Page 31 of Muscle Cub

Austin chuckled. “For real?”

I shrugged. “Alice in Chains. Tool. Nine Inch Nails.”

He shook his head. “I totally imagined you listening to Tori Amos and writing angsty poetry about boys in your diary.”

“My journals are filled with mostly angsty prose. But I do like Tori.”

“I knew it,” he said smugly.

“I like a lot of women artists. Alanis. Fiona Apple—” The smirk on his face grew. “Hey. Don’t make me school you about how edgy Tori Amos can be.”

“That’s what my mom says!” Austin’s eyes sparkled. “She’s a big Tori fan too.”

I gave him some hard side-eye. “If that was intended to be an insult, it only made your mom sound cool.” I wandered away from the crowd toward the dark creek, and he followed.

“My mama is cool. But I know you’re not that old, so where’d all the grunge come from?”

I resisted asking his mom’s age. “An older neighbor kid growing up. He was in college when I was, like, twelve.”

Austin poked my shoulder. “Ah-ha! That explains a lot.”

“I actually do prefer harder music, though. I probably have a lot of unexpressed rage or something.”

“I can get down with some harder stuff if it’s a little funky too.”

“Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

Austin bounced on his toes. “I fucking love them.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, I used to listen to them all the time.” He paused for a beat before adding, “With my dad.”

“Okay.” I turned to walk away as if I were well and truly offended. “You can fuck off now.”

Austin laughed and grabbed my arm to stop me. “No, seriously. My dad and I used to rock out in the car together. Chili Peppers. No Doubt. Green Day. But then I went through my teen rebellion phase and started listening to country.”

“You rebelled by listening to country music?”

“Yeah. I blasted that shit. My parents didn’t know what the fuck was happening. I put up a poster of Keith Urban and my dad was like, ‘I don’t even know who you are.’” Austin giggled. “But I didn’t do it just to piss them off. It speaks to me. I’m an emotional person. I’m rarely angry, though. I’m either ready for some tailgating, or I’m wallowing in heartache. So country’s perfect for me.” He fixed me with a serious look. “I’d think as a writer you’d at least appreciate the storytelling aspect.”

I made a loud, juvenile gagging noise.

“Okay. Because of that outburst, I’m gonna have to make you a country playlist.” Austin shrugged like it was out of his hands. “That’s all there is to it.”

“That really won’t be necessary.”

“I must.”

“Please don’t.”

“Let me, Prof. I can open you up to parts of yourself you’ve never accessed before. Let me in.”

He was being intentionally cheesy, but language like that with a smile like his… It was a dangerous combination. Not to mention the last time a guy had made me a playlist, it had been a mix tape, and it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me.

I wasn’t about to share that with Austin. I shook my head at him and pretended I was going back to the bonfire.

Austin jumped in front of me and crossed his arms. “What’s your current go-to karaoke number?”