I snort. “Yeah, I play the guitar, but I couldn’t play anything you want.” I gesture at my Spineshank T-shirt. “I play this, Kylie. Metal. You want a country boy. That ain’t me, sweetness.”
She doesn’t seem fazed. “Are you any good?”
I shrug. “I guess. I don’t know. I don’t play for people. I play because it’s fun. It’s a release. I taught myself. I can’t read music or any of that bullshit. I just shred. It’s like math. I just do it.”
“I want to hear you play.”
I shake my head. “Hell, no. I don’t play for people. And besides, do you even like metal?”
She makes an I don’t know face. “I’ve never listened to it.”
“It’ll make your nose bleed, babe.”
“I want to hear you play. I’ll sing for you, you’ll play for me. We’ll trade music.”
I want to tell her no, but I don’t. She seems so hopeful. I’ll play something hard and wicked, and she’ll be disgusted, and that’ll be that. The idea of me on a stool in a honky-tonk on Little Broadway, playing a Ron Pope cover is just…comical. Kylie would probably choke if she realized I knew that kind of music.
“Fine. But you won’t like it.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” She smiles up at me, shakes my arm again. It’s a habit of hers. I hate it, but I like it. “Okay, so we’ll go to my house. My parents have a studio in the basement.”
We’re in the parking lot, heading toward my bike, having intended to go grab some coffee, but she stops, looking over at the far side of the lot, cursing under her breath. “It’s Ben. I told him I didn’t need a ride today. Wait here — I’ll be right back.” She jogs to his truck, leans in the open passenger window, then glances back at me, holds up a finger to indicate one minute, and gets in.
I shrug, and continue across the lot to my bike. Minutes pass, and she doesn’t return. I keep waiting, watching the truck. Eventually Kylie gets out, starts walking toward me, clearly pissed off. Ben stops her, grabs her arm, and spins her around. I don’t like that. I swing off my bike and jog across the lot toward them. I can’t help overhearing their fight.
“You don’t know him, Ben!” Kylie shouts.
Shit, they’re arguing about me.
“I don’t have to! I don’t trust him!” Ben says this calmly, not shouting, but he punctuates every word with a stab of his finger.
“Tell me why, Ben. Give me a reason. One good reason.”
“I just have a bad feeling about him, Ky. I’m trying to protect you. Something about that kid is just…off. Plus, he’s older than you. I know he is.”
“Yeah? Well, so are you! What difference does it make? I’m not a little girl, Ben! I can take care of myself,” Kylie growls, and then whirls around and walks away. “I’m done having this conversation. I can be friends with whoever I want, Benji.”
He grabs her arm and pulls her back to him. “He’s not safe. And don’t call me Benji.”
“Let go! He’s perfectly safe. You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to be friends with him. But that doesn’t mean I can’t.”
He doesn’t let go, and that’s when I step in. “She said let her go, ass**le.” I drop my backpack on the ground, stepping toward them.
“Oz!” Kylie jerks her arm free and backs away from Ben. “Sorry I’m late, I was just—”
“Defending me. I heard.” I want to pull her away from him, but I don’t. “Are you okay?”
She frowns in confusion. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to stick up for me, Kylie. If Ben has an issue with me, he can bring it to me.” I move past her. “Key words here being ‘bring it.’” I lift my chin, staring him down.
“Yeah? Bring it?” Ben takes a big, aggressive step toward me. “Fine. I don’t like you, Oz. I don’t trust you. I don’t want you anywhere near her.”
“It’s not up to you, is it?” I say. Except, deep down, I kind of agree with him. I’m not safe. I’m not good for her. I’d never say that, obviously. To her, I say, “Look, I’m going. I don’t have the time or patience to argue with this gorilla. You coming?” I deliberately turn my back on Ben, a dare, a challenge, a show of contempt.
I’m spun around and pushed backward, hard. I stumble, catch my footing. I’ve never understood why guys shove as the challenge to a fight. It’s stupid, and lame, and dangerous. As Ben is about to find out. As soon as I catch my footing, I’m lunging forward. I don’t fight nice, or fair. My fist slams into his gut, and he doubles over, into me. I step back, c**k my fist, and I’m about to let it fly, crush his nose like a goddamn egg. But she’s there, watching. Crying. Darting in front of me, pushing me backward.
I let my hand fall, and I back away. “Sorry, Kylie. He’s right, you know.” I back away farther, snag my bag off the ground, and sling it onto my shoulders. “About me, I mean. I’m not safe. Case in point…” I gesture at Ben, who’s doubled over, gasping, red-faced.
She stares at Ben, confusion in her eyes. “I’m going with him. Please, just understand. He’s my friend, and so are you.” Kylie leans in and hugs him. “Are you okay?”
He straightens, steps back away from her. “I’m fine.” His eyes bore into me. “You wanna go with him? Fine, then. Go with him. See if I care.”
Kylie and I get on my bike. Her arms are warm and strong around my middle, and I can’t help but like the way her thighs feel against my hips.
I crane my head to look at her. “Put on the helmet, Kylie.”
She twists around, grabs the spare, and stuffs it onto her head, clips it. “Oz, about Ben—”
“He’s just looking out for you.” I effectively cut off the conversation with the belly-churning roar of the engine.
We don’t talk again until we’re pulling up into her driveway, which is filled with cars.
“Shoot,” Kylie says. “I think the studio is occupied.” She gestures at the cars. “This looks like The Harris Mountain Boys. Mom and Dad’s new project. Wait here.” She’s off the bike, tossing me the helmet and jogging into the house.
A few minutes later she comes out. “It’s them, and they’re recording until late tonight. I told Mom I’m with you. So we’re good to go.”