Page 49 of Reverb

I sent him the heart eyes again. Then the kiss-face, just to make it worse.

Stone

Please stop, or I will throw up on my bandmates. They hate that.

So they were rehearsing, then. When I’d left this morning, Stone had still been in bed, only half awake, sprawled gloriously with mussed hair and the sheet pulled up to his waist. While I’d showered and dressed, the scene had reminded me a little bit of our time on the road—except now he was naked under the sheet, and it made my knees weak, and I’d really wanted to yank that sheet down and do something filthy to him. I’d never wanted to do that before.

But he was at their rehearsal space now. Which reminded me that I hadn’t been there yet.

Sienna

I’ll be there in an hour.

Stone

Why?

Sienna

Because I have access, that’s why. If you don’t like it, take it up with the magazine.

Then I added one more heart-eyes. Just because I could.

EIGHTEEN

Stone

I hadn’t said anything when Sienna left this morning. I’d still been in bed while she got ready for the meeting with the magazine. I was half asleep, and last night was intense, and I literally couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent the entire night with a woman, and I’d never known what to say the morning after, anyway. She was the only woman who had ever spent the night in this particular apartment, and she was Sienna. So—surprise—I had no words.

Too late, after the door closed behind her, I realized I should have come up with something. Something nice, maybe about her beauty or her smarts or—fuck, I don’t know. Just something. But no.

I was going over it in my head as I got ready and left the apartment, walking the few blocks to the Korean grocery store. Jae-Sung, the owner, stocked iced coffee, which he only charged a dollar for. His wife also made homemade kimchi, which they sold in sealed jars. I could probably credit their kimchi for the fact that I never got scurvy.

I mixed a cup of Jae-Sung’s coffee, paid him, and gave him a silent salute as I left. His English was spotty, so he didn’t talk to me, and I didn’t talk to him, even though I was in here every other day when I was home. It was the perfect relationship.

I was headed to the car dealership, but I needed to walk first. It was a nice day, just cool enough for a sweatshirt, and not raining for once. I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt and walked until I found myself on Hawthorne, heading toward Mount Tabor. My body warmed up and my brain started to calm.

I was used to this. I’d done a lot of traveling while the Road Kings were broken up, always alone. I could land in a strange city and walk for hours in silence, seeing what there was to see. Nature, architecture, museums—whatever was good. I traveled cheap, with only a backpack, staying in dives and taking trains. I ate cheap. When I’d walked enough of one city, I moved on to the next one. A guy my size didn’t get hassled much, though I’d been pickpocketed once or twice. I didn’t do touristy things and I didn’t get drunk. I didn’t make friends. I sometimes got attention from a woman, and I’d know that I could let myself have that, just for a few hours, before I was gone again. But I almost never had.

On tour, I’d gone walking in almost every city, because I wanted to give Sienna privacy in our shared hotel room. I was pretty sure she didn’t want me around, staring at her and breathing down her neck every second. I’d walked for hours. She’d never asked me where I went.

Walking was my favorite way to think.

So I walked and I thought. About the band, the album, Sienna. Last night with Sienna. What it was, and what it wasn’t. She’d come to me, and she’d wanted something, which I had been happy to give her. She would come to me again. What she didn’t want from me was some kind of relationship, one where we held hands and went to Ikea together and got a dog.

I wasn’t the Ikea guy, the dog guy, but I knew her. I knew what made her tick. I’d never had a serious girlfriend, but then again, I’d never wanted one. Maybe Sienna would meet the Ikea guy someday, but until then, I planned to keep her to myself if I could. Whatever way I could get her. I’d drifted through my life for too long. It was time to start making plans.

I didn’t have time for a dog, anyway.

“Hey, Stone Zeeland!”

I tossed my empty cup into a nearby garbage and looked around. I had circled until I was close to home again. A guy was standing on the sidewalk, grinning, a gym bag over his shoulder. He was about thirty and wore a backward baseball cap. He gave me a shy wave.

“Hey,” I said.

“I thought that was you. I knew you live in Portland, and sometimes I think, Man, wouldn’t it be cool if I ran into Stone Zeeland one day? But it’s never happened. Until now, I mean. I’m a big fan. This is so cool.”

He was babbling. It was fine. I’d met Slash once—he showed up to a club that Gardens on Mars was playing in L.A. to see a friend of his—and I’d nearly thrown up. He likely forgot me thirty seconds later, but I still remembered it. I held out my hand.

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