His brown eyes glint. “I’m willing to take the risk.”
We head over to the counter in the back, but it takes way longer than it should, because along the way, girls are trying to get him to dance or sit down with them, and the guys playing the video games shout out to him to come join them. He’s genial about it, but he brushes them all off, and I don’t get the sense it’s just because I’m here. I don’t think he’s a guy that revels in all this attention, not like his bandmates.
I take a beer when we get to the fridge, and he grabs one, too.
“So no Pedialyte for you, after all?” I ask. “Is that a normal thing the venues stock, or an Accidental-Erotica-specific request?”
“Nah,” he says, “It’s pretty standard at venues. You sweat a ton up there on stage—sexy, right?” He waggles his eyebrows, and I laugh. “But I chugged some Gatorade back in my dressing room. I’m good.”
There are some unoccupied stools by the counter, and we sit down.
I look around at the chaos of the green room. “So, do you guys have these parties after every show?”
“Pretty much.” He shrugs. “I don’t usually stay very long, though. It gets kind of exhausting. I don’t have the . . .” He cringes, like he heard just in time what was going to come out of his mouth.
“Stamina?” I prompt him with a grin.
“Thank you for not letting me get away with my dignity on that one.” He shakes his head at me. But he’s smiling back, and takes a drink.
“I don’t blame you,” I say. “I’m—shocker—pretty introverted. And crowds make me anxious.”
“So you decided to spend your night at a rock concert?”
“Myfriendsdecided to spend my night at a rock concert,” I say with a laugh. “It’s a good thing I ended up liking your music.”
“Waaaait,” he says, his eyebrows shooting up. “Hold up. You ‘ended up liking’ the music? So you hadn’t heard it before?”
“Sorry, nope.” I shrug. “Punk rock in general isn’t my thing.”
He eyes me. “So what is your thing? What’s a typical Friday night for Maya Parker?”
“Honestly? I usually stay in.”That describes most of my life, actually, especially when my health gets bad. “I read a lot, but the perfect Friday night would probably involve my favorite horror movie or three.”
“Horror movies, huh?”
“I’ve always been kind of obsessed with them,” I admit. “Even as a kid. Miranda over there—” I point to my still-topless friend, who is straddling JT on an armchair, making out. “She’s been my friend since we were nine. We used to sneak DVDs from our parents’ stash that we weren’t allowed to watch, and her dad had tons of horror movies. Miranda would get scared and usually bail, but I loved them. Poltergeists, zombies, slashers—all of them.”
“Really. And your parents never found out?”
“Not until I was old enough they didn’t care much anymore,” I say with a smile. “By then, I was mostly getting shit from my older brother about how I shouldn’t like that stuff, how racist it all is, how it’s totally catering to a white audience—as if pretty much all of Hollywood isn’t the same. And he’s not wrong, there’s some super problematic stuff in there.”
Kevin nods. “Black guy’s always the supporting character and always gets killed, that kind of thing.”
“Right. And don’t get me started on Stephen King.” I shake my head. “But I feel like fear of the unknown is this universal thing, it’s something that transcends race and gender. I do wish we had more representation in the genre—but that’s a whole other rant you don’t want to hear.”
He grins and takes another drink. “So none of these movies scared you?”
“Not in a way that gave me nightmares or anything. But in a good way—like being on a roller coaster. My parents always teased me about how I never liked change or uncertainty. But with movies . . . I know the turns are coming, but I’m still on the track. It’s like I can feel the fear, but it’s in this controlled way. It’s safe.” I notice he’s watching me pretty intently, and I flush some more.
Why am I telling him all this? I had two margaritas a few hours ago, and about five sips of beer. I am not nearly drunk enough to explain away my behavior tonight.
I take another drink and try to shrug it off. “So how about you? What’s a typical Friday night for Kevin Collins?” I pause. “When he sneaks out early from a party, that is.”
He chuckles. “My typical Friday night doesn’t usually involve parties, unless we’re on tour or Shane drags me out. I’m kind of a homebody myself. I’ll mess around on my guitar, watchTV.”
“What do you watch?”
“A lot of comedies, sitcoms.” He says. “Way too much realityTV.Survivor,Chopped. Any of those shows where they strand Bear Grylls out in some desolate jungle with only a dull paring knife and a Snickers bar.” I laugh, and he grins, then wrinkles his nose. “And maybe a few other ones that I’m reluctant to admit.”
