I took a small sip. My eyes went wide. "This tastes like a Popsicle!"
"It's called a Rocket," he said. "Like it?"
"I love it," I said. "I can't taste the alcohol at all."
"Better make sure I don't get you drunk," he said with a wink. "Don't want you falling down and throwing up all over my shoes."
"Gross," I laughed. Nathan could be charmingly cute, when he wasn't being arrogant.
He had gotten himself a plain beer. He guided us to a free table in a dark corner. This time instead of putting his arm around my shoulder, he put it around my waist. His warm hand rested on my hip. I felt the heat of him through my jeans. The flush on my face had nothing to do with the body heat in the club.
Nathan took a sip of his beer and eyed me over the bottle. When he put it down, he pinned me down with a stare. I played with my glass, wondering what was going through his head. Wondering what he was going to say next.
"So you enjoyed the show?" he asked.
Whatever I'd expected, that wasn't it.
"You were awesome," I said. "I don't know if I would have liked being shoved around in the mosh pit, but it was nice listening backstage."
"Nice?" He chuckled. "Our shows have been called a lot of things, but I don't think nice is one of them."
"There's nothing wrong with nice," I said. "It's a compliment."
"Usually people say our shows fucking rock."
"All right, you fucking rocked."
He mocked a gasp. "Did I really hear those words from such pure lips?"
"How do you know I don't swear?" I challenged. "Maybe I have a mouth worse than a sailor."
"You called my rock shownice," he pointed out.
"Why did you even ask what I thought of the show?" I said with a laugh. "You must know how amazing you are."
"I do," he agreed. "But it's always nice to hear it come from someone else's mouth."
"You have no shortage of ego, do you?"
"It's not ego if it's true." His eyes twinkled. "I'm hot shit at what I do and I know it. But…" he trailed off. A brief look of hope crossed his face. "I would like to do something on my own, some day. Maybe even just write a solo song for the next album. Play it acoustic on stage. Or whatever," he said quickly, turning back to his drink, looking flustered. "It's just an idea."
"I think it sounds wonderful," I said. "If you want to do something solo, I'm sure you'd be great at it."
He lifted his gaze from his drink, giving me a considering look. "So what do you kick ass at?" he asked, changing the subject.
"I—" I closed my mouth, thinking. "I'm not sure. I know I definitely haven't found my calling like you've seemed to."
"Don't you work with kids?" he asked.
"I'm not a nurse or anything. I just volunteer there." I could feel his eyes on me, even as I concentrated on my drink. "I mostly keep to the children's ward. The little ones can get kind of stir crazy, being cooped up. Playing with them helps take their minds off everything, you know?"
"I get that," he said.
His quiet tone made me look up. His eyes were clouded over and distant, a somber expression on his face.
"Is your friend okay?" I asked.
He blinked. His expression turned questioning. "Friend?"
