Page 14 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Well, what do you do for fun?” he asks. “What’s your go-to when you’re out on the town late at night?”

I smile hesitantly. “I don’t know if my idea of late night fun is going to be your thing,” I say. “Honestly, I’m kind of a homebody most nights. When I leave, I go to this bookshop called The Nocturne. It’s open from seven at night to seven in the morning, and their whole thing is coffee and places to chill and work. I usually just order a dirty chai and read there.”

“Why wouldn’t that be my thing?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Don’t rock stars go get shitfaced and do cocaine or something?”

He barks a laugh. “Well—okay, once in a while. Not personally, though. Aside from the devil’s lettuce, the guys and I pretty much abstain. Can’t put on a good show if you’re constantly recovering from one bender or another.”

“But... you had liquor tonight, right?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Yeah, a couple whiskeys, which is why I’m not driving you around right now,” he says. “Helps take the edge off when I’m nervous.”

“Your poor liver,” I tease. “A few whiskeys every time you perform?”

“Oh, you misunderstand me. I’m not someone with stage fright,” he says with a sly smile. “But I had a pair of eyes on me in the crowd tonight that left me a little wound up.”

I roll my eyes. “Stop, you don’t have to lay it on so thick,” I say.

“What? I’m not being dishonest,” he says. “I wanted to do a good job tonight. I was genuinely concerned about impressing you.”

“First of all, you’re one of the best drummers out there. I refuse to believe you were nervous—”

“That is super debatable,” he says.

“Don’t be modest.”

“I’m not! I’m a good drummer, but I’m not one of the best. That’s reserved for... I don’t know. Niel Peart and Jeff Porcaro. Joey Jordison.”

“Second of all,” I continue, too embarrassed to admit I don’t know any of those names, “I’m pretty sure some random girl in the crowd at a random tour stop is the last thing on your mind while you’re playing.”

“Is that what you think you are?” he asks, his expression softening with surprising earnestness. “Some Random Girl?”

“I mean... I am. Right? You didn’t know me before we met outside. You didn’t know me when you kissed me. I didn’t exist in your world until a few hours ago.”

“That’s how it is for everyone in the world, Lillith,” he says. “Everyone is a stranger until they aren’t. No one exists until they do. I wasn’t fucking around when I said meeting you felt portentous.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls you take out,” I say.

“Maybe,” he says. “But I always mean it.”

I meet his eyes again and we spend a few seconds searching each other’s gazes. I don’t know what he’s looking for in mine, but I think I find what I’m looking for in his. There’s not a hint of teasing in his expression. Not a crinkle to his eyes, not a tilt in his mouth. Again, that earnestness returns, making me feel flustered and breathless.

“It would be so painful... if you meant it every time. To have that and lose it again and again. It’d be devastating.”

He lifts a tatted hand, scratching his nose and my eyes catch half of the tattoo across his knuckles as he nods. I feel so stupid for walking right into his stage name like that, Damien Devastation. Duh.

“I—I just mean—”

“No, no, I get it,” he says, smiling at me. “I guess some people are just worth being devastated over, you know?”

“Easy to say when you’re the one doing the devastating, right?”

He starts to say something when the ride share pulls to a stop in front of the restaurant.

“Fuck yeah,” Damien says. “Stay right there. I’ll come round and get you.”

“I can open a door.”