Jean Haus - With the Band

“It’s a bit cold to be getting air.”

In seconds, Sam stood in front of me. A fifth of something dangled from one hand, a book from the other. Parties sometimes bored Sam, so he always brought something to read. “You and Seth fighting again?”

I nodded and sighed, then looked at the ground.

He stepped closer. “You okay?”

“I’m all right,” I said tightly, still refusing to lift my head.

He stepped closer. “Hey, you want me to get Jill for you?”

“No.” Jill’s last three weekends had been ruined by Seth and me fighting. Each time, she’d left the party with me, then listened to me cry all night. If she was hooking up with college boy, whom she’d been flirting with for weeks, I wasn’t going to ruin it.

“Well, you can’t sit out here. It’s too cold. Come on, I’ll walk you in.”

“Thanks, but no,” I said. Sam was always helping me too, after these stupid fights. Seth made me cry. Sam helped me laugh. “I’m not going in there. We fought in front of everyone. Broke up in front of everyone.”

He sighed. “Okay, come on. We can hang in the barn.” Though it was dark outside, he somehow read the confusion on my face. He laughed. “No worries. We won’t be hanging with the cows. There’s a small office in the back with a space heater.”

I shook my head. “Um, aren’t you supposed to play tonight?” People flocked to every party the Bottle Rockets played at. I knew that as soon as they started the first song—and usually they played only three or four—the house would be packed wall-to-wall. All the band members got some attention, but it always seemed to me that more than half of the girls were in love with Seth.

“Midnight. Seth wants a big crowd, but everything’s set up in the basement since Wes’s kit is already there.” He nodded toward the barn. “Come on.”

I reluctantly followed him past the other cars and across the driveway to the barn.

“You’ll see,” Sam said over his shoulder, leading the way. “The office really isn’t that bad for being in a barn. Wes’s dad even sleeps back here sometimes when a cow is sick or whatever.”

We went in a side door and down a dark hallway, where the scent of cows got stronger with each step. Sam stepped inside a dark room at the end of the hall and tugged on a chain hanging from the ceiling, and the space was then encased in a soft glow. There was a desk, shelves behind it filled with books, an old couch covered with afghans, and a space heater that Sam flicked on before shutting the door and turning to me.

At the sight of my tears in the light, he shook his head. “Seth’s an asshole.”

Seeing the pity in his light blue eyes sent more tears falling down my cheeks. He set the fifth on the desk, then pulled me onto the couch and into his arms as usual. I was always crying on Sam’s shoulder. It had become so constant, just the feel of him was comforting. After letting me cry against his coat for a few minutes, he asked, “What was it this time?”

“Same old stuff,” I mumbled into his coat. “I’m a cheating, rumor-spreading bitch.”

He sighed into my hair. “I’m not sure where he gets this shit, but my blind brother needs his ass kicked.”

My fingers curled around the lapel of his jacket. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“All right.”

I glanced around the room. “Thanks for showing me this place. I was freezing my ass off outside. But you don’t have to stay in here with me.”

“Maybe I want to stay in here with you.”

A cow’s muted moo filled the silence until Sam said, “‘She Don’t Use Jelly’ by the Flaming Lips.”

A sad giggle escaped me. I could always expect a laugh with Sam around. “‘Satan Gave Me a Taco.’ Beck.”

He smirked down at me. The first few times we met, Sam and I had tried to one-up each other on musical knowledge, but we soon became convinced neither of us knew more than the other. Then Sam started this game of trying to match songs. No one else seemed to get it but us.

I sat up a little but Sam’s arm stayed around my shoulders. “Are we supposed to be in here?”

“Wesley doesn’t give a shit, and his parents are in Florida for the winter. He turned eighteen this year, so they pay him to keep up the farm for a few months.”

“Huh, I can’t imagine my parents taking off for the winter, and I’ve been eighteen since September.” I glanced at the fifth sitting on the desk. To avoid extra calories, I normally only allowed myself two drinks at any party—and I’d already had those inside—yet something about the fight with Seth made me want to ignore my usual limits. “Can I have a drink?”

“It’s tequila.”

I shrugged.

“I brought it to pass around, but sure, let’s have our own party.” Sam leaned over me and grabbed the bottle. The sensation of his body sliding across mine made my breath hitch for a second, which seemed strange. After shucking our coats, we passed the bottle back and forth—the first couple of sips were tough to hold down—and talked music, laughing as we argued about whose taste in bands was better. Flipping pages, he read some lines from the book he’d brought with him, which was called High Fidelity and set in London. From what I was hearing, the novel sounded like a mix of music and heartache. I didn’t get all the sarcastic humor, but Sam’s lame British accent made me laugh as hard as the quotes. I felt strangely calm and free, until half the fifth was gone and the conversation led back to the Bottle Rockets and Seth.

“You guys going to keep the band going at Michigan?” I asked, my voice breaking at “guys” because it included Seth.

Sam lifted my chin with a finger. “Hey, Peyton. He’ll come around. He always does.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do it anymore,” I said in a raw whisper.

“Do you want to do it anymore?” Sam whispered back.

“No. No, I don’t,” I said, truly believing it in that buzzed moment.

The whispering somehow made the moment intimate, created a connection that wasn’t there or made me aware of one that I’d previously ignored. My breath hitched again.

Sam leaned closer, his eyes searching mine. “Seth and you are truly over?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said softly, feeling caught in Sam’s gaze. “I told him so.”

Before I realized what was happening, his arms were around me, and his lips were on mine. More startling than his kiss was my reaction to it. The soft demanding pulse of his mouth set me on fire. His slow searching tongue was a driving burn that made me want to explore. I locked my hands behind his neck and kissed him back. The kiss was long and hot and air draining, and drew me into a cocoon of lust.

Warm and languid, I floated through sensations that I hoped would never stop. Soft lips gliding across the contours of my neck. Calloused fingers easing under my shirt and caressing my waist, gliding up to my ribs. The silky whisper of a tongue following the curve of my ear. Palms, so searing that I felt their heat through the silk of my bra, cupping my breasts. A warm, wet mouth trailing across my cheek.

Breathless, yearning for more, I felt free of the inhibition and apprehension that had so often marred my intimacy with Seth. Though I’d lost weight, I was still extremely conscious of my body. Jill had always told me that any man was lucky to be with me, no matter what my size, but I always worried about not being good or beautiful enough for him. In theory, I knew Jill was right, but I could just never relax enough to let things go further. Yet everything about being with Sam on the couch felt so fluid and natural that self-consciousness about my figure was the last thing on my mind.