Page 87 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

“Hey, Bron,” Jonah says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, flexing my hand. “Just broke a stick.”

Jordan stands up, her eyes full of concern. “Is your hand okay?”

I nod at her, then look away, Christian’s form lingering behind her shoulder.

“Can we take five?” Addison says.

“Yeah,” Jordan says, her eyes still on me. “Take a five, you guys. Then, we’ll come back and doStrawberry Daiquiris.”

“Ooo!” Christian hums, still too damn close to her. “What’s that? New song?”

As I beeline past them toward the ballroom doors, I realize my arms and legs have gone stiff from clenching too hard. I do my best to shake it off as I enter the lobby.

“Hey, Bronson,” Addison says a step behind me. “You good?”

I nod.

“You don’t look it,” she says.

Knowing she won’t believe it unless I say it aloud, I say, “Tired.”

She snorts. “Same here.” She rubs the space between her eyes. “Me thinks we might be too old for the New York all-nighters.”

I shrug to show I agree.

“So, there’s nothing else going on?” she asks. “Nothing at all you want to talk about? Get off your chest?”

“I’m fine, Addison,” I say as I keep walking.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.”

I spend my break splashing cold water on my face and... wishing I was someone else.

Wishing I was more talented. Or more charismatic.

I spend a significant portion of my life on a stage, but I’m no performer. I bang on drums. I’m not frontman material and I never will be.

I can see why she likes him.

I can see why she doesn’t like me the same way.

Why would she?

The door opens behind me. Through the mirror, I watch as Addison marches in and stops next to me by the sink.

“Addison,” I say to her in the mirror. “This is themen’sroom.”

“Oh, who cares?” she says. “I still wanna talk to you.”

I exhale. “About what?”

She steps closer to stand beside me. “Will you talk to Jordan?”

“About what?”

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