Page 63 of Drive
I took my last ten dollars and set it on the bar to help pay for the beer we couldn’t afford, but Reid picked it up and walked over to the jukebox.
“HEY!” I said desperately. “HEY!” I said, jumping up and following him over just as the machine ate my money.
I couldn’t help it. I double tapped his forehead. “Cabron!”
He gave me a warning look before he spoke. “Today, you’re in my hands, so don’t worry about it. Now, woman, this happens to be the best fucking jukebox in Austin. Choose wisely. You will be judged.”
“Oh, it is so on,” I said as I flipped through the sleeves.
“For every song I approve of, you get a beer.”
“It’s like that, huh?” I said to his retreating back. “This is where I shine, Crowne!”
I had six songs to choose. I scrolled through and pressed the selections in seconds like the pro I was.
I sat down just as the harmonica sounded on “When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin.
Reid nodded at Jon, and I was awarded my first beer. I gave him a confident smirk.
“I am so about to school you,” I said as I happily drank down the cold suds. Spirits lifted, I began to twist a little in my seat. Reid ran a hand through his hair, his three-day-old five o’clock shadow covering a glimpse of his dimple. I hated that.
“So, you moved here how long ago?”
“When I was eighteen.”
“And how old are you now?” I asked, embarrassed I hadn’t bothered to ask the man I was sleeping with nightly how old he was. I just assumed he was Paige’s age.
“Twenty-five,” he said as he took a sip of his beer.
“Huh,” I said, scrutinizing him. “When were you born?”
“The same day you were,” he said.
I opened my mouth and then closed it. “What?” He’d babysat me on his birthday. Suddenly, I felt like the biggest shit in the turd pool.
“Don’t. I hate birthdays. I’ve been lying to your sister for two years, telling her it was on Christmas. I always tell her I’m going home and never do just to avoid cake and bullshit.”
“Wow,” I said, peeling at the top of my beer as Foo Fighters’ “Walking After You” drifted through the speakers. I was awarded another beer.
“Thought you wouldn’t like this one,” I said with a shit-eating grin. “It’s kind of soft—oh, and because you look like Dave Grohl. But, now that I take a closer look,” I said, pressing my forehead to his, “you look like a grumpier version. Like a dude who hates birthdays and girls screaming for him.”
“Wrong,” he said, lifting his beer, “like the song, and Ilovethe girls screaming for me.”
I took the shot Jon offered us with a silent toast between the three of us and downed it as a good excuse to hide the little burn that stuck in my throat.
“What’s it like?” I asked.
“What’s what like?”
“Playing?”
He looked at me with drawn brows.
“Do you get high from it?”
“Yeah,” he said softly as he twisted in his seat. “When the crowd reacts, and it’s that perfect song, it can get pretty intense. Adrenaline peaks over and over, and when the show ends, you’re just completely spent.”
“Sounds like sex,” I said as I nudged his shoulder.
