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“Ididn’t smile,” he denied a second time. “Iwas watching you.”
Takenaback,Iscanned my memories.Didhe smile, or was that a figment of my imagination?Ihad been so sure he was amused by my fall.Wasit possible he was merely watching me from afar likeI’dbeen watching him?
Rawmagnetism of the serial killer in the making was undoubtedly blindsiding me.Orperhaps it was his aroma.Hissmell was messing with the rational part of my brain.Whatthe fuck was that scent?Citrus, lavender oil, jasmine?Theintoxicating scent was making me dizzy.
Pushingmy notebook off my lap,Iquickly stood. “MayIhelp you with something?”
Whenhe didn’t respond,Iturned to find him scanning my notebook.Thecarefully crafted list lay dormant under the man’s watchful eyes.Heraised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Bucketlist?”
“Hm,”Igrunted noncommittally without offering further explanation.Mypast list of boyfriends and the reason for my new mission was too embarrassing to divulge.
Amazingly, he didn’t ask, either, merely standing to his full height.He’dreturned to his earlier get-up with combat boots, jeans, and a black t-shirt.Iblinked after his retreating form as he disappeared inside the venue’s main building.Heemerged within seconds, this time with two beer cans in hand.
Shotguna beer.
Itwas the second item on my list, asIhad completed and scratched off the first.
Tuckinga can under his armpit, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his keys.Beersprayed from the can as he stabbed the side of it with the sharp end of his key.Hepressed a thumb on the aluminum to make the hole bigger before passing me the can.Iheld the can horizontally, flabbergasted over this stranger’s odd mannerisms.
Noone in their right mind would’ve started on completing another person’s bucket list without consulting them or asking permission to join the fun.Thenagain,Ihad long decided this man wasn’t normal.
Hepunctured a hole in his beer can, then glanced at me. “Placeyour thumb over the tab and your mouth over the hole,” he instructed. “Takea deep breath, then tilt your head back and chug fast.Openthe tab with your thumb after you start drinking.”
Theman worked for a prestigious venue and regularly encountered powerful people.Heknew the potential consequences of pissing off the wrong person.Fearingthe same, even the snobs and gossips from my world acted with care while interacting with an unknown.Yet, he ordered me around like we were familiar, giving zero fucks about my standing in society or how he came off.
WhereasIshould be offended by his bossiness,Ifound it amusing.
“Cheers.”Iraised my can as he did the same and tilted my head back.
Bittermalt cascaded down my throat.Ichugged quickly, not allowing myself to think.Myesophagus wouldn’t comply, unable to keep up with the rapid flow of liquid.Fora second,Ididn’t believeIcould do it and considered lowering the can.BeforeIcould,Ifelt his finger gently hovering over mine to pry open the tab.Itlet out the air inside the can and gave my goal a second wind.Isloppily glugged down the remaining content.Beerdribbled past my chin and onto my pretty pink tank top.Ididn’t care.Burstsof adrenaline surged through my system asIlowered my can.Hiswas already empty.
Icouldn’t have wiped the smile off my face hadItried.Thiswas the most aliveIhad felt this weekend, and all we had done was shotgun a beer together.Itwas so basic, yetIcouldn’t help the exhilaration it brought me.
“Thankyou.Thatwas… fun.”
Insteadof acknowledging my gratitude, he grabbed the can to dispose of it and threw another unsolicited curveball my way. “ZaneTrimalchio.”
Eventhe way he introduced himself was odd.Ismiled. “Niceto meet you,DJZane.OrshouldIcall youDJAxlRose?”
Hisbrows shot up at my reference to the lead singer inGunsN’Roses.
Unveiledcuriosity marred his beautiful face. “Youpicked up on theGunsN’Rosessongs in my mix.”Hesounded surprised and… impressed?
Ahot flush crept up my neck. “AxlRose’svoice is a hard one to miss.”
Hisexpression was unmoved. “Yet, no one else had caught onto it until now.”
Ilifted a shoulder. “Noone else was paying attention.”
Hewatched me under hooded eyes as if trying to figure me out. “Youdon’t seem the type to likeGunsN’Roses.”
Itilted my head to the right. “Whattype doIlook like?”
“Vanilla,” he replied without hesitation. “Iassumed you’d like something more,” he gestured at my bright pink shirt, “teeny bopper.”
“Boththings can be true,”Ishot back without scoffing or denying my ‘vanilla-ness.’Itwas true thatIwas sheltered, another reason whyIgravitated toward men who were rough around the edges.Didn’tmeanIcouldn’t appreciate the flip side of the coin. “Ilike everything from classical music to teeny-bopper to heavy metal.Theonly thingIdon’t like are snobs who claim rights over a particular genre of music.”Iraised my chin at him pointedly.
Theturn in the conversation didn’t deter him. “Classicalmusic?” he inquired curiously.
