ahead.”
I lit up, careful to blow my smoke outside. When the song was over, we were just getting close to downtown Boston, and I said, “Couple more exits. That was amazing.”
She smiled. “I thought for sure you would have heard it.”
“Frickin’ Chinese punk rockers? Never would have guessed there were any. That’s wicked.”
She grinned.
“You don’t seem like the punk type.”
She shrugged. “Appearances aren’t everything. And I’m into a lot of different music—I considered majoring in music, but my parents would have gone insane. I just figured you’d like this.”
I nodded. “I do! It’s hard to find people who appreciate anything but the latest pop.”
“You’ve got a gift, though. The show tonight was fantastic,” she said. But then something came over her face. She looked troubled, almost angry.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Why did you write that song?”
I swallowed. I knew exactly which song she meant. I could play it off, I guess. But damn. Why bother? She’d heard it. Finally I answered, “You made a big impression on me.”
She shook her head. “As big as that blonde whose ass you grabbed in the middle of the show?”
I rolled my eyes, though she couldn’t see it while she was driving. “Yeah, at least that much,” I answered.
She didn’t respond, and I finally said, “It’s part of the gimmick.” But that wasn’t really honest, was it? More often than not, I took a girl home after our shows.
“You’re full of it,” she said. “You can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sure I can,” I replied, knowing my tone was defensive.
She was silent for a few seconds. “You need to know, I’ve never done that before.”
“Done what before?”
“Invited a guy back to my room like that. Someone I just met.”
I shrugged, but I didn’t mean it. For reasons I can’t explain, it really mattered. But no way in hell was I letting her know that. “Not really my problem.”
She shook her head. “You saw the story?”
“Crazy blogger bitch?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“That stuff she wrote—none of it’s true.”
“Yeah, I figured. I wasn’t drunk enough to forget taking you back to the hotel.”
She giggled. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know. But, seriously, no big deal. Is that what the fight with your mom was about?”
She grimaced. “Not exactly.” She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t want to push. Actually, I did want to. But somehow I sensed pushing on that subject would bring our … whatever the hell it was … to a screeching halt.
“Okay,” I said. “Take the next exit.”
She did, and I directed her through the narrow streets south of Broadway until we pulled up in front of my father’s house. I started to tell her to stop, but then I bit back the words. I don’t know why. Instead, I directed her down the block, where we took a hard right, then again down the alley behind the house. “There’s parking back here. This one, bang a right.” I pointed at the tiny gravel driveway.
She pulled to a stop. The music was still playing, quietly now.
“I’m sorry about your car,” she said. “Let me give you my number, we’ll settle it up right away.”
“Sure,” I said. “Um … you want to come in for a few minutes, get a cup of coffee?”
She looked startled, as if she’d never considered it. Probably hadn’t. I don’t think she liked me very much, last Saturday notwithstanding.
“Sure,” she finally replied.
I took a deep breath and said, “My brother’s probably still awake … just to warn you—Sean’s a little different.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Different?”
“Um … Asperger’s. Sometimes pretty serious, sometimes pretty normal. I don’t really know what to expect from one day to the next.”
She nodded. “I don’t know much about Asperger’s.”
I shrugged. “Don’t need to really. It’s kinda like autism. He’ll come off as a little
I lit up, careful to blow my smoke outside. When the song was over, we were just getting close to downtown Boston, and I said, “Couple more exits. That was amazing.”
She smiled. “I thought for sure you would have heard it.”
“Frickin’ Chinese punk rockers? Never would have guessed there were any. That’s wicked.”
She grinned.
“You don’t seem like the punk type.”
She shrugged. “Appearances aren’t everything. And I’m into a lot of different music—I considered majoring in music, but my parents would have gone insane. I just figured you’d like this.”
I nodded. “I do! It’s hard to find people who appreciate anything but the latest pop.”
“You’ve got a gift, though. The show tonight was fantastic,” she said. But then something came over her face. She looked troubled, almost angry.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Why did you write that song?”
I swallowed. I knew exactly which song she meant. I could play it off, I guess. But damn. Why bother? She’d heard it. Finally I answered, “You made a big impression on me.”
She shook her head. “As big as that blonde whose ass you grabbed in the middle of the show?”
I rolled my eyes, though she couldn’t see it while she was driving. “Yeah, at least that much,” I answered.
She didn’t respond, and I finally said, “It’s part of the gimmick.” But that wasn’t really honest, was it? More often than not, I took a girl home after our shows.
“You’re full of it,” she said. “You can’t keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sure I can,” I replied, knowing my tone was defensive.
She was silent for a few seconds. “You need to know, I’ve never done that before.”
“Done what before?”
“Invited a guy back to my room like that. Someone I just met.”
I shrugged, but I didn’t mean it. For reasons I can’t explain, it really mattered. But no way in hell was I letting her know that. “Not really my problem.”
She shook her head. “You saw the story?”
“Crazy blogger bitch?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“That stuff she wrote—none of it’s true.”
“Yeah, I figured. I wasn’t drunk enough to forget taking you back to the hotel.”
She giggled. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know. But, seriously, no big deal. Is that what the fight with your mom was about?”
She grimaced. “Not exactly.” She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t want to push. Actually, I did want to. But somehow I sensed pushing on that subject would bring our … whatever the hell it was … to a screeching halt.
“Okay,” I said. “Take the next exit.”
She did, and I directed her through the narrow streets south of Broadway until we pulled up in front of my father’s house. I started to tell her to stop, but then I bit back the words. I don’t know why. Instead, I directed her down the block, where we took a hard right, then again down the alley behind the house. “There’s parking back here. This one, bang a right.” I pointed at the tiny gravel driveway.
She pulled to a stop. The music was still playing, quietly now.
“I’m sorry about your car,” she said. “Let me give you my number, we’ll settle it up right away.”
“Sure,” I said. “Um … you want to come in for a few minutes, get a cup of coffee?”
She looked startled, as if she’d never considered it. Probably hadn’t. I don’t think she liked me very much, last Saturday notwithstanding.
“Sure,” she finally replied.
I took a deep breath and said, “My brother’s probably still awake … just to warn you—Sean’s a little different.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Different?”
“Um … Asperger’s. Sometimes pretty serious, sometimes pretty normal. I don’t really know what to expect from one day to the next.”
She nodded. “I don’t know much about Asperger’s.”
I shrugged. “Don’t need to really. It’s kinda like autism. He’ll come off as a little
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