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I sigh. “I’m not much of a whiskey girl.”
“What kind of a girl are you?”
I know he’s only talking about booze, but for a moment, I pretend that he’s asking me a different question. My stomach does a flip as I think of how I could cleverly answer this.
“What’s your poison?” He asks the question a different way, I guess assuming the words went over my head.
“I like cocktails on occasion, and mixed drinks or seltzers.” I can almost hear him roll his eyes at me. Derek Walsh is all hard lines and rough edges; he doesn’t drink the same type of cocktails I do. No, there are no dirty martinis or Cosmo’s in his future.
He laughs like I knew he would. “Take a sip, buttercup. It won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” I stammer out.
“Drink or hand the bottle back,” he orders.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Drink and I will,” he goads.
“I don’t wanna get shit-faced,” I tell him.
“Split a fifth with me, Aud. I need this.”
There’s a level of pleading and vulnerability in his words. I want to. I want to do a whole lot more than that with him, but that’s not something he’d entertain. Especially tonight with the way he’s feeling.
“Drink with me and I’ll tell you all about my problems. After all, isn’t that why you followed me out the door in the first place?”
“I wanna help,” I tell him. Even though I can’t see him, I can feel his eyes on me.
“I wanna drink. So, if you drink with me, I’ll tell you all about the problems that the ever-popular lead singer of Crave is having.”
His words come out bitter, and I can tell that all of that has him fucked up. Not like, Oh, woe is me. It’s hard being a lead singer with all the girls that want me. But more like, Things aren’t easy right now. And I know all about that.
“Fine, I’ll drink with you.” I unscrew the cap of the bottle and take a sip. The liquid is smooth all the way down. I swallow and appreciate the woodsy taste of it.
“See, it’s not so bad as long as you don’t chug it,” he remarks. Must have been why I heard the wince in the air after his sip. “Bottle,” he orders, snapping his fingers.
I hand it back over and he takes another sip, then I wait for a bit. The bottle is passed back and forth at least five times before I have the courage to speak again. The liquor is making me feel all warm inside and making my tongue a little looser.
“Okay, out with it. Lead singer of Crave, what is ailing you?”
He laughs at my choice of words but then sighs. “I can’t seem to find anything good to write about. The boys are hoping that me coming out here meant I was taking a break and getting some real writing done. They want to put out another album. And believe me, I do too. But Aiden needs the words so he can work up the arrangement.”
“Your new album hasn’t been out that long.”
“No, it hasn’t.” He takes a sip before adding, “But you don’t wait a year before putting out more workouts after you complete one, do you?” The bottle is passed to me, and his fingers brush mine. “Slide closer,” he orders me. “I’m getting kind of fucked up here, and I don’t want to drop it.”
“Then maybe we should stop,” I suggest.
“I just want the music and the words to be good, you know? I know that everyone thinks I’m with Serena. I can’t do anything about that now. But I want a song or an album that’s bigger than that so I can come out of the shadow of the lie. I want to be able to say to her, ‘No I can’t come to that, we’re promoting our own album.’”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Do you wanna be my inspiration?” He’s teasing me. It’s either the alcohol making him seem a bit lighter, or talking is helping. My money is on the alcohol. He’s not passing it very fairly, and Derek has had more sips than me.
“Would that help you?” I ask him.
“Little Audrey, always wanting to be the one helping everyone,” he says with a bit of edge.
