Page 18 of Don't Bang a Bandmate

“Because — as great as it was — it broke a pretty big rule.”

Bronson holds up a finger. “Don’t bang a bandmate.”

“Yes! Very good. And while I don’t actually play an instrument or know much about music at all, I do still consider myself a vital member of Criminal Records.”

He nods in agreement.

“I think it would be inappropriate for us to continue in this way.”

Another silent nod.

“So…” I take a breath. “We’re both cool with that?”

“Cool with what?” he asks.

“Bronson,”I say, deflating.

He chuckles, clearly messing with me. “Yes, Jordan,” he says. “I’m cool with it.”

I nod and stand up.

“If you are,” he adds.

I hover in place for a second before straightening up. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m totally cool with it.”

“Are you?”

“Uh-huh. Of course. I mean,I’mthe one saying it’s inappropriate, so... one can deduce that I’m also very cool with it never happening again,” I say, briefly tumbling over the words as I realize their meaning.

Last night was a one-time thing.

I’m never going to feel this good ever again.

“Anyway,” I say, banishing that thought. “I’m gonna dip out now so you can go back to sleep. Your call time isn’t until nine, so?—”

Bronson tosses off the bedsheet and drops his feet to the floor. “I’ll get up.”

“It’s five forty-nine,” I say, checking my watch.

“That’s fine,” he says, standing tall.

Standing buck naked.

I fix my eyes on his face and nowhere else. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll, uh…” He shakes off another yawn. “I’ll go pack up my shit and check out early. Crash on the bus until we leave. Nine, you said?”

“We roll out at ten.”

“Chicago, right?”

“Yeah.”

He extends his arms over his head, a deep morning stretch. “Cool,” he says, the word broken up by a deep grunt that suddenly makes me weak in the knees. And in spirit.

I look down.

“Still sturdy?”

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