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To his credit, they were very nice biceps.
Of all the bars in all of LA, Neanderthal Neighbor Jamie had to be playing in this one. Of all the people I could be with in front of my neighbor, it had to be “not a hair out of place,” “irons his jeans,” “eats vegan and Instagrams his green smoothies” guy. I prayed that Jamie couldn’t see me through the haze of the crowded bar and the dim dark, lit only by the neon lights of the stage.
A cheer went up through the crowd, and I turned to catch the end of Jamie ripping his faded grey T-shirt straight down the center and flinging it from his sculpted shoulders like some sort of Irish Tarzan. Still hidden behind the cover of my hands, I couldn’t help the thrill seeing his bare chest sent through my body. In a single moment I felt more than I had talking to Tom for thirty-three agonizing minutes.
“Oy fuckers!” Jamie shouted into the microphone set up in front of his drum kit as he twirled his drumsticks expertly between his tattooed fingers. I blushed as I wondered what else he could do with those fingers. “Let’s rock!”
Jamie and the two guitarists next to him launched into the first rowdy, irreverent song. It was one I heard plenty of times through the paper-thin walls separating our apartments.
“This guy is good.” Tom leaned over to shout into my ear over the noise.
I shrugged, trying to show the highest levels of apathy possible. “I’ve heard better.”
With a savage strength and wild passion, Jamie pounded on the drums and belted into the microphone. I felt it all thundering in my chest and it was unlike anything I’d felt before.
“He’s really not that good at all,” I shouted toward Tom over the roar of the crowd as Jamie finished his first song and launched right into the next one, somehow exerting even more energy than before.
A fine layer of sweat glistened across Jamie’s wide chest, covered the wiry red hair on his pecs, and slipped down his abs. He was hypnotic to watch as he threw himself completely into the music, his eyes closed, his arms flailing, foot pounding at the bass drum.
“In fact, it’s pretty bad, if you ask me,” I shouted to Tom, though I could already hear my voice losing its conviction.
I hadn’t even bothered to take my eyes off of Jamie in order to speak to him. How could I? I’d never seen someone bare their soul so openly in front of total strangers before. He wasn’t hiding anything—the man wasn’t holding a single thing back from his audience. I wasn’t even sure he knew that we were there at a certain point. It was just Jamie and the drums and the music and the lights. I couldn’t look away.
“I don’t like him,” I said.
I hadn’t thought Tom would have been able to hear me. But he scooted closer to me.
“What?”
“I mean, I don’t like his music,” I corrected quickly.
Out of the corner of my eye, because I still refused to look away from Jamie, I saw Tom shake his head.
“Then you’re crazy.”
I remained in some weird hypnotic state for a total of five songs, steadily downing an additional two drinks Tom ordered for me, and unable to keep my eyes off the stage.
Finally, Jamie stood, nearly breaking the drums as he hammered out the final notes of the song. The crowd went crazy, cheered him on, feet stomping and hands clapping.
“Whiskey break, you bunch of assholes,” he shouted over the applause. “Back in fifteen.”
The bar broke into movement, with people hurrying toward either the long line for the bathroom or the long line for the bar or the long line of people vaping outside against the brick exterior of the bar.
“Another drink?” Tom asked, shaking his empty vodka and soda glass.
I nodded. “Sure.” Why not?
He stood and I sighed, because he was hot and nice and, sure, maybe a little vain, but who isn’t? Still, I felt nothing. Nilch. Notta. Zippo. Even if it was just all physical for the sex study, I needed to feelsomething.
I was in the middle of sighing again when someone bumped into our table.
“Oh, sorr—” I stopped when I saw Jamie towering over me, bare chest still heaving like an animal in the middle of hunting its prey.
“What are you apologizing for?” he asked, that infuriating grin there again at the corner of his lips.
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. “I wasn’t apologizing.”
“Yes, you were.”
