“Some other time,” he said dismissively as he walked through the double doors.
I turned to Paige in question. “What would I love?”
“He’s going to meet up with his band.”
Goose bumps covered my arms and hair stood up on the back of my neck. “What band? He’s really in a band? I thought he was joking. Why didn’t you tell me?!”
Paige looked me over, brows drawn. “Uhhh, because maybe you two don’t like each other?”
I rummaged through my tickets and shoved the cash and credit slips into her hand.
“What’s the band’s name?”
“Dead Sergeants.”
My eyes widened.
“He’s the drummer, or will be again when he gets out of that cast. Wait, where are you going? Stella, don’t run after him!”
But I was already out the door.
“Hey!” I called to Reid’s back. “Reid!” I yelled into the darkening street as he turned the corner and moved just out of sight.
Cursing, I ran after him, sure I was in for another fight or about to eat crow.
Catching up with him, he paused his steps as I latched onto his cast, and he looked down at me with impatient eyes.
“What?”
“Well,” I said with a small smile, erasing the imaginary line I’d drawn in the sand between us with my orange Chucks littered with Stone Temple Pilots lyrics, “can I come?”
“It’s practice. We don’t bring best friend’s little sisters to practice, or anyone else for that matter.”
“I’ll be quiet. So quiet, no one will even notice me.”
He hung his head and slowly shook it. “Stella, you’re like a screaming neon sign. Everybody notices you. And no.” He made quick work of throwing off my diligent grip of his arm and took long strides to try to lose me.
“Please!” I called to his back.
“Go back to Paige,” he called over his shoulder.
“Please, Reid. Please! I need something to look forward to!”
He stopped walking, his whole frame tense under a yellow streetlight, and looked back at me. I tried my best to hide my victory smile. I was sweating buckets and hustled to catch up with him while I lifted my hair and tied it back before the lecture began.
“Mute. I want you mute. I’m going to introduce you as mute.”
“Got it.”
We rounded the corner, and at five-foot-five, I struggled as he kept his six-foot-plus pace steady and expertly navigated the streets.
“The band is good. Really good, Reid. How did you guys start?”
“Ben used to sing in a band called Everly. I was in another. We got together after a show at a club we both played at. Neither of us was happy, so we mutated.”
“Mutated. I like that.”
“Yeah,” he said absently. “My ex-girlfriend sang in my old band, but we didn’t work well together.”
“Oh? You didn’t like drumming for her?”
“I loved her voice, hated her style.”
“Is that why she left?”
He pushed his sweat-slicked, ear-length locks away from his face before he glanced at me. I could see the indecision. Either he didn’t want to talk about her or he didn’t want to tell me. Well, maybe it was both.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s not why she left. That was years ago, when she and I first got together. Ben and I started the Sergeants three years ago. He sucked on guitar and I knew a guy. After we jammed a couple of times, we all decided we worked and then our bass came along.”
“Do you miss her?”
Completely off topic, I bit my lips, knowing I better shut the hell up or I’d never find my way back to the restaurant alone. “Sorry,” I said as he glared at me. “Sorry.”
“You should probably ease into the personal questions if you plan on doing this for a living.”
“Technically,” I pointed out, “this isn’t an interview.”
“No, it’s an inquisition,” he said with a twist of his lips.
“What got you playing?”
“I hit a pot when I was a toddler, too, but I was good at it.” He stepped off the sidewalk, and I was too immersed in him, fixated on his story, and stumbled off. His arms shot out to steady me as I was about to take a good bite of the pavement.
“Thanks.”
He winced as he withdrew and gripped his cast with his palm.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
“I’m still sore from dragging your drunk ass to the cab on your birthday. You’re like Bambi on new legs, drunk or sober. Next time I let you fall.”
“My grudge-filled hero,” I sighed after him, stepping double time to keep up with his pace.
And even though the dark street recommended we remain eerily quiet, I couldn’t stop asking questions. “Who got you your first set of drums?”
“I played in school.”
“In band?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t picture that at all,” I said with a chuckle. “A band geek? Not you, Reid Crowne.”
“Oh, yes, me. My parents couldn’t afford drums. It was the only way for me to learn and play.”
“I get it.”
“I fucking loved it. Marching, competing. All of it.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling out my peppermint lip gloss and smearing it on, “now you’re just screwing with me.”
His deadpan stare confirmed it. Reid was anything but social.
I could only imagine how hard it was for him to partake in anything school related.
In fact, it was probably a nightmare for him but a necessary sacrifice.
As if reading my mind, he shrugged. “I got to practice as much as I wanted. I made nice with the director, Mr. Burris, so I was there every day after school until I got kicked out.”
“You know one of my heroes played in high school band and then ping-ponged around before he landed a gig playing back-up for Linda Ronstadt.”
“Some career,” he said with pressed brows, as if trying to understand my logic.
“I think so. He played with Glenn Frey until they both quit and decided to bet on themselves. They formed a little band called the Eagles.”
Reid paused and looked back at me.