Mach seemed oblivious to the sudden silence, though, or the eyes on them.
"Lucky winner, Darla," he said, then he gestured to the server. "Anything she wants."
Lucky winner? A bit presumptuous, wasn’t he? But, you know, confidence was a good thing in a dude.
"Club soda with a twist of lemon, please," she said.
"Anything else?" The server—her name tag read Pam—lifted her eyebrows almost as though suggesting Darla pick something else.
Darla’s smile faltered a little, but she recovered. "That’s it."
She wanted a clear head for this evening so she could appropriately determine compatibility. Vodka did not a clear head make.
They got settled—her on one side, him on the other. He stared at her funny, like he was waiting for her to say something.
"What do you think of Dimefront?" she asked, breaking the tab on small talk that didn’t have to do with the rainy weather they’d had in Denver lately. "I was really surprised you could get us in here. These things are impossible to get tickets to."
He lifted one eyebrow in that way that people did that required superior forehead muscle control. Honestly, she didn’t quite understand how they did it. She’d tried and never could make it work—always looked like she was about to have a stroke or something.
Then he cracked a broad smile. "Ha. Funny. Good one."
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.
He stopped, his lips parting in surprise. "Do IlikeDimefront?"
She nodded. That was the question. Small talk and all that.
His mouth opened a little, then closed, then opened again before he said, "Well… hell yeah. Sick beats and I understand the guitar player’s pretty good." He paused. "What do you think?"
"I think their music is good," she said. "On the one hand, the unique lyrics make a person feel something different, you know? The heavy beats and overused chords definitely sound good, and the commercial appeal is undeniable."
He seemed to choke on his beer.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Go on," he sort of coughed out. "This is interesting."
"On the other hand, Dimefront music isn’t quite up to the standards I grew up with. My parents were all into jazz and I have always been more into Miles Davis and Etta James, some Sinatra. You know, the greats."
He covered his mouth with his hand more and more as she spoke, like he was preventing himself from adding to the conversation.
Drat, she didn’t mean to offend him. Of course, he liked Dimefront! This is where he brought her.
"It’s okay if you don’t like jazz," she assured, talking with her hands like she did when she got nervous. "I’m going through something of a transition in my life so I’m totally open to giving bands like Dimefront another shot. That’s why I’m so stoked to be here with you."
"Bands like Dimefront?"
"Uh-huh. You know, the ones that are more for commercial purposes than love of the music."
"Uh…" He ducked his head, his eyes going wider. "You aren’t joking?"
She gave a quick headshake. Was it getting hotter in there? It sure felt like it was. "Honesty is the best policy, right? Especially on the first date."
He stilled and went extra quiet.
"Am I missing something?" she asked.
He pointed to his chest. "Iplayfor Dimefront. Guitar."
