OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

seventeen.

As Dave stopped playing, he flicked back the hair that had fallen into his eyes and took a large breath. With a drumstick still in either of his hands, he looked to Reagan.

"Well? How was that?"

Reagan smiled at him, tilting her head to the side. In a strange, secretive way, she liked that he was searching for her approval.

"Could have been better. You were a little shaky in those last thirty seconds."

They were interrupted by the furious sound of clapping coming from the front of the room. Dave and Reagan both looked for the source of the noise, finding one of the music store's employees standing by with an exhilarated look on his face as he beat his hands together furiously. Reagan held back her laugh that was threatening to explode.

The squat employee, a young blonde kid with bad acne, looked desperate to flatter Dave as he finished his clapping and took a few hurried steps forward.

"Dude," the kid began. "You played the hell out of that. You don't understand how many people come in here, play Zeppelin and absolutely butcher the whole fucking thing. But you . . ."

He was at a clear loss for words, raising his hand in motion to Dave and letting it fall back to his side. Reagan pressed her fist to her mouth and looked away, still trying to smother her laughter.

"Thanks man," Dave said graciously. He tucked his hair behind his ear and shot a look at Reagan, as if to further his point that he was indeed an excellent drummer. She hardly needed the affirmation from a stranger to know that.

The employee scurried off, most likely sensing that he had intruded upon a private moment between Dave and Reagan. As soon as he was out of sight, Reagan doubled over, clutching her stomach and laughing quietly at the ground.

"Come on, he meant well," Dave mumbled, though he too was fighting laughter. His smile was both proud and shy.

"You should give him an autograph before we leave."

"That would be nice if my autograph actually meant something."

"It might, one day. Don't count on it though, bud," Reagan teased, continuing to pester him. She had to keep him on his toes somehow.

Dave jokingly threw one of the drumsticks at Reagan, chuckling as she yelped and lurched out of the way before it hit her thigh.

"You're fucking mean," Dave accused, though he smiled as he said it.

"I'm a judge, not a groupie. I didn't come here to fawn over you, Grohl."

He reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging her to him. She felt his palm linger on her lower back, causing a surge of desire to spread like a warm ache through her stomach and all the way down to her legs. Her evasive smile was suddenly wiped from her face when she felt his touch press a little harder into the small of her back.

He made it so damn difficult not to want him, even standing there in a music store of all places.

"Let's switch it up then, shall we?" he suggested. Dave bent down to grab the drumstick he'd thrown, handing them both to Reagan.

"No way," Reagan objected, jumping away from Dave's offering as if the drumsticks were on fire. "I'm not playing after that. Your little friend is going to come back in here and tear my solo apart."

"If he does, I'll kick his ass," Dave promised, making Reagan laugh. She continued to shake her head.

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

Dave pried open Reagan's hands and shoved the drumsticks into them, standing up and grabbing her by the shoulders. He pushed her down onto the drum stool.