Page 82 of Out Of Time

“First show at The Pig Pen?” she asked, needing more information.

“Yeah, and just, like, in general,” Max said.

Remi reappeared, handing him a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. She looked over at the girl Max had been talking to. “Making friends?” she asked, bumping his shoulder.

Max opened the beer and took a long drink. “I was telling her it’s my first time.”

Remi laughed and elaborated for him. “Yeah, it’s his first time at a show. He’s new to the music world.”

The girl, without hesitation, pulled him in for a very sweaty, mildly musky hug. “Welcome to The Pig Pen family, and the music world, and all that jazz.” She looked over and motioned to Remi. “Looks like you found a good one,” she said, and Remi smiled back at her. “Anyone who shares their music with you is a keeper.”

“I was in my boxer briefs, and she was blasting a punk mix…” he said, realizing that too was a story that needed more words—words he didn’t have.

Remi laughed, and elaborated again, “He started as my client. I clean houses—hishouse—and I barged in on him half-naked one day.” Max turned to show their new friend the back of his shirt, with a Busy-Bee logo on it. “Yeah, that’s my cleaning service, and well, I kinda, sorta fell for him after that.”

Max shrugged, a hint of a smile hid behind his beer can as he took a drink.

The girl smiled back, looking up between the two of them. “Wait, you met him because you were his house cleaner?” she asked.

“Yeah, I don’t usually mix business with pleasure, but there was no going back after seeing him in the little black briefs.”

“I fucking love that story!” their new friend said. “Good thing he didn’t end up being a serial killer, right?” she asked, and Remi agreed. The dark-haired girl stuck out a sweaty hand to introduce herself properly, and Max couldn’t believehow unbelievably hot the small space had gotten as the bodies continued to pack in.

“I’m Mia, and this,” she said, introducing a bigger guy as he came up behind Max and Remi with two beers in hand, “is Chris, the only friend I could convince to come with me tonight.” Chris rolled his eyes and took a long drink of his beer, his face wincing at the taste.

“Well,” he said, pulling the tiny girl to his side in a friendly hug, “it’s not really my scene or drink of choice, but anything for my Mia. And be forewarned, she’s obsessed with murder. I blame Netflix.”

They all began to carry on like old friends as they waited for the band to take the stage. Max watched as Remi took up space so effortlessly, she was easy and cool, and he realized he had never done anything like this. He had never randomly met strangers and made a toast with cheap room-temperature beer to celebrate a holiday he often forgot existed. Hockey crept into the back of his mind and panic threatened to ruin this moment for him, but before it got too bad, Remi’s hand found his and gripped it tight, willing his entire body to loosen up.

He didn’t want to think of hockey.

Not now.

Tonight was about music.

“You okay?” she asked, leaning into him.

“I’m more than okay.”

“Yes to everything?” she asked.

“Yes to everything,” he said.

The band took the stage, and the crowd shifted; a surge of warm bodies moving forward to get closer to the front. The temperature grew hotter still, and Max loved the sweat on his brow and the heat of Remi pressed against him.

The lights dropped.

The stage lit up.

Max blinked.

He blinked again.

His heart raced, and then before he could panic, Remi was wrapping reassuring arms around his massive body, holding him close—she knew. She knew and she responded without him needing to ask for help.

The band’s frontman yelled, “Merry fucking ho-ho-ho, or some bullshit like that!” And the crowd went wild. A beat later the band began to play, and it was the song Remi said was her favorite.

Their bodies swayed as the crowd surged forward. He let all of his senses come alive as he closed his eyes and took in the way the heavy bass line made his bones rattle. Every element of the punk show was crashing into him.

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