“I thought yours were supportive of your art career?”
“Yeah, they are,” I said. “I’m lucky as hell. But most of my friends growing up had overbearing parents who were pushing them in a certain direction. My best friend, Meghan, became an accountant because she got an A in Calculus and her parents decided she needed to find a career that has a lot of math.”
“Meghan the friend who barged into the dressing room after our Austin show?”
“The one and only.”
Cash poured the rest of the wine bottle into each of our glasses. “I know I only met her the one time, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who allows herself to be pushed around.”
“In general, you’re right. Her parents are her one weakness. And it kind of worked out because she has a good career as a CPA. And she’ll be able to work remotely if and when they get pregnant.”
Cash slowly nodded along. “Do you want kids?”
“Oof. Jumping straight to an intense topic.”
“I waited until we were both nice and wine drunk,” he said with a smile. “But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”
“I was just giving you shit.” I leaned into him for a moment to let him know I was joking. The physical touch, skin on skin, made me feel just as warm as the wine in my stomach. “Ilovekids. I think I want them.”
“You think?”
Shrugging, I said, “I’m fairly sure I want them. But I’m pragmatic enough to know I might change my mind. Or find a partner who doesn’t want kids at all.”
Cash cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “That’s a pretty big incompatibility. You’d really sacrifice what you want for your partner?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just trying to keep my options open, I guess.” I shrugged it off again. “What about you?”
“I do want kids,” he said simply. “Two is a nice number, but I could be talked into three.”
“Two is a nice number,” I agreed. “Any more than that, and you’re outnumbered.”
“And you have to get a bigger vehicle!”
“Exactly!”
We laughed about that, and then Cash opened another bottle of wine while we changed the subject to thenextbook on his list.
That night while I drifted to sleep, I thought about how much I liked Cash. I likedallof them, but Cash and I had an intellectual connection that went deeper. I felt so lucky that I’d been invited on tour with such a wonderful group of people.
Up until now, I focused mostly on Riot during the shows. It was tough not to since he was the frontman, with his smooth vocals streaming from every speaker at every venue. But during the Toronto show, I focused on Cash instead. He was a calmerpresence on stage, confidently plucking at his bass guitar while bobbing his head in time with the music.
I thought about everyone’s roles in the band. Riot was the leader, obviously. The face that everyone saw the most. On drums, Milo was the heart, constantly beating in the background and giving energy to everyone else. Violet was… well, I wasn’t sure what she was. The brain, maybe, since she wrote most of the songs with Riot.
But Cash was the backbone of the band. His bassline was calm and sturdy, reinforcing everyone else. The metaphor extended off stage, too: he drove the bus, did all the planning, coordinated our hotels and appearances.
Cash didn’t have the raw sexual energy that Riot gave off, but he was immensely attractive in his own way.
After the show, the two of us split a bottle of pre-mixed margaritas and stayed up until two in the morning. We didn’t even discuss the book that we’d both finished that day; we drifted from topic to topic, childhoods and role models, hobbies and bad habits.
When we eventually decided to call it a night, Cash wrapped me in a big hug. We were both pretty sloshed from the margaritas, and clung to each other for support as much as emotional connection.
“I’ve really enjoyed our late-night chats,” he said, slurring his words slightly. “I haven’t had a reading partner since I was a teenager. I’m glad you’re on tour with us, Rox.”
“Same,” I replied.
Neither of us seemed to want to end the embrace, but eventually it did, and we went to our separate bunks.
But his comment made me smile until I fell asleep.
