EMERSON
Riptide // Vance Joy
Once our duet is over, band practice continues. Dylan doesn't talk much once he declares I'm in the band, at least not directly to me. He just seems to bark out commands about songs. And everyone does what he wants without comment or complaint.
I notice two things right away about Dylan: he's got an obsession with Echosmith and he can't follow sheet music to save his life.
Shit, this guy sucks as both a band leader and a drummer. I shake my head as we wind down the last song, which is supposed to have a cymbal on the down-beat, but he's playing it on the up. It's written as an off-beat pattern, but he's playing with the rhythm instead of against it. This guy is driving me fucking nuts, but I keep my mouth shut. I'm will not do anything to piss him off, not yet. That day will come. It has to, because I realize with sudden clarity that there is no way this band can be anything more than mediocre, as long as he is a part of it.
But with Zoe... I look at her standing on the stage, the microphone cradled in her hands. Zoe has so much talent and that talent deserves to shine in a band that can complement her, not drag her down.
We have not sung another note together since that first duet. The moment he declared I could stay Dylan had motioned for me to take my bass and make space for myself over in the corner. And since then my strategy has been to play what I was told and to act clueless, act like an idiot asking questions like I did about his band name. I should have told him the Dylan Protocol is a dumb as fuck band name, but I curbed my natural inclinations towards high handed assholes and instead I played along. And it has worked so far. After all, here I sit in the band playing my bass, an instrument he's declared unnecessary.
"Alright, let's call it. I've got a masterpiece to finish, right babe?" Dylan looks over to his flavor of the month, the girl who's been eye-fucking him during the entire rehearsal.
I see Zoe suddenly tense up. She is standing there alone on stage trying very hard not to look in Dylan's and his girl's direction.
Dylan rushes forward and grabs his girl in a big hug and then he swings her around and gives her a long and passionate kiss.
He is a piece of shit, alright, as Chelsea declared earlier today. What an ass, acting like that in front of the girl he just dumped.
When they come up for air Dylan's girl says breathlessly, "D, I can hardly wait to see how your new painting turns out." The girl sends a smug look towards Zoe's way.
I don't know Dylan's girl's name, but I do know her type. She just wanted to land a trophy and she's too stupid to realize he's no prize. More like an anchor tied to her future. Best thing to happen to Zoe is that piece of shit breaking up with her. But I wonder if Zoe sees it that way.
Zoe is silent as she steps off the stage and snatches her bag off the floor. She bolts out the side door without a backward glance, declaring, "See you losers next practice." Letting the door slam behind her.
God, she's sexy. I love her fire. I start to unhook my bass and bend down to pack it up when I feel Chelsea step in close. Part of me bristles at the close contact. I'm not into her and I don't want to give off the wrong impression as she leans closer, pressing her mouth near my ear. I glance over at her and see that she's looking around at the rest of the band, not at me. Ah, she's not snuggling up, she's telling me something in private. My nerves ease up and I put my focus into her whispered words.
"Be gentle with my girl, she's fragile RN. Cause if this blows up, she'll never forgive me."
RN? I think she means, right now. Dang this chick talks like a chat group. But, fragile—that's a no. Not what I saw, anyway. Most of practice Zoe looked like a warrior, not a breakable wuss. I was honestly scared for a minute when she started growling. And turned on. No two ways about it, Zoe is hot.
I raise my eyebrow at Chelsea and whisper back, "Whatever you say, boss."
"PS, you were a cocky SOB. Good job." Chelsea pinches my cheek then whirls around, her blonde hair smacking me in the face, and then she skips out of the garage. Skips. Like a little girl. Sheesh.
"Meet us at the car in five!" Chelsea shouts over her shoulder before heading out the door.
Oh. Right. Chelsea was my ride. And Zoe's. Which means we are all riding back together. This could be awesome...or a huge disaster. Honestly, I have no idea which one, especially with Chelsea in the car. Chelsea is a handful and her directness and mind reading might be too much for such tight quarters. Me, I can handle it, but if I'm supposed to tread lightly with Zoe, and be gentle, can Zoe handle it? She must be able to if her and Chelsea are such good friends.
I grab my gear and wave goodbye to my new bandmates. Shit, I'm in a freaking band! That hasn't actually hit me until just now as I walk out of band practice for the first time. But holy hell, I'm in a mother fucking band. Sure, it's the crappiest band I've ever heard, except for the gorgeous lead singer, but this shit is real. I'm playing bass in a band. No way I would ever say this to her, but Chelsea did me a huge favor by forcing me to show up. Best decision of my life. That is until my father finds out. But I refuse to worry about that now.
As I walk toward the car and see Chelsea standing next to Zoe, the two engaged in a silent stare off once again, I realize she did me more than one good deed. Her warning about Zoe's fragile state is not bullshit. Zoe radiated strength in that garage, but now I see what Chelsea warned me about. Zoe's pain is written all over her face and in the slump of her shoulders. Even the way her foot is tapping against the curb with nervous energy gives me the hint that this whole exchange with Dylan wasn't easy for her. But she got through it. Chelsea is right, Zoe is fragile over her recent break up which means I need to treat her with kit gloves. Thank the gods for Chelsea insight. I might just have one chance with this girl, and I don't want to mess this up.
As I walk up to the car and the girls standing next to it, Zoe looks over to me and catches my eye. There's a hint of something there, but before I can sink into it, she looks back at Chelsea. "Shotgun," flies out of her mouth in a searing command.
Chelsea steals a glance at me, and I sense the she-witch about to make an appearance. She's way too smug. "Oh, no, babe. Not again. You both have no sense of propriety with a girl's tune control. I'm not letting either of you in the front seat just to play your depressing music the entire drive home. IMHO your music," she points at both of us when she says your, "is not fit for mixed company. I'll end up driving into a ditch just to avoid listening to it. No way. I'm in charge this time, and you two will sit in the back."
Zoe sucks in a deep breath while clenching her fists, clearly upset at Chelsea's command. They have yet another silent stare, which I now believe is somehow an actual conversation. A conversation of body language and raised eyebrows. Then Zoe grumbles something I can't make out and flings open the back door. Chelsea gives me a wink before grabbing my bass and putting it up front.
I shake my head and follow Zoe into the back seat. She's looking out the opposite window so all I can see is the back of her head. I debate whether I should attempt conversation with her. At this point, we've never spoken a word to one another. It's been silent eye locks and a singing duet, but no actual conversation. For the first time in my life, I don't know how to act around a girl. I'm a pretty confident guy most of the time, but something about Zoe throws me off my game.
It's like my entire being recognizes that she's the real deal and I don't want to fuck this up.
Now I'm nervous. So I say nothing. Chelsea climbs into the driver's seat and starts up the car.
"Okay, handsome. I'm taking you home first. Imma need some quality time with my girl to decompress after today's turn of events."
"Sure thing, boss," I reply.
Zoe's eyes swung my way when Chelsea referred to me as handsome. Man, I really wish I was a mind reader. Does Zoe feel this invisible connection between us?
Zoe remains silently looking out her window while I'm stretched out next to her. A solid two feet of space separates us. Until Chelsea gets going and her batshit crazy driving skills are put into play. The first turn Chelsea takes forces my body to slide across the slick leather seat and right into Zoe.
Zoe's little gasp at the physical contact is the best sound I've heard all day. And I freaking got to hear her sing again. But that gasp...makes me want to do things. Like kiss the shit out of her just to hear it again.
Then the car lurches to the other side as Chelsea takes another turn and the two of us slide across the seat together. This time Zoe's eyes find mine and somehow, we both start laughing.
"Are you okay?" I ask while keeping eye contact. I also find the guts to put my arm around her shoulders for some leverage. "I guess we should have buckled up right away." This time I reach around her to the middle seatbelt and buckle her in next to me. Then I grab mine and do the same. "Best if we stick close if she's going to drive like a maniac."
I catch Chelsea's smirk in the rearview mirror and realize this girl is a genius.
ZOE
I'm going to kill her. I know what she's doing, and I've decided it's time to get a new best friend. She is such a traitor! What about "keep your trap shut" does she not understand? It's bad enough she went and picked up new guy to bring him to the audition, which also means she knew about the shit move Dylan pulled and said nothing about it. That was bad enough, but now she's forced us into the back seat together and she is purposely driving like a crazy person to force physical contact between us. When this car ride is over, I'm seriously going to kill Chelsea.
Not gonna lie, new guy has impressive biceps and up close and personal, he is breathtaking. His eyes drew me from the word go, but everything else about him is mesmerizing. And that voice. He could seriously melt butter with that voice.
Dylan can't sing and maybe he isn't the greatest drummer in the world, because he is self-taught, but I had always loved the way Dylan looked behind his drum kit. Dylan has a way of putting all of himself into a song, or a painting, or anything creative that he's working on. That's what drew me to him in the first place, his passion. But now his passion is focused on that floozy and I'm stuck in the back seat next to my new co-lead singer.
I don't know how I feel about that. I'm still spinning from the fact Dylan tried to kick me out of the band. Part of me wonders if it was a completely malicious act. Maybe Dylan just figured I wouldn't want to be in a band with him anymore because we were broken up? Maybe he was trying to do me a favor? Maybe I've got him all wrong?
And maybe I'm the most hung up girl on the planet, because when has Dylan ever tried to look out for me? Never. The answer to that question is never, so why would he start now? He just didn't want to deal with me anymore. Dylan is selfish as fuck so there's no way his recent actions were anything but. I need to keep that in mind when I start to feel sad and desperate about my new lonely status. The only person I can rely on is myself. I used to think I could rely on my best friend. What the hell was Chelsea thinking befriending new guy? And why the hell had she driven him to practice? And what the hell are we doing sitting in the back seat together? I really, really need to kill Chelsea the first chance we are alone.
"It's too quiet in here. No one's talking!" Chelsea pipes up from the front seat.
How are we supposed to talk when she's got us sliding all over the back seat? And do I even want to talk to new guy. Okay I know his name. Emerson. Shit that is a sexy name.
He did just buckle us in, but that's done little to stop the force of Chelsea's erratic driving from pushing and pulling us into each other. Emerson finally resorted to putting his arm around my shoulder to keep us steady. And I didn't stop him. Another occurrence for the day that has my mind spinning in contradictions.
His touch leaves a burning streak against my skin, tingles and electric currents shooting through my body. But it also makes me uncomfortable. I've seen the way he's been looking at me. I don't want him getting any ideas about us. There is no us, and there' won't be an us. Not now, not ever. I'm done. No more dating. Nun status is now firmly in my future. I want nothing more to do with the male population.
I keep my shoulders stiff and my arms wrapped tightly around my middle, sending a 'no thank you' message to the boy trying to wrap himself around me.
Chelsea leans over to her console and presses some buttons, pulling up a song. Vance Joy's Riptide starts playing and I groan internally. It's too happy. I'm not up for happy music yet. And I know she knows that, but that doesn't stop her from playing it anyway.
Emerson's foot starts tapping on the floor. I watch as he keeps the perfect rhythm with the song. His fingers are also tapping against my shoulder, equally in rhythm but keeping a different beat. Holy crap! He's a drummer. It's written all over him as he's tapping his other hand as well, as though he's itching to sit behind a kit and play along.
And then he starts to sing along to the song. ...pretty girls...His bass playing made my mouth water, and now this backseat car karaoke is making my blood pressure rise. ...singing that song...
My eyes can't stop looking at those taping fingers. ...sing the words wrong... I want to ignore him, to look away and pretend I don't notice, but suddenly Chelsea asks the exact question I had on the tip of my tongue. Little mind-reading freak that she is. "You play drums?" She asks. "Sing, play bass, and drums. Em, does your talent ever end?"
But when she asks the question I can hear her voice is a tad shaky. Because she just realized her mistake. There is no way Dylan will ever let another drummer into his band. The minute he realizes Emerson plays the drums Dylan will kick his ass out.
Chelsea is looking at me in the rearview mirror. Our eyes lock for a brief second and I give her a vicious smile. Whatever matchmaking mania she has been playing at, it is over. Soon Emerson will be out of the band and in mere moments I will be done with this car ride. I just want out of this backseat and away from this boy. Because I don't want to think about the shot of annoyance that ran through me when Chelsea called him handsome and I certainly don't want to stop and think about that tiny streak of jealousy that came across me when she called him, Em.
Why do I care if she knows this guy or how well she knows him? I don't care, not at all. And who cares how handsome he is, or if he can sing and play the bass and the drums? No one cares, but Chelsea.
I'm trying to think of something to say that doesn't sound pissed off or defensive, when Chelsea turns down a long circular drive and comes to a stop in front of a mansion. It's a freaken mansion. Just the type of place I imagined a guy like Emerson living in. A house to match his expensive sweater and equally expensive music lessons.
I look from the house to the guy and wonder what the hell he is doing joining our garage band?
Emerson kind of took over this chapter. Zoe is going to make him work for this, that's for sure. He may regret this tomorrow, who knows.
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Riptide is a fun little happy song. It's very Chelsea, but not something Zoe would add to her playlist.