He was a quick study. I scrunched my lips up as I ran through my mental Rolodex. “I’m going to have to say Of Montreal.”
His eyes went wide. “You know them?”
“Uh. Duh.” My eyes rolled. “Kind of a music freak here.”
“If your music collection got destroyed, what would be the first album you’d buy again?”
I burst out laughing. “Would you believe this has happened to me? An entire disk driveandthe backup drive lost.”
“Oh, shit. Worst nightmare.”
The first album I’d downloaded, not bought—I figured it wasn’t stealing if I’d bought it once before—was Walking Disaster’s eponymous album. But I applied the same rules as before. “The first album I replaced was Muse,Black Holes and Revelations.”
“Excellent choice.”
“You?”
“Metallica,Master of Puppets.”
“Ah, Lars Ulrich, huh?”
“You know your drummers!”
“A few.”
He paused for a second and then he said, “Come this way.”
We turned right onto a street marked Sixth. The traffic and noise fell away. Store fronts gave way to a never-ending row of townhouses, trees, and quiet, maybe a back way to Jo’s.
Conversation stalled as if it had fed off the life of the busy city behind us. He’d once again put me at my ease, but ever since I’d said something wrong before, he hadn’t invaded my space. I decided to come right out and ask the question that troubled me. “So, do you have some kind of no-fan dating rule or something?”
“Me?” He looked genuinely shocked. “I can’t afford to have any kind of no dating rule.”
His honesty made me chortle.
“I’m going to sound really lame here for a minute.” He scratched his chin like he was deciding whether to speak. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What did you honestly think of Noah when you first saw him?”
I decided to play along. “I thought he was pretty.” I waited a beat. “Pretty arrogant.”
He smiled, but he stared at his feet. “Women usually have their eye on him. It used to be Micah, but Micah’s no longer eligible.”
Was he really asking me to sympathize that Noah and Micah got more tail?
“Ladies don’t fall all over you, Shane?” I pouted dramatically, like he was telling me some problem I’d care about.
“No.” His hands opened and closed as he weighed his words. “I mean, yes, they do, but I’m not the end game.”
“What are you saying?” I tilted my head so I could better look into his eyes. “Girls use you to get to Noah? But that’s—” awful, hurtful, disgusting “—inconceivable.”
That little smile curled up the corner of his lip, and he relaxed, shooting me a tentative glance. “So, that’s where I’m at with dating fans.”
“Oh, I see.” I didn’t.
“Can I hold your hand?”
