firm, and how he smelled so wonderful it made my brain struggle to think.
The blood in my veins was rumbling so hard, I was sure he could hear it sloshing. “It's not as bad as I thought,” he said. The tip of his thumb ran over my lower lip, then grazed my teeth. It was so sudden that I convinced myself it was an accident.
Drez's skin was saltier than my blood.
He let me go, pulling away and leaving me to lean on the wall. I was already ashamed, I didn't need to crumble and make it worse. My own fingers brushed my lips, then further, prodding the side of my tongue. I grimaced, but the pain was dull. “It's really not bad?”
“You should know, it's your own tongue.” Drez scratched his neck, the strange pull between us turning into a cool wall. He was looking at the exit. “I'm hungry. Let's go.”
And just like that, he closes off. Why couldn't he do that when he was singing? I wouldn't have needed to bite my tongue if he'd been as distant and detached then.
Following him through the bus, we found the boys draped in the seats, beers dripping condensation onto their laps. Porter waved me over, offering me a bottle. “Here, before Colt drinks it all.”
“I couldn't if I tried,” he laughed. Finishing his drink, he grabbed another. The two men were seated across from each other in the middle of the big bus.
Drezden draped himself in a seat opposite them, reaching for a beer wordlessly. It reminded me of my brother and his band. The thought was comforting, though it caused me to look out one of the tinted windows sadly, imagining them in their busted up vehicle further down the caravan.
“You alright?” Porter asked.
His words startled me. “Yeah, yeah.” My smile was weak, I tried to cover it with a swig from the beer. The fire burned on my wound and made me grimace.
Colt chuckled, waving his beer in the air. “It can't taste that bad, kid.”
It tastes fine, I thought silently. Better he think I was making a face over the flavor, though, and not an injury. Settling down on one of the seats behind the pair, but furthest away from Drez, I made myself grin. “You'd think you guys would have better stuff, seeing as you're headlining.”
“She joined us because she hoped we had fancy beer!” Porter shouted, his false anger quickly vanishing. “I knew it all along.”
“I wonder if she's even old enough to drink,” Colt teased, looking me up and down. I wasn't, but underage drinking was so common on tours, I didn't expect to have to defend myself. “Either way, she isn't getting it all,” he declared, finishing his bottle to prove a point. “I'll get it first!”
We all laughed, the tightness in my neck smoothing out. Looking over, I caught Drez wearing a sideways smile. His eyes flicked to mine, holding them a moment. “You should eat something," he said.
My mouth went dry, the beer forgotten. The word 'eat' from Drez's lips had too many dirty connotations.
“In fact,” he sighed, shooting a glare at the two men, “You all should. Don't get drunk before dinner, I'm not dealing with that again.”
Colt rolled his eyes, setting his bottle down loudly. “Shit, you never had to babysit me, Drez. We all know it was Johnny getting sloppy, and he's gone now, so calm down.”
Drez's silence was stifling. I felt how he studied Colt, watched the drummer wither under that look.
“Dammit,” Colt said under his breath. “Sorry, didn't mean to bring him up. It isn't some dirty secret or something, though.”
They all gave me a meaningful look. Clearing my throat, I spoke carefully around my swollen tongue. “Everyone knows about the fight with Johnny. Sort of, anyway. Can I... can I ask what really happened? The stories are pretty wild.” Shark's version of the incident rippled in my memory.
Drezden sank into his chair, feet kicking up onto the small table. “It's not much of a story. Johnny just fucked up too many times. I wanted him gone, he didn't like that. Not exactly shocking.”
“He tried to murder Drez with a bottle,” Porter said, pushing his empty one away like it was the actual weapon being discussed.
Drez made tiny circles with the base of his beer on the table, wet smudges that went round and round as he spoke. “He didn't try to murder me. That's how these shitty rumors start, Porter.”