“Tell me something about yourself,” I say.
“What do you want to know?”
What do I want to know? I want the good and the bad. I already know most of his success stories, and I want more. I want the dark and twisty. I want it all. “What’s something embarrassing you’ve done recently?”
“We aren’t pulling any punches, are we?” But he laughs and rubs his hands together and watches me, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Okay, I got it. Yesterday, I found out my neighbor’s name is Jerry.” He takes a sip of water.
“How is that embarrassing?”
“I’ve been calling him Ben for a year and a half.”
I laugh. “Ben? How did you get it so wrong?”
“I think it was the ice cream. Ben and Jerry. I knew it was one of those.” He grins and I can’t help but chuckle in response. “Now your turn.” He nods at me. “Most embarrassing thing you’ve done recently. Go.”
I sigh. “I do something embarrassing every day.”
“Oh really? Trying to one-up me?”
I nudge his knee with mine. “You’ve seen me in action.”
“What, you mean talking in front of people? A lot of people are nervous about that. It’s no big deal.”
I shrug, heat crawling up my neck. We’ve talked about this before, but I’ve never shared this bit. I want to share it with Alex though, even though it’s embarrassing. “People at work, they would, they would . . . they would make comments.” I shovel in a big bite of pizza so I can focus on chewing.
It was more than comments. They would roll their eyes when I stood up to speak, or they would whisper to each other while I was speaking, or they would chat in the break room, loud enough that I could hear from my desk, about how they suffered secondhand embarrassment on my behalf every time I had to talk. Poor them.
His jaw tightens. “That’s a reflection on them, not you.”
I wave it off, uncomfortable and prickly. “It’s no big deal.” How did we start talking about me? This is supposed to be about Alex. “Enough about me. Give me more embarrassing stories. Don’t hold back.”
He laughs and I eat while he regales me with stories about tripping off the stage during a performance, barfing in the middle of his senior prom, and sitting in the wrong class his first day of college and not realizing it until it was half over.
See? This is why I want to climb him like a pole.
No, Jane. Garlic breath. Wait. Aren’t clams an aphrodisiac? Or is that oysters?
After I finish eating, we walk back up the hill to the Saloon, hand in hand.
The darkness is softened by the lights of the street, nearby windows shining with illumination. Across the street from the Saloon, Alex stops and faces me.
His eyes are dark and intent in the streetlights. I know what this means.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Thanks for coming to my show.” He steps closer.
I gaze up at him.
He leans down.
“Wait!” I pull back, one hand pressed to his chest. His firm, defined chest that leads down to lean hips and a trim waist.
No, Jane. Bad Jane.
“We can’t kiss. I have garlic breath.” I cover my mouth with one hand.
He smiles. “I love garlic.”
“Even garlic lovers don’t want to make out with garlic eaters. It’s one thing to have garlic on your pizza, it’s another to taste it in someone else’s mouth.”
He chuckles, but then pulls me closer.
“Hey, pickle juice!” someone yells.
Alex turns his head and I follow his gaze. It’s Leon, waving at us from the doorway of the Saloon.
“Pickle juice?” I ask out the side of my mouth.
“It’s a term of endearment,” says Alex.
“Really?”
“It comes from a drunken night when I suggested using pickle juice chasers for whiskey. It led to a naked incident involving lightsabers. Don’t ask.”
I face him. “I’m intrigued. You can’t leave me hanging on naked lightsabers.”
“It was just me and Leon, and . . . then my parents showed up.”
A car honks and we both jerk in the direction of the sound.
“Hey!” Leon yells at the driver, arms flung up in the air. The driver must have been coming around the corner and nearly run into Leon crossing the street.
A second later, Leon is on the sidewalk next to us. He slings an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “We got another gig booked next month.”
Alex groans.
“Wait, wait, he was just about to tell me about naked lightsabers.”
Leon’s grin disappears, his exuberant countenance flipping to solemnity in the space of a second. “We do not speak of that night.”
I glance between them. “But I need to know. Why naked lightsabers?”
Alex chuckles. “A more relevant question could be why not naked lightsabers?”
“I need to hear this story,” I say.
“No story,” Leon says. “We made a pact that night and it was written in blood.” He presses a fist to his chest, gazing off into the distance, his expression somber.
Alex grins at him. “I think we actually tried to write it in urine on my parents’ front lawn.”
Leon nods, still solemn. “Right.”
I burst out laughing.
“Tell me about this gig.” Alex slaps him on the shoulder. “So I can try to get out of it.”
Leon steps back, bouncing around and shaking off the serious demeanor. “C’mon, man, we’re getting better. We’re going to have our big break. I can feel it.”
“He keeps saying that,” Alex tells me.
“How long have you been performing together?” I ask.
They exchange a glance.
Alex sighs. “Ten long years,” he says, the same way someone might describe a prison sentence.
I laugh. “Really?”
“Leon!” One of the leggy blondes is standing at the door of the Saloon.
Leon waves at her and then tosses me a cheeky grin, a dimple appearing in one cheek. He walks backward, arms extended. “My fan group awaits.”
Alex shakes his head. “Our fan group is your sister. And her two friends.”
Leon points at Alex. “Still better than none. Nice to meet you finally, Jane,” he calls out before
