“Hold Onby Alabama Shakes.”
I lift my shot in salute before I down it. That’s a good one, but out of his range. It could be changed in tempo and speed, but it’s still an outlier for him.
“Is this going to be a music man version ofMiscast? Songs no one would ever let you sing in real life?”
“Nah. I could pull it off. Maybe. You go. What does Baylor Mann wish he had found the words for first? Recent stuff only. No obscure vintage shit.”
I groan, and he laughs, gesturing for me to continue.
“All Too Well, Taylor Swift.” I throw at him, mostly due to theno vintage shitcomment.
Cas’s eyebrows shoot up. “Swift in the first round? Can we make a rule no artist repeats?”
“No, we can’t.”
He laughs and takes his own shot, his next song ready. “Harry Styles,Sign of the Times.”
I hoot out a laugh. “So, you admit it! You do admire Harry Styles. Isn’t that whatEntertainment Weeklysuggested?” Cas is edgier than Styles, but the comparisons are there. From clothing and style to sound.
“That was about the song and the song only.” Cas is a little haughty and pouty, and somehow makes it attractive. “Quit stalling.”
I shoot back with a song from Arcade Fire, one by Eddie Vedder, and then Matchbox Twenty’sRest Stop.
Cas rapid fires his answers back to me, too, and I scramble to keep up. We go so fast we forget the shots for a few rounds. It’s just us, talking music.
“Quit picking songs that aren’t hits.” Cas is still pouty. “Makes me feel basic if I’m all top-forty and you aren’t.”
“You can’t be basic, Cas. People literally want tobeyou, ergo, you can’t be basic.”
He snorts, and mutters “ergo,” so even if I am more intoxicated than he is, at least he is catching up. It helps that I am lying on the floor.
“Warrant,I Saw Red.”
Cas buries his face in his pillow. “You and that song! Why do you love it so much?”
“It is the best song about lost love ever written, and I will die on that hill. Lyrics, not arrangement.”
“You let that get out and they will make you return a Grammy or two.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Fine,” he says. “Which one of Them, the Garth Brooks B-side classic no one knows.”
I huff. “Forgivenwas practically that song.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“You passed onForgiven,” I remind him. “Not sure you get an opinion.”
He waves me off. “And OneRepublic took it to number one. I would have been top five of Billboard only with that.”
I chuckle. “Fuck. We are able to wave off songs asonlybeing Billboard top five. When did that happen?”
He smiles, and I notice that somehow during this game we have moved closer to each other. That may have happened when I sprawled out on the floor. I also notice that Cas isn’t as clear as he should be in my vision. I take a long drink of water, as if that will magically counteract the shots I just downed.
“Happened about year five, somewhere in there, I think,” he says leaning back against the side of the couch opposite me. We both just stare out at the snow for a moment.
Cas lifts his hand like he is going to pour, and I reach over the distance to put my hand to the bottle, fingers over his. “Maybe this should settle a bit. I almost see two of you.”
