Page 54 of Reverb

“Okay,” I said.

“Soooo.” She drew the word out a little. “Stone. I’m asking if you want to come with me.”

I hadn’t heard her voice sound like that before, and I couldn’t read her expression through the phone. This was why I hated the fucking phone. I had a hard enough time with people without the benefit of visual cues.

But then it clicked. Sienna was nervous. She was asking me out. She thought I’d say no.

“It’s sort of in a professional capacity,” Sienna said into the silence. “I’d like your expert opinion on the music. Though I’m perfectly capable of assessing the quality of the music myself, of course.”

“Sure,” I said.

“But a second opinion is valuable.” She couldn’t seem to stop talking. “And I’ll admit you know a lot about music. But mostly I realized that I’d rather not do this alone. It would be more fun if I was with someone.” She gusted out a breath. “With you. If you want. If you’re not busy.”

She was confusing me again. Since when did Maplethorpe babble like she was asking me to the prom? Not that I’d know anything about prom, since I hadn’t attended my own.

The last time I saw her, she had been so sure and confident. She’d flirted like a pro. Now she was tripping over her words.

For once, I realized in time that I needed to say something. “Sure,” I said again.

“Please use your words, Stone. What does sure mean?”

“It means I’ll come to Club Grange.” I glanced down at myself—bare chest, sweatpants. “I need five minutes to change and I’ll meet you there.”

“You’re actually coming?” I couldn’t read her tone again. Excited, maybe? Surprised.

Did she think I wouldn’t go if she asked me out to catch some music? “Someone needs to do a proper assessment, Maplethorpe,” I said. “Also, someone needs to make sure that you are never alone with any member of a band called Mudhole. Ever.”

“They’re probably nice,” she said.

Nice, my ass. I could already smell Mudhole’s body odor from the comfort of my sofa. I would lay bets every single one of them had a venereal disease that they’d happily pass to Sienna if she let them. “Bring mace and bear spray,” I told her. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

* * *

“So what’s the plan?” I asked her. “Are you here as a journalist, or is this more of an incognito thing?”

Sienna looked up at me from her place next to my shoulder. We’d just entered the club, which was filling with a surprising number of people.

“I’m just here to see the band. I’m not committing to anything.” She looked me up and down, taking in my jeans, flannel, and leather jacket. “Though I don’t think incognito is the word to use for you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re bigger than anyone else here. And you’re obviously you.”

I scowled and returned her treatment, looking her up and down. She was wearing a denim skirt, tights, her black boots, and a dark green cardigan. Under the cardigan was a black top that was cropped just high enough to show a sliver of skin above the waist of the skirt. I had never known Sienna to show skin, and I already knew it was going to make me insane by the end of the night.

I knew what that belly looked like naked. I knew the firmness of it, the soft curve that rested below the waistband of the skirt. I knew what all of it felt like under my hands.

Fuck.

“I belong here just fine,” I told her. “It’s you that doesn’t fit in.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Excuse me? Why not?”

“Because unlike the average Mudhole fan, you look like you have a functioning brain in your head.”

She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I literally never know when you’re paying me a compliment. It’s so puzzling.”

“You should listen better. I pay you compliments all the time.”

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