AS EXPECTED, THE backstage area where Nirvana and other stragglers convened was small and relatively unimpressive. Reagan was hit with a wave of sticky body heat almost as soon as she followed Shelli into the shoebox of a room. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling in graffiti, displaying a visual history of all the bands who had left their mark on the club.
"Hey!" Shelli said cheerfully as Krist came into sight. She threw her arms around him as best as she could with his towering height. He leaned down and kissed her with an exuberant smile, causing Reagan to look away.
Watching the exploits of happy couples in love was not exactly her cup of tea.
Towards the back of room she spotted Dave, sitting on a torn leather couch and guzzling back a water bottle. He must have felt her stare burning into him because he glanced her way, his gaze freezing when he saw her standing in the middle of mayhem.
She pressed her lips together, feeling her face go numb. She wouldn't have known if she was smiling, but the corners of Dave's mouth turned upwards lightly, telling her that she must have at least flashed him some sort of look. It was like he was reading her mind or as if he'd just discovered some sort of sultry secret.
Reagan coughed, averting her stare and hoping that her face wasn't red. That would have been totally mortifying if so. There were too many people around to bear witness.
When she managed to tear her eyes away from Dave, she saw Kurt, standing by himself and rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He didn't fit the image of someone who'd just finished playing a high energy rock concert. He appeared tired, longing for a bed that was not readily available to him. A small sigh rose and fell with his chest.
"Hi," Reagan said, deciding to greet Kurt first. He would have liked that anyway.
He looked at her, his face still wearing the same mask of exhaustion even when he offered her a frail smile. His stamina had clearly been zapped.
"Hey. Hope you enjoyed the shitty show."
"It wasn't shitty," Reagan told him. And just because he looked like he needed it, she hugged him, tucking one arm around his neck and leaning in. She was surprised when he hugged her back, raising his arms so that they hung loosely around her midsection.
She was not a hugger, but she would have given Kurt as many hugs as he liked if it would make him happy. Telling from his disposition, he could have used plenty of them.
"Liar," Kurt said, the word rushing past Reagan's ear as she drew away. She tsk'ed at him, but he ignored her, looking back down at the dilapidated spiral bound notebook in front of him. It must have been his journal, or at least that's what Reagan assumed from the Kurt-esque doodles littering the cover.
Reagan moved past Kurt and went on to Krist, praising him too and offering a hug. Shelli grinned as she watched Reagan lean into Krist's side with one arm around his waist. Her head barely reached his chest.
"We watched the show together," Shelli explained.
"Yeah. And then she dragged me back here against my will," Reagan added.
"Are you sure it was against your will?" Krist asked. He looked briefly over at Dave, who was chatting with a long-haired, tattooed roadie before looking back at Reagan. His smile widened.
"Shut the hell up," Reagan snapped, though she couldn't manage to sound vicious. Shelli cackled.
Besides wanting to escape Krist and Shelli's ruthless taunting, Reagan knew what was coming next. She had saved Dave for last intentionally, hoping that she would be able to gather herself before approaching him.
She'd been wrong, naturally.
Her emotions were still off balance, pulling her in a thousand different directions as she walked up to Dave with her hands in her jacket pockets. She didn't know what to do. It was like a devil and an angel had found places on both her shoulders and were whispering in her ear, just like in the cartoons, about which advice was best to take.
The side that held the angel, the side Reagan guessed was her sensibility, encouraged her to be polite and to hold Dave away from her at arm's length. It would be right thing to do if she didn't want to send the wrong message.
But the side of the devil suggested something entirely different. It reminded her of all that she had felt while watching Dave that night in the audience. It madd a point to tell her that she ought to slide down next to Dave on the couch and make him feel what she herself had felt, except with her lips, directly planted on his.
This time, Reagan knew her cheeks were warming with blush. They were in public, yet she was still entertaining X-rated thoughts about Dave.
He looked up at her from the couch, his dark eyes flashing in the dull yellow light of the room. In them Reagan saw as much conflict as she felt inside. Dave's eyes showed an even combination of lust, admiration and maybe even . . .
No.
She wasn't going to say the L-word, not even in her head. They'd only known each other for a few weeks.
"Saved the best for last, huh?" Dave asked, draining the remnants of his water bottle and crushing it in his hand. He threw it in a trash pail that was off to the side, an inviting smile on his face.
Reagan enclosed her hands tighter within the pockets of her jacket as he spoke. There was something that she would never be able to get over concerning his voice. It didn't sound right coming out of his mouth — gentle and sweet, far from the deep monotone she expected him to have.
Fuck you, she thought. Fuck you for making me want you so badly.
"You broke your drum kit. How very punk of you,"
she replied smoothly.
She nearly applauded herself for keeping her cool while Dave was looking at her so deeply, like he was undressing with her eyes. There had to be only one reason why he was doing it, and surely it was to be her payback for not coming to see him prior to the show starting.
"Like, Keith Moon kind of punk?" Dave asked, his voice light with humor. He propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.
"No. Keith Moon broke his drum kits intentionally. There's a difference," Reagan said.
And Keith Moon had nothing on Dave Grohl, as far as she was concerned.
They were close enough to touch, yet so much space existed between them. She wanted to reach out and put her hands on him, all over him, but reality set in when she realized she couldn't. Not only were there people around, but Reagan was still trying to remain level-headed. She couldn't allow herself to touch him leisurely, even when that was all she wanted to do.
"Are you going to congratulate me or not?" Dave said. He stood up from the couch, moving a step closer to Reagan. She could smell his breath — it was minty, like he'd been chewing gum. She wandered how it would taste on her tongue.
She knew he was joking. In the time that Reagan had spent with Dave, she'd learned quickly that he thrived off of his own special brand of humor. But there was something else in the way he looked at her, his expression hard but his eyes full of yearning. Reagan, who hadn't taken an ounce of shit or attitude from anyone since the day she'd been born, felt herself crumbling under Dave's intense stare.
"Congratulations," she managed to get out. She was half tempted to shuffle backwards. He was so close to her, never taking his eyes off her face.
"I thought you would at least say hi before the show started," Dave continued. He raised his eyes to hers, curling a strand of Reagan's auburn hair around one calloused finger. "But you didn't. I assumed you just didn't come."
He was intimidating her. It was clearly a ploy to make her squirm and want him all at the same time. He wasn't hiding his intention — to make her want him so badly that she'd beg for it. Dave was a smart guy. He knew Reagan had been holding back on him. The only option he had left to sway her feelings was to drive her absolutely mad.
In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Cheap Trick's 'I Want You To Want Me' playing. Of course she'd be thinking about the greatest hits of the seventies at a time like this.
"What, you're going to get all pissed at me because I didn't come to swoon over you?" Reagan said, daring herself to challenge him right back. She wouldn't go down without a fight.
Dave smiled sardonically, releasing the tendril of Reagan's hair from around his finger so that he could curve his hand around her neck. She jumped when she felt him squeeze her there, ever so slightly.
This was a side of him that she hadn't seen before, thought that didn't seem to matter. She liked it, maybe even more than liked it.
He was just about to banter with her again, on the brink of uttering another whiplike comment to make her heart stutter, but their moment was shattered by the sound of another girl's voice.
"It's Dave, right?"
A bleached blonde girl wearing a smear of lipstick across her mouth inserted herself into their conversation, smiling silkily at Dave with eyes that were obviously meant to tempt him. Reagan automatically stepped back, embarrassed to have been caught in the middle of a daze.
She didn't even quite process the girl's presence or why she was backstage in the first place. Her leathery pants and tight shirt had no affect on Reagan, who was too busy rubbing her forehead where a headache was blooming and casting her eyes downward to feel jealousy.
In the midst of all her want for Dave, there was a spark of irritation. There always would be, as far as Reagan was concerned. As long as she kept herself smack dab in the middle of wanting and resisting him, that flame of annoyance would burn bright.
The blonde had sidled closer to Dave, grasping her nail-polished fingers around his arm as she attached herself at his side. He looked taken aback, disoriented from having gone from an intense exchange with Reagan to being accosted by a random groupie.
That was the thing about Dave. He had no idea how good looking he was and how so many woman would have bent to his very will if he asked.
Reagan locked her jaw together and pretended to have her attention consumed by something else. On any other night, she would have decked the blonde in the face for being so crass. But her judgement was acting up again, insisting that it would still be better to let Dave go. If that meant allowing him to be seduced by a stranger, then Reagan supposed she would have to accept it.
She'd be miserable with herself and angry over having let him slip into another girl's clutches, but at least she wouldn't be mixed up anymore about her feelings.
Reagan grimaced and began to walk away, setting her sights on Kurt who was still alone. She would talk to him. He was easy to talk to. He'd calm her down and snap her back into her old self, the self that was brash and blatant and far from concerning herself with emotional attachments. She would rely on Kurt to do that for her, just so she wouldn't have to look when the blonde finally seized her chance with Dave.
As Reagan spun on her heels, she felt him grab her by the wrist, stopping her from going any further. She opened her mouth to protest, to ask that he release her in a way that would be both physical and metaphoric, but Dave cut her off. He pulled her back to his side and placed his hand on her hip.
"What were you saying?" he asked innocently to the blonde. She paused, the determination vanishing from her face when she saw Dave's hand strategically gripping Reagan's waist.
"Uhm . . . good show," she muttered, flicking her hair over her shoulder and taking a stride away from them both. Before she left, she looked over her shoulder, as if hoping that she'd imagined Reagan's presence and Dave would be magically left alone.
He saw her final glance and grabbed Reagan's chin, directing her mouth to his. When Dave kissed her, she felt a familiar lurch in her chest, but that didn't defy the whole point of what was going on. She let him kiss her for a second longer before she pushed his chest away.
"What the hell was that for?" Reagan demanded, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. As soon as she did it, she wished she hadn't. She would have given anything to have his taste on her lips for the rest of the night.
"Because you look great tonight," Dave said, sounding like the answer was obvious to everyone but Reagan.
"Don't lie. Was she not a good enough looking lay?" Reagan snipped back.
There it was. The jealousy that she'd dreaded was showing itself and there was nothing she could do to wrangle it in. It was the kind of jealousy that came from possession, although Reagan tried to tell herself that she didn't own Dave. He wasn't hers, as much as she sometimes thought he was.
And had she not just finished reminding herself that she was better off that way? Alone and sans-Dave?
"Reagan," Dave said seriously. He grabbed her hands, forcing her back to him. She scowled, mostly at herself, when she didn't fight back.
"Don't even try —,"
"Reagan, I don't want anyone else. Do you understand?"
She flushed as soon as he made his statement.
"I don't care if you want anyone else. Want whoever the hell you want, just don't —,"
He interrupted her again, but this time it was with another kiss. This one was softer, but there was still an urgency behind it, like he wasn't finished provoking her with his whole bad-cop facade for the night. He kissed her in front of everyone, not bothering to care if anyone happened to look.
When he pulled away, Reagan realized that her eyes had closed.
"Do you understand?" he repeated, this time his voice low.
Reagan opened her eyes. What she saw made her go soft, erasing the violent burst of rage she'd only temporarily felt. It was Dave's eyes, piercing straight into hers with an honesty she'd never seen from anyone else before.
"Yes," she said, matching his pitch. "I understand."
She knew that she meant it.
Finally, Reagan felt like she could understand.