Noah drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, lips twisted, like he was trying to remember where Indiana might be. “July. We were in Indianapolis in July.”
“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t sure how best to respond to that piece of information.
Shane’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah. Maybe Layla was there.”
“Yup. I totally was.” I laughed.
“Sure,” said Noah, sarcastic, as though reading my response as polite good humor, which suited me just fine until Shane’s mouth squeezed together in disappointment.
“No, I really was.”
The admission of my fan status was worth it if only to watch Shane’s face brighten again. His expressions changed like a chameleon, like a mood ring. And those eyes. Noah’s were a fascinating swirl of gray cold mist, and Micah’s were the clear aqua of island seas you find in travel brochures. Shane’s were the dark blue of the midnight sky. A black ring encircled the universe of his incredible eyes, and, as I lost myself in those depths, he let me drink my fill.
Noah turned all the way to face me, elbow on the counter, blocking my view of Shane entirely. “So, where did we play then?”
Never did I expect I’d be sitting here having to prove my fan cred to a member of a band I was slightly overinvested in.
Without missing a beat, I said, “You played the Lawn at the White River State Park.” Savoring the pearly white grin spreading across his face, I added, “Chain Smoke opened for you.”
Noah swung his head back to face Shane. “Is that right?”
It was. My interest in Theater of the Absurd was genuine. Not nearly as ardent as my love of Walking Disaster, but I could hum a few bars.
Micah started laughing, and that distracted Noah enough to lean back so I could see Shane clapping his hands.
“Well done.”
I hugged myself a little. I could have died right then. Hanging with these guys had made me feel truly special, and that was something I could take with me when this night ended. I wished I could snap a picture, get an autograph, or just tell someone about this, but I forced myself to behave like a human and focus on the experience.
The pizza arrived, and once Jo placed the boxes on the counter, we helped ourselves. Jo chose a piece covered in veggies, while Micah and the two guys demolished a meat lovers. Fearful I might lose a limb if I ventured too close to the pepperoni, I hesitantly reached for one of the veggie slices.
Chewing on his food, Noah honed back in on me with a lift of the brow. “So, you’re a fan then?”
The question confused me. Had my confession ruined any chance of being treated like one of them? I told the truth. “I don’t know what the right answer here is.”
Jo cut her pizza with a fork and knife and pointed an impaled corner at me. “The proper answer is always yes. They want to hear you’re a huge fan.”
I snickered. “In that case, yes. I’m a huge fan.”
Fishing the depths of my sincerity, Noah said, “Name one of our songs.”
Shane laid a hand on his shoulder. “Man, ease up. She just said she came to a show. What difference does it make?”
Noah’s eyes slid off me and over to Micah. “Just curious if she’s a normal fan or a super fan.” He set me in his sights again. By the way he’d said super, it sounded synonymous with creepy, and I didn’t want to fail his test. “Five bucks she can’t tell us what instrument Shane here plays.”
Now, that was a trap. He wanted me to confess knowledge no casual fan ever knew: the name of the drummer. If anyone had asked me to name their drummer this morning, I would have drawn a blank, but it was stupid to point to the guy and ask what he played when I just told him I’d been to a show. Process of elimination would rule out guitarist.
If I pretended to guess, if I lied and said, “Bassist,” I felt like I’d be letting Shane down.
I nervously glanced to Jo for help, and she laughed. “Noah, she’s not a super fan. She’s a music fan. She works at the Rock Paper. She’s gonna know her bands.”
Micah shook his head with a look of parental disapproval. “Noah, you can be such a dick.”
Shane had watched this whole exchange in silence, but now he said, “I play drums, Layla.”
For that little kindness, it was worth blowing some cool points. I shot him my flirtiest smile. “Yeah, I knew that. You’re a force of nature.”
He beamed. “Hurricane Shane. That’s me.”
Noah’s shoulders relaxed, and he seemed to give up his cat and mouse game. I had no idea what he was after. Did he suspect my interest here bordered on stalker? Did it matter? Would they treat me differently if they knew what I did in my spare time? If they knew I could sing some of their songs by heart?
It wasn’t like they were Walking Disaster. I wasn’t sure I could be so cool if Adam Copeland or Mark Townsend were sitting at that counter.
Not to mention, Jo was right. I knew my bands. Rock trivia wasn’t a game I played to lose.
Fortunately, the heat of the conversation lifted while everyone concentrated on eating. I might have been imagining things, but I felt as though Shane glanced my way surreptitiously a few times. When dinner came to an end, Noah said, “Let’s hit the road, man. I’m beat.”
Shane thanked Jo for dinner, punched Micah on the shoulder, then shoved a hand in one of his pockets and said, “It was nice to meet you, Layla.”
A swirl of sunrise played along his jaw, and I suddenly didn’t know what to do with my own arms. I shoved my hands under my thighs and sat on them. “You, too.”
As the guys headed out, I started gathering my things together, wondering if I should call a cab.
Jo laid a hand on my arm. “Micah and I think you ought to stay here.”
I was speechless. “Uh.”
“We’ve got a cozy guest room upstairs for when my mom visits. You could take a little more time to scour craigslist for something affordable but not sleazy.”
“I don’t know.” It felt incredibly invasive. Micah had just come home, and he clearly wanted some privacy with his girlfriend.
Micah spoke up. “I can send my driver over to pick up your things. You’d be safer and more comfortable here.”
“Come on. I’ll show you.” Jo led me to the top of the stairs. I peered into a master bedroom with an enormous king size bed, but she crossed the hall, explaining, “I work in here sometimes, but I’m done for the day.”
The guest room had a queen bed and a desk. On the wall, above a laptop, hung a picture of Micah sleeping like a god on a divan, covered in nothing but a blood red throw. I stared at it. “I think I’ve seen this before.”