“Dude, whoever is in there. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but something’s blocking the door.”
“I’m starting to hate her,” Marc grumbled.Fucking cockblocker.
Chris didn’t say anything. He just silently chuckled while zipping his jeans and letting his baggy t-shirt cover the evidence of his arousal, walking away from the bassist. They were acting like a pair of horny teenagers sneaking into each other’s bedrooms through the window at night.
“Ugh! One sec!” he said, grinning at him.
Once Marc had sorted his clothes and sat on the couch with his instrument covering his boner, Chris opened the door.
“Sorry, the amp was in the way.” He gestured to the piece of gear in question, completely nonchalant.
Leah shifted her gaze between them for a moment, rolled her eyes, and walked into the rehearsal room. “You think my mom dropped me as a baby?”
“What?” both men asked in unison.
“I was better at hiding this stuff as a teenager than you two are as adults.” She shoved her hand into the small pocket of her backpack purse and pulled out her lip balm. “Here,” she said, offering it to the bassist as she plopped beside him on the couch, dropping the bag at her feet.
“What’s this for?”
“Your lips?” Sarcasm laced her tone. “They’re red as fuck, shitheads.”
Busted.
Marc applied some of the Vaseline with his finger over his bottom lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he poorly denied, passing the tiny round container to Chris.
“Oh, it’s the cherry one,” he said, completely unbothered that Leah had caught them. Maybe he was fine with her knowing? She’d always been his confidant. “It’s my fave.”
“How was your Norse weekend?” Marc asked, trying to redirect the conversation to her visit to Søren.
She shook her head, letting out a soft chuckle. “Fine. I’ll keep pretending I know nothing until you stop being idiots.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But you better make me your best man and maid of honor when you get married for putting up with your bullshit for so long.”
“Who’s getting married?” Erik asked as he entered the room.
“Oooh! Look who’s here!” Chris crooned. “The man of the hour!” He hugged him, patting his back. “Welcome home!”
“Thanks. But seriously, who’s getting married? I don’t have any more money to spend this year.” He tossed his jacket on the empty seat of the couch. “Betty and Wilma are probably wealthier than me at this moment.”
“No one’s getting married.” Chris dismissed his question as he walked towards the mini-fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “Jäger was just saying that she wants to be the best man and maid of honor at my wedding.” He took a sip.
“As if that would ever happen.” The drummer laughed.
“Right? Exactly what I was telling her.”
Baffled, Marc and Leah stared at each other, then at their friends, who continued chit-chatting for a few more minutes. The ability Chris had to hide everything was appalling, often overshadowing the absurd.
“How was the trip?” she asked, joining the conversation. “You look more tanned than when we came back from the States.”
“And I probably am. We’ve been hiking or lying on the beach like lizards. You should see Julia.”
“She got sunburned?” Leah twisted her mouth.
“So bad… She has the best skin, though. Not only is it smooth as fuck, but she also heals super fast.”
“Not you bragging about your girlfriend,” Marc quipped.
Erik shrugged, grinning from ear to ear.
The four musicians chuckled and, instead of rehearsing, they kept talking about everything and nothing for a while. Comfortably settling in when Chris offered a beer to each one of them.
