Strung Tight (The Road To Rocktoberfest #1) - Ann Lister Page 0,5
pot.
“Are you sleeping over there, Fletch?”
“No, but I'm definitely feeling chill right now,” I answered.
“It's totally the weed,” Dallas said. “Hey, did Spumoni stop by with your stuff yet?”
“Dagger told me he should be here tomorrow unless he gets held up at the other warehouse,” I explained. “I hope he makes it tomorrow because I could use the help sleeping.”
“You should have said something. I could have rolled you a few joints while you waited for Spumoni.”
“It's okay. I'll survive.”
“Why are you having trouble sleeping?”
“Nerves, mainly,” I offered. “This is a big show for us, and I don't want to … fuck it up.”
“That won't happen,” he scoffed. “I heard you guys playing yesterday, and you sounded really good.”
“Thanks for that.”
“I mean it,” he said. “I'm not just saying that to stroke your ego.”
I looked over at him and realized he was staring at me. There wasn't much light around to add a lot of illumination on us, except for the security lights at the edge of the parking lot. Dallas's face was cast in beautiful shadows, but his eyes seemed to glimmer in a weird, mystical way, like he was deep in thought. I watched him blink and the action played out in my head like a slow-motion movie. Long dark lashes dropped to brush against his cheeks and then fluttered back open to reveal warm eyes that were studying me far too intently, and he didn't look away. He just kept gazing at me, and for some reason, I couldn't turn away either.
“Have you been playing in a band for a long time?” he asked. The sound of his voice was smooth like fingers gliding over skin.
“Since I was in my early teens.” My tongue suddenly felt too thick for my mouth.
“How old are you now?”
“How old do you think I am?” I teased.
“I don't know, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two?” he replied.
I laughed at that. “I have a young face,” I said. “I'm twenty-six.”
“No shit?” he asked. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“I hear that a lot,” I said and grinned. “Maybe the baby face that I hate having now will feel differently when I'm an old fucking bastard who still looks young.”
Dallas laughed at my comment, and when his warm breath bathed my face, I fought the urge to shiver. There was definitely something about him that completely enthralled me, but I had no idea what it was. He appeared to be like any other stoner drifting through life, so what was so interesting about Dallas in particular? Maybe it wasn't a good idea to get stoned with him because now my mind was thinking all kinds of strange things and focusing on details that I'd never once considered about any other guy.
“How old are you?” I finally managed to ask him.
“Almost twenty-two,” he remarked.
“Have you been working with your dad for a long time?”
Dallas turned onto his back and exhaled slowly as if he was hesitating with his answer. It made me wonder if I'd asked something too personal. “You'll probably hear this from the other guys soon enough,” he stated, “so I might as well tell you myself.”
“Tell me what?” I asked.
“I spent two and a half years in jail for a couple of B&Es, and now my father wants to keep me close to make sure I don't fuck up again,” Dallas admitted. “I went in when I was just about nineteen and got out a few months ago. Now I'm basically hanging out with my dad every day until I can find a decent job that’ll keep me out of trouble.”
“What was jail like?”
“It sucked and I never want to go back,” Dallas said. “You grow up real fucking fast behind bars. That's for fuck sure.”
“I don't think I'd like being locked up in a small space like that.”
“You either learn to adapt, or the conditions will eat you alive,” Dallas explained.
“I'm glad you survived,” I said, not knowing what else I should say to a comment like that.
“I have a few battle scars to show for my time, but I did survive,” Dallas added. “County jail was bad, but it wasn't prison, which I’ve heard is ten times worse. I'm grateful I wasn’t sentenced there, or my survival might not have been a sure bet. Sad thing is, we only broke into those houses for the thrill of it. We weren't doing it for any other reason, so it was a hard lesson learned. When I got out, all my old friends had