Page 12 of Before Eve
A smile eases into my cheeks, imagining what kind of grandmother he must have. I bet she’s just as friendly and funny as West is.
He squints, giving me a quick survey. “How tall are you?”
“Five-eight. Why?”
“I’m six-two. That’s good. I won’t break my neck for a kiss.”
I nearly stumble. “What?”
“Kidding again!”
A chuckle escapes me. It’s hard not to be amused around this guy. He’s just so…out there about everything.
“Where you from?” he asks with a puff of breath.
“Nowhere,” I answer.
“Everybody’s from somewhere.”
“I move around a lot.” Wanting to steer the conversation away from me, I ask, “How long has Bus Stopbeen together?”
“Me and Simon? Forever. Our first music contract came when I was sixteen, so officially I guess you can say three years now.”
I nod while I continue running beside him, trying to keep my breaths even, and scanning the residential neighborhood we just turned into. There’s an elderly man over to the right sweeping his sidewalk, a woman on her porch sipping coffee, and a couple loading their kids into a car.
“So,” West interrupts my thoughts, “what instrument do you play?”
“What makes you think I play?”
“Most roadies do.” He gives me a sideways study. “Let’s see. Cymbals?” He shakes his head. “No. Spoons.” He shakes his head again. “Nah. Jug blowing.” He nods. “Yeah. That’s you.”
“Guitar,” I say, more than entertained by this guy. “I fiddle around a bit.”
“No kidding? I knew there was something about you I liked.”
“But what I really—” I begin and then stop, not even realizing until just now what I really want to learn.
“What you really?” he prompts.
“I don’t know… I’d love to learn more about Ford’s job.”
“Then you need to talk to Ford and see if he’ll let you shadow him.”
Hope surges through me. “You think?”
“I definitely think.”
We round the corner back to the hotel. Outside the lobby, we take a second to walk off the run and stretch, and the whole time I revisit the last few sentences we exchanged. Should I really approach Ford?
Then I start thinking about West and how nice he’s been to me, and I just don’t get it. I don’t gethim. He doesn’t even know me and he’s so friendly to me.
“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask before I can filter the rude question.
He stops walking and turns. “Did you really just ask me that?”
“Yes…”
West stares at me for a silent, bewildered moment that makes me wish I could take the question back. “Because, Eve, I’m a nice guy. It’s who I am. Ask anybody. I’m fun and lighthearted. I like to meet people and hear their stories.”
