“People hiding out.”
“I’m going to get him and give him a piece of my mind.”
“I’d hoped you’d say that.” She grinned mischievously.
I stomped away and found the side entrance under the bleachers. Sure enough, tucked in the shadows like he thought himself a small-town Batman was Leo.
He had his phone out, thumb flicking through an app as he leaned against the metal supports. When he noticed a presence, he straightened and tucked hisphone away. When he realized it wasmestomping toward him, his eyes went wide. He lifted a hand to mess with his hair but dropped it when he found the beanie.
The rush of relief that flooded me at the sight of him must have been due to Cath. I would tell her that he showed up to watch her after all. That flutter in my chest was because he hadn’t disappointed her.
“Look who’s hiding,” I said as I stopped in front of him. I’d perfected my unimpressed look in high school. It was hard-earned by having two older brothers who teased me relentlessly for any interests they deemed “uncool.” Which were all of them. Thankfully, the look didn’t take much since my mouth sort of fell into a downturned line, and my large eyes naturally narrowed. Ironically, when I was most relaxed, I came across as most pissed off.
Leo straightened and glanced up into the stands. “I’m not big on crowds.”
“That’s helpful for a career as a rock star.”
He looked away. “I didn’t think, uh...” He gave up the fight and tugged off the cap to run his fingers through his hair. “I just didn’t want to make a scene.”
“Yes, the big celebrity might steal the show,” I mocked.
He frowned. “No, I just—” His mouth shut, and his pronounced Adam’s apple moved up and down. He shook his head as if trying to find the words.
If it weren’t for the fact that he was a professional performer, he almost looked nervous being here. Was he that afraid people would want to talk to him? Nobody in Green Valley would ask for an autograph or something embarrassing.No offense, I thought,but most people couldn’t even name a famous drummer outside Ringo Starr.I still felt bad for my snark. I was jacked up on sweet tea and in defense mode, and he was here, wasn’t he? Despite being notably reclusive since moving back.
“Is that why you’re lurking?” I asked, stepping closer and softening my voice.
“Not lurking. Just enjoying the ambiance.” He looked me up and down as he said it, then moved his gaze away quickly. I was in jeans and a Black Bears shirt, yet the look had me wondering if I accidentally left the house in only my bra. Being down here did something to me I hadn’t expected. I was humming with adrenaline. Was this what it would have been like as a kid? All those people so close but nobody watching us. It did make me want to do something naughty.
Yes, thinking the wordnaughtymade me “cringe” or whatever the kids said.
“Oh yes, like spring in Paris,” I said.
I swallowed and glanced away and around. No cigarette butts, but graffiti from decades of burnouts and truants and an excessive amount of chewing gum. Seriously, hundreds of multicolored blobs. At what point would it impact the structural integrity of the seats? I looked back at Leo, who was still watching me expectantly. He wasn’t a great conversationalist, but when I caught him looking at me, his neck flushed, and he looked away.
I studied him. He wore sweats and a well-worn Rush tee, but his tall, fit form gave him the natural vibe of a rebel.
“You look like you should be angstily smoking a cigarette and have a pack rolled up in the sleeve of your white tee shirt,” I said.
“Was the last movie you watched starring James Dean by any chance?” he asked. There was the soft, rich voice. I had thought all drummers were egotistical, based on a lifetime of experiences with them: loud and obnoxious show-offs. But Leo looked like he hated taking up space. His shoulders were sort of hunched and his head tucked forward in an attempt not to come across so large. Even his constant fussing with his hair felt like an attempt to push himself down.
Interesting. Maybe he had been hiding down here, but not because he was afraid of a random fan.
I tried to find a comfortable way to lean against the inverse staircase, but I just ended up bonking my head on the corner of a step. I played it off, hoping he didn’t notice.
He did.
He bit back a smile and said, “I do that a lot. My mom called me ‘Lumpy’ for years after my growth spurt.” He gestured to his head.
I’d expected him to tease me, make fun of me, or use the opportunity to brag, but he’d deflected my embarrassment and shone it on himself. This was a far cry from the egotistical, flamboyant musician I’d painted in my head. In the shadow of the bleachers and with that self-deprecating grin, he seemed different from the man I’d rudely awoken.
This was Devlin’s fault. He purposely wound me up so I’d go off on Leo. Except I knew myself, and I could have used any excuse to take my frustrations out on someone.
There was a slight chance I could be rash.
“I would really love to know what you’re thinking right now,” Leo said. He flushed and looked away as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
We’d stepped closer when I hadn’t been paying attention. I pulled my ponytail off my neck, fanning it. It was unseasonably warm, and the hundreds of bodies above didn’t help. You’d think it would be impossible to hear eachother, especially as the game started again and people were yelling and stomping just above our heads. Yet there was an intimacy down here like we were in our own little bubble.
