That was a valid question. Why did I? I searched my mind, trying to remember where I’d come across that detail. Probably on the forums. “I don’t know. Maybe I read it in an article and it stuck.”
The jealous routine was beginning to piss me off. I knew he had an inferiority complex about the other guys, but I thought we were past that. I tried a different tack.
“Did you see what I said about you?”
“Yeah.” His tone still sounded upset, but less belligerent at least.
“And did you know I’m currently in your bed? Alone?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Yes. I know. I’m sorry. I hate being on the road right now. I wish you were here. I miss you, and I’m on edge. And Noah’s been—”
“Could you stop listening to Noah? He’s an asshole.” I exhaled. It would have been easier to be mad at him if he was totally off base, but I had made that blog sound a bit unhinged on purpose. “Look. Lars wanted me to build enthusiasm, really push the fan-with-inside-access angle, so I did. That’s all. Okay? I truly love your music, and I really am a fan, but I don’t have some sinister angle, Shane. I’m here for you.”
His facial features relaxed. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Forgiven. Now. Tell me about your show tonight.”
I settled back into his deliciously comfortable bed. He’d invested in sheets I didn’t even know they made—ten-thousand count or something. They were almost as thick as blankets, but so soft. His blankets were another story. Everything Shane picked out showed the greatest care. I sank into the pillows and listened to him give me a first-hand account of the concert from a real musician’s perspective. I loved hearing all the stories that no concertgoer would ever know—the squabbles, the jokes, the mistakes.
When he asked me what I was wearing, I showed him the tank I’d pulled out of his drawers. It smelled like heaven, and I loved stealing his things. Then he held the camera back so I could see he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And although the rest went off screen, it would appear there was nothing below that.
“You’re making me miss you more, Shane.”
“Come see us on Friday. You can take the train up. Take a day off.”
If the idea had appealed to me in the abstract, the promise of seeing him Friday instead of waiting until he got home a few days later made me consider the idea for real. It was only a couple of days, but Shane was so intense that his absence in his apartment felt like a body part was missing.
“I’ll try. Okay?”
First thing Tuesday morning, I shot an email to Lars to ask him if it would be okay to postpone the rehearsal hall with Walking Disaster for another week. I came right out and confessed I was thinking of taking the day off to go to the Boston festival.
Once I’d gotten my mug of coffee and scanned my few emails, I pulled up Talking Disaster to catch up on the chatter about the blog post.
“Ah, I see. You’re checking out reactions to your own stuff. How very vain.”
Gabriel stood inside my cube, peering over my shoulder.
“Ugh. Gabe, why are you harassing me?”
“Harassing? I thought we were having a friendly exchange.”
“Hardly.”
He leaned down. I could almost feel him against my hair. “You do know that site is the source of the infestation on my review last week?”
On a hunch, I clicked the link to my blog page and scrolled to the last review I’d written. I opened up the comments section and scooted out of the way so he could get a better view of the dozens of sock puppet posts.
“Have you seen this?”
He laughed. “Yeah, serves her right. Did you see where she told people to troll my review?”
“I did.” I swiveled my chair all the way around to face him, although he was so close, our knees might have brushed. I cleared my throat, and he backed away a few paces. “Did you have something to do with those comments?” I tried to match my tone to his, as if I found the retaliation impressive when, in reality, I thought it was entirely cowardly to hide behind a fake name.
I was ninety-nine percent sure he was Sandman, but I wanted to coax the admission from his own lips.