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"Joel didn't tell me how you met," Mal says.
"I didn't tell her how we met either," Joel says.
"How did you meet?" I bite my tongue so I won't add there wasn't much about your band's origin on Wikipedia.
Mal chuckles. "Your husband doesn't like being told what to do."
"Not by obnoxious vocalists." Joel winks at me. "I like certain people getting bossy."
My cheeks flush, but I manage to keep my breath steady.
Mal doesn't even blink. He's not at all moved by Joel's banter. He turns to me, completely ignoring Joel's interruption. "You ever listen to Sinful Serenade?"
"Maybe. I mostly listen to pop from when I was in high school, Lady Gaga and Rhianna. But I think Anne, my sister, likes them. They have the singer who always sounds like he's coming?" I ask.
"As opposed to Mal, who sounds like he's in the middle of a fuck," Joel says.
"You've been listening?" Mal teases.
"You fucking know I've been listening." Joel shoots me a flirty glance. "I always listen."
Mal nods. "Yeah, their singer is always moaning. Seems to be working for them. Women eat it up."
"You don't seem to do too badly," I say.
Mal chuckles. "We do all right."
Joel moans through his words, copying the Sinful Serenade singer's style. "Is this kind, of, ooh, ooh, moaaaaaning siiiiinging really more disturbing than—" he switches to Mal's breathy style- "this, uh, uh heavy, breathing, like I'm fucking. So. Hard. I. Can't. Breathe?"
"I'm not sure what point you're making, but I would very much like you to continue making it," I say.
Seriously.
Joel moaning then panting…
Damn, my husband really knows how to torture me.
Joel winks. "You know how to get me moaning, angel."
I take a deep breath. It does nothing to cool me down. But it does bring clarity.
Joel is deflecting.
But why?
There must be something about this story that makes him uncomfortable.
"You don't think I can hold my own with the moans?" Mal's stare is a challenge.
"Don't you get enough attention on tour?" Joel asks.
"Define enough," Mal says.
"If you're still hurting for people to look at you and hear the pain in your voice, then go to some karaoke bar. Groan through a song and get women throwing their panties on stage. You'll get plenty of attention." Joel shakes his head with mock incredulity.
Mal chuckles. "What do you think, Bella? I think Joel should get up on stage and serenade you."
"Blue Oyster Cult didn't write any love songs," Kit calls.
