Page 121 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Do you want to watch me play, baby?” Damien asks me, ignoring his bassist’s question.

I press my lips together, feeling timid all the sudden. “I... I mean. It’s okay if you don’t want to get sweaty before we go. I totally get that. But it was actually kind of hard to see you play the night of the show. You’re kind of behind everyone. But—I know it’s work for you, so—”

“No, no!” He nods almost eagerly. “I mean. Like, yeah, of course. I’ll play anything you want.”

“Maybe Lillith should be our manager,” Oren says with a yawn.

“No kidding,” Fletcher says with a chuckle. “Come on, Lillith. I’ll get you set up with some studio cans.”

When I look up at Damien with a confused expression, hey gives me a charmed laugh. “Slang for studio-grade headphones, sweetheart. That way you can hear me play with the rest of the already-recorded music.”

“Oh, okay. Cool,” I smile at Fletcher with a nod. “Sorry, I’m kind of stupid when it comes to this stuff.”

“It’s not stupidity; you’re not a recording musician,” Fletcher says, his Irish brogue somehow making his quiet kindness even more endearing. “Come on, Damien’s probably gonna have to do some stupid good luck ritual or some shit. I’ll show you some stuff we’ve been recording while he does that, if you like.”

“Oh my god, absolutely,” I say.

“I feel kind of stupid for not thinking about showing you the new stuff,” Damien says sheepishly as he starts peeling off his jacket. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t want to pry. I figured it was super secret.”

“It is, technically,” Oren chimes in with a wink. “Be a good girl and don’t leak our album, alright?”

“God, let me get this over with before you fall in love with one of my bandmates,” Damien gripes. “Bringing you here was dangerous.”

“Come on,” Fletcher says again, motioning for the door with his mop of copper curls.

I leave Damien’s side to follow Fletcher into the recording studio. It’s a pleasant looking little room, bisected by a wall with a glass window that looks over a space filled with a bunch of instruments and mics and strategically placed foam pads that I assume do... something.

Fletcher introduces me to the soundboard. The sliders and knobs all look dizzying to me, but Fletcher messes with them all like he lives there as he powers up an iMac on a platform nearby. He explains that he’s doing a lot of the engineering on the album—that it’s how he actually joined the band originally. In the beginning, it was just Oren and Damien, and a bassist that would drop in for studio sessions. Oren played guitar originally, but it was hard for him to do both at once so Fletcher stepped in to help.

“We hit it off pretty quick. Oren and I found out we had a lot in common, so after they recorded their demos, Oren invited me to join the band,” he says.

“Really?” I ask. “I assumed you guys had always been a band, like since the very beginning.”

“It was just Oren and me at first,” Damien says as he comes into the room. He’s shirtless and shoeless, wearing nothing but his black socks and his jeans.

Fletcher sputters a laugh. “You’re looking awfully naked,” Fletcher says. “No shoes?”

“Wingtips are too slippery for this,” he says as he rolls his shoulders. “And I’m serious, I don’t want to sweat all over my clothes before I take Lillith out.”

“He’s adorably obsessed with you,” Fletcher tells me, the low volume of his voice emphasizing his accent. “Dame’s always been quick to fall for girls, but I’ve never seen him devote himself quite so zealously as he has with you.”

“I can hear your stage whisper, Fletch,” Damien says.

“Yeah? What did I say then, Loverboy?” Fletcher says.

Damien’s lips form a pout before he rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, I can hear that you’re stage whispering. And pick out a few words. And from what I can glean, I don’t appreciate it.”

“He’s just saying you’re obsessed with me, baby,” I say at normal volume.

He straightens a little. “Did you just...call me ‘baby?’” he asks.

The question completely derails me. “D-did I?” I ask, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks. “I mean—uhm... Is that weird? Is it weird to use pet names on a fully grown man?”

He hurries over to me, gathering my face in his hands and nuzzling his nose against mine.

“No! Of course not. I love it. I just thought you were maybe one of those girls that don’t like using them. Also, Fletch is completely correct. I’m absolutely obsessed with you,” he says.