Collision Course Page 2

  Angus leaned out of the booth we were sitting in, in order to be able to see who was entering. He was effectively blocking my view, so I sat back, waiting patiently and wondering whether Simon and Zach had finally managed to find me.

  “Hey man,” I heard Oz say, which sounded like he was greeting someone familiar, so I revised my expectations. Not Zach or Simon, but maybe another band member or a roadie.

  “Hey,” said a voice that also sounded somewhat familiar, and a little cranky. There was a sound, as though someone was dropping wet fabric onto the floor – on second thought, I figured that was a very likely guess considering the weather – and then steps moved towards us.

  “Why the fuck’s it so quiet in here?” the cranky voice demanded to know, and someone rushed past me and went to press buttons on the entertainment system that was peeking out from between slabs of wood paneling. A moment later, Rage Against The Machine blasted through the bus speakers.

  I hadn’t caught a good glimpse of his face, but I was still certain that the man who had just entered the bus was Collision’s lead singer. For one, I knew him to be tall. The trademark dark wild hair and pale skin was also a damn good match, and the hint of attitude fit Rhys to a tee.

  “Who the fuck’s that?” he asked when he turned around and spotted me, and I didn’t detect a lot of friendliness in his voice.

  “This is, ah…” Angus obviously tried hard to recall the name he had assured me he would be able to remember, lowering his head with his hand stretched out towards me. “This is Red... shit, no. Blue. He’s cool.”

  I smiled and greeted Rhys with the most casual of nods. It was getting difficult to reign in the fanboy attitude. Oz and Angus were pretty cool guys, and over the last… hour? How long had it been? …I’d nearly managed to forget that I was talking to two of my favorite musicians. Now, with Rhys here, who wasn’t only the lead singer, but also a near genius songwriter, I was getting giddy again. The only thing holding me back from asking for autographs after all was the fact that I’d heard from more than one source that Rhys wasn’t generally big on fan interaction.

  “So who ordered the shitty-ass weather?” Oz asked in what I was pretty sure was an attempt to forestall any awkward silences. I appreciated it, especially as it kept Rhys from scrutinizing me too thoroughly and maybe attempt to kick me off the bus or something. The singer raised one hand in obvious frustration, his face expressing distaste.

  “Wisconsin and Iowa are a lot alike in that way,” I picked up the topic which we had dropped upon Rhys entering. “You heard the saying ‘if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes’? Definitely applies to both states. So I’m hoping this won’t last too much longer.” Faintly, I realized I was babbling complete nonsense, and resolved to shut the fuck up unless I was sure of what I was saying.

  “Yeah, I could do without.” Angus returned to the fridge once more, rummaging through it. “Not that it really matters.”

  “Hand me one of mine, will you?” Rhys demanded rather than asked. I fought a near-irresistible and completely idiotic urge to add ‘please’ to the end of his sentence like my mother had always done when I was little. Rhys’ presence was really messing with me.

  Angus handed me a can of what looked like an energy drink without getting up from his crouching position. Still tense, I passed the beverage on to Rhys, who accepted it with a nod and cracked the top before sitting down on a nearby couch.

  “Wrap-up going okay?” Angus asked as he finally appeared to have found what he was looking for.

  Rhys shrugged. “I don’t know, I didn’t hang around,” he muttered into his drink.

  “He’ll just call later,” Oz contributed, and I realized I didn’t have a fucking clue what they were talking about. I leaned back comfortably and listened, which seemed like the only viable move, really.

  “Eh, whatever,” Rhys shrugged. “I’m fucking tired.”

  ‘Yeah,” Angus confirmed neutrally, and stared out the window. The music was still blaring from the speakers, but apart from that, it was strangely quiet in the bus.

  Then someone banged against the door, causing us all to turn towards it. Oz was the first one to get up, opening the door and apparently being engaged in a conversation just a moment later. Rhys and Angus both leaned to have a look.

  “Oh,” Rhys said eventually, which didn’t tell me anything. Angus left his seat and walked to the door as well, but Rhys settled back comfortably. He caught me looking at him as he did, and I gave him a brief polite smile before settling my eyes on something else. Unnervingly, I still felt his eyes on me.

  “What’s your name?” He still didn’t sound friendly, exactly, but even his neutral tone was welcome.

  “Blue,” I replied, looking at him again. “Like the color.”

  “Weird name.”

  I thought that was pretty rich coming from a guy named Rhys Udelhoven. Mind you, I only knew that bit of trivia because I was a longtime fan. He'd long ago decided on simply “Rhys” for his stage name.

  He sipped on his drink. I found myself wondering randomly whether this was his go-to beer alternative. Rhys didn’t make a secret out of the fact that he was a recovering alcoholic.

  “Were you at the show?” he asked then.

  “Yeah,” I said and drank as well. “Great show.” Then, as though to give the impression that it wasn’t just Collision In Reverse I had come here for, I added “My friend plays for one of the local openers.”

  “Cool,” Rhys nodded, without appearing to care in the slightest. I couldn’t honestly blame him for that. I was pretty sure lots of unknown bands tried to catch his attention one way or another. If I wanted to have an actual, non-awkward conversation with this guy, it was probably a good idea to change the topic to one he was actually interested in. Himself, for instance.

  “So were you pretty happy with how the show went?” I asked the first thing that came to my mind in that direction.

  He nodded, fumbled for something in his pocket, and a second later offered me his pack of cigarettes.

  Wait, what?

  He caught me off-guard with this one. After him being rather unfriendly at first, this was a bit of a one-eighty, and I wasn’t sure what had caused it. Unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, I accepted a cigarette.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He lifted his lighter, but made no motion to throw it to me, so I got up from my seat and leaned towards the flame.

  I hadn’t lied when I had told Simon I didn’t smoke. I rarely ever did, usually in situations like this one, wanting to be social for some important reason, or else when I was drunk enough to actually enjoy the taste. For the sake of encouraging Rhys' nnew-found politeness, I suppressed any hint of distaste as I settled back into my seat.

  He pulled on his cigarette and smiled at me, the first time I’d seen him do it since he entered the bus.

  “I don’t bite,” he said, sounding amused.

  I shrugged, giving him a confused half-smile as I got to my feet once more.

  “You looked like you were enjoying your personal space there,” I explained, and when he shifted to one side of the couch, obediently sat down on the other.

  “Yeah, I was pretty happy with how things went,” he answered my earlier question. “My amp cut out once, I dunno if you could hear that, but apart from that it was a pretty good concert.”

  “During which song did it happen?”

  “Misfit Plus One,” he told me.

  I had no idea whether I, with my fairly limited musical knowledge, would have been able to hear what he was referring to, but I did have a pretty good ear, after all, and it couldn’t hurt to reassure him.

  “Well, if it makes you feel better, I didn’t hear a thing,” I said, pulling on the cigarette again and lowering my eyes to stare at the floor. Somewhere on the way, I realized the likely reason for Rhys’ mood change.

  The towel I’d had wrapped around my shoulders had shifted and fallen a while back, still lying
on the seat I had vacated. I was wearing a white shirt – or rather, a shirt that had been white but was now leaning firmly in the direction of see-through. My nipple piercings, and the chain connecting the two rings, were clearly visible and pretty much unmistakable.

  Oh, I thought, and then, slightly more cynically, Shocker. Rhys had never commented publicly on his sexuality, but there were rumors. Hooo boy were there rumors.

  I leaned back and relaxed while turning my head back towards him.

  “That’s good,” he said, and I watched as his eyes followed the slight movement of the chain. He looked captivated.

  Yep, I’d been right. That was certainly an strange development, and not one I’d expected in the slightest when I was sitting here barefoot, in jeans and a t-shirt and with my wet hair plastered to my forehead in a way not generally considered terribly attractive.

  Angus used the moment to return to the lounge area.

  “We’re gonna go over to the hotel,” he announced, and if he even noticed I’d changed seats, he didn’t show it.

  “To the hotel?” I asked, just as the bus engine roared to life, and suddenly everything vibrated.

  “It’s only a couple of blocks away,” he assured me. “You’ll be able to walk back no problem.”

  “Okay,” I said, not exactly about to protest if the members of Collision In Reverse wanted to take me somewhere on their band bus, and gulped down the rest of my beer. “Cool.”

  The ride was short, just as he had promised. Rhys cracked open another energy drink during the time, Angus downed his beer, and Oz went digging through the cupboards for something. I simply sat back and kept smoking my cigarette as casually as possible.

  “So where are you guys going next?” I asked while we rolled to a stop. Angus’s phone rang just as I finished the sentence, and Oz was still rummaging through the cupboards, so it was Rhys who ended up answering the question.

  “Kansas City, I think. I think.” He put emphasis on the last word as though not wanting to be held liable if he turned out to be wrong. His eyes were on my piercings again, and the devil in me made me run one hand over the length of the chain, wanting to see how far I could take this. Rhys seemed to enjoy himself, at any rate.

  As the engine died, Rhys rose from his seat. Oz was the first one to open the door and vanish into the night. Angus moved as if to follow him, but stopped short of the door and appeared to change his mind, still listening to whoever he was on the phone with. I walked up there after putting on my shoes and watched Rhys sort out the coat he’d dropped on the floor.

  “Is it still raining?” I asked, then answered my own question by sticking an arm out the open door. “Ew.” It was only drizzling, but I wasn’t looking forward to being cold and wet again.

  “You wanna come up?” Rhys asked, putting his coat on.

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. Was this an invitation to his room, or to hang out in the hotel in general? Either way, I obviously wouldn’t be able to stay on the bus when everyone else was leaving it, and I had no desire to go standing in the rain again.

  “Sure,” I said, and tried to look casual. My cigarette had come to its end, so I tossed it out the open door.

  I followed him out the door and across the street, leaving Angus behind in the bus. We were running more than walking in order to avoid the rain. Rhys, of course, was wearing his thick coat, but I was shivering in my t-shirt by the time we reached the hotel and entered through the front doors. It was uncharacteristically warm for Milwaukee at the end of February, but there were still mountains of old snow and dirt decorating the corners of the sidewalks, refusing to melt, and the strong wind seemed to cut right through me.

  Rhys didn’t waste any time hanging around in the lobby. He went straight for one of the elevators, looking to be freezing himself.

  “Didn’t you bring a coat?” he asked, giving me a sideways look as we waited.

  “I did,” I defended myself. “It’s in my car.”

  My car, of course, was currently parked at Zach’s house, miles from Eagles Ballroom, and he had my keys as well. At the time, it had made sense since he wasn't gonna be dancing wildly in a crowd.

  Rhys didn’t reply, and together we stepped forward when the doors slid open.

  The silence during the elevator ride hovered somewhere between comfortable, and not. I had this odd premonition that if I didn’t back out now, I might end up in his bed tonight, but I wasn’t sure that was what Rhys was expecting. He wasn’t as easy to talk to as Oz and Angus had been, and it was difficult for me to know where I was at with him. I didn't have any experience with this kind of thing. Then again, why else would he have invited me to his room? I couldn’t imagine him wanting to play Scrabble, exactly.

  Aloof was the word, I thought, trying to catch a glimpse of his face from the corner of my eye without being obvious about it. And that, itself, was in my book just another word for difficult. I didn't usually do difficult.

  I didn’t even register what floor we were on when the elevator stopped. Rhys led the way through the narrow hallway, fumbling in his pockets for his key, still not bothering to make conversation. I was starting to feel distinctly like the fact was my fault, somehow. I shifted uncomfortably when we finally stopped, and hooked my thumbs in the pockets of my jeans.

  The place still had actual keys instead of cards, which I thought was kind of a rarity nowadays. It was an old-looking place, one that almost made me feel a little claustrophobic, and it didn’t get any better once Rhys opened the door, and, with a nod and wave of his hand, invited me inside.

  “Thanks,” I said, breaking the silence for the first time since we’d stepped into the elevator, and plucked at my wet shirt while trying not to be too obvious about it as I walked past him. The room was quite tiny, though what furniture there was seemed new enough. The blinds, a little yellowed, were closed and the curtains drawn, and the dim light flickered as though someone had tried to save money on a cheap bulb or fixture.

  “It’s kind of a shitty room,” Rhys said, as though in apology, which I thought was a rare tone to hear from him. “I hate not having any space, but it’s better than on the bus, anyway. I’ll turn the heat up in a sec.”

  He took his time unbuttoning his coat and spreading it over the one chair in the room to dry. I tried to find something to do other than stand around stupidly, and settled on leaning against the wall, once more touching my piercings in a manner that I hoped was subtle and casual. In truth, I had no clue what the hell I was doing. Eventually, Rhys brushed aside the curtains and crouched in order to fumble with the heater, which sprang to life as though roused from its deathbed, shuddering and making metallic twanging sounds.

  “Thanks,” I said again. I shivered again as as the stream of air hit my skin.

  “Yeah,” he nodded, straightening up. I pushed myself away from the wall, unable to stand the tension any longer and unwilling to wait for him to tell me what the hell he wanted with me, and stepped towards him. I raised my eyebrows inquisitively. A flutter of nervousness made itself known in my chest. Some part of me was faintly surprised that it wasn’t worse.

  The corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

  “You might wanna take that off,” he suggested, and looked down.

  I smiled a little. Flirting back was something I could do, I was pretty sure.

  “Before I catch pneumonia,” I agreed, shuddering again for good measure.

  “Yeah,” he said. His eyes were still resting on my chest, my pebbled nipples. “You, ah, look a little cold.”

  “It happens.” I reached down and begun peeling the damp fabric from my skin, trying to pace myself somewhere between unerotically fast and comically slow. Rhys just stood, watching me, which I thought was a bit unfair.

  “You got somewhere for me to put this?” I asked, waving the shirt. He was smiling again, which I hoped meant that he liked what he saw.

  “The floor,” he shrugged, but the shirt wasn’t going to dry there, and I really would ne
ed something to wear in the morning - or whenever he’d make me leave - so I spread the garment over the seat of the chair instead. Before I could turn back towards him, I felt something icy touching my bare waist on both sides, and I jumped a little.

  “Shit your hands are cold,” I yelped all in one breath.

  “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, but actually amused. He laid the palms of his hands on my skin, then ran them over my belt, tugging lightly, and finally I had absolute confirmation as to where this was all going.

  I wished he would have stepped a bit closer, so that I could have leaned back and relaxed against him. Instead, I was left standing in a slightly uncomfortable position as he ran his hands up my torso. As I had expected, he soon got to exploring the piercings. I liked how large his hands were, even warm enough now to make the touch bearable, but he was still standing so far away, as though he didn’t want to make contact anywhere except between my skin and his palms. It felt technical, and… hell, it felt five kinds of awkward.

  My brain churned as to how I might make this easier on both of us. If I’d felt more comfortable with him, taking the lead wouldn’t have been a problem, but he freaked me out way too much. So I stood, waiting as his hands tugged on the chain, hard enough to make me wince. Mercifully, he stopped before I had to ask him to. I wasn’t sure how much more awkwardness I could take all in the same minute.

  But I was naked from the waist up, and he was still fully clothed and just standing there fucking around with piercings, and at some point we’d have to go somewhere from here.

  “Am I going to be the only one losing clothing here?” I asked, trying my damnedest to keep my tone light, and raising an eyebrow as I turned my head.

  “Maybe,” he said, and shrugged.

  He was not making this easy for me. I was starting to get the feeling that rock star sex was going to be just like regular sex, except far less fun and far more stressful. But I supposed I’d asked for it, so now I’d best try to get through it with a little dignity.