The Now or Never Kind

“Pen…” I made a noise of protest, turning my face into the pillow. “You make sexy noises when you’re asleep.”

“Go ‘way.”

A hand slid up my back, under my shirt, which had wormed its way up during my nap. I twitched, blindly sticking out my hand to push him away; I think it landed on his shoulder, which did fuck all for moving him. “Why would I leave when I can stay and watch you slowly work your way out of your clothes?”

I opened my eyes and brushed some hair out of my face. Danny grinned devilishly. “We’re at the hotel,” he announced before rolling out of my bunk and walking out.

I rubbed my eyes, pulled down my shirt and up my jeans, and stumbled out into the bus. It was two weeks into tour, and Danny and I had been playing this little game, dancing around each other. We’d continued flirting back and forth to the point of teasing… and then running away when the other person got interested.

In retrospect it probably made my celibacy all the more unbearable, but it was so much fun seeing his eyes widen in surprise at some of the things I said and did. I might have enjoy being a tease. Him paying attention to me wasn’t horrible either.

I didn’t forthrightly tell Danny that I was messing with him because he was messing with me—where was the fun in that?—but he seemed to pick up on it since we only made moves when nobody else was around or whispered words in passing. The rest of the tour knew about it though, and they were highly amused. I was pretty sure there was a pool going on who would crack first.

…I wasn’t positive, but there might’ve been a pool going on when we’d jump each other too.

Sean gave me a somewhat sympathetic look when I hopped down the steps on the way to grab my suitcase. Somehow he always knew when I hadn’t been sleeping well, and I always slept badly alone. It wasn’t just a physical thing; if I was feeling alone in the world, I couldn’t sleep, though it was more difficult to feel alone on tour.

As I dragged my bag towards the hotel doors, following Tim and Matt who were arguing about Halo, I reviewed the past few weeks. The large canopy of innuendo and euphemism hung over the whole thing—not unusual, no matter with whom we toured—but there were also tour pranks with We Are the Fury and videos of shenanigans and live chats. The usual mischief.

What came new to us was featuring other singers during some of our more lively songs. Whatever local band opened up the night always got a spot—if the singer was female, she sang with Sean or Jesse—and then Chris Hatfield sang every third night or so.

When Danny did guest vocals, I was always the emissary to ask if he was interested. So many times I had wandered over to where he was sitting and leaned over his shoulder. “Wanna sing with me tonight?” I’d whisper, lips barely touching his ear.

It was always ‘me’. Never ‘us’ or ‘the band’.

He never refused, and we always had fun together harmonizing and throwing lines back and forth. On stage, we had our normal friendly relationship. Afterwards the comments about high notes and throaty sounds started.

This wasn’t to say Danny didn’t try to throw me curve balls. He requested—and sometimes demanded—that I play with him on stage as well. Yes, the innuendo there was pretty obvious, but the anticipation of which song he’d pick always drove me crazy. If it was something like “La Rivalita” or “Lawyers” I was a perfect lady (if musicians are capable of being ladies).

But if it was “Warm Me Up” or, god forbid, “Hell To Sell,” I couldn’t help myself. I tried to aim any and all sexual energy towards the crowd, but his hands made it difficult. It seemed like whenever I’d gotten myself under control, Danny would touch my hip or turn my head towards him.

Two weeks is more than sufficient time to learn what turns a person on.

But with hotels came breaks from our game, because I slept in the “girls’ room”, consisting of me, Didi, Beth, and Aero. We had our girl time, which mostly consisted of getting tipsy, fixing our nails, eating our favourite foods, and decompressing from all the testosterone-driven madness.

This time, however, it seemed certain people had other plans. Didi and I were putting our shit away, trying to come up with something to watch tonight, when Beth reappeared at the door. Her hair was rumpled and she had Jesse by the shirt. Which was already half undone.

“Can you leave?” Beth requested hurriedly.

“Wow, seriously?” Didi asked, laughing.

“Quittez-vous, s'il vous plait?” Jesse requested, slipping his hands around her waist and leaning his chin on her shoulder.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my laptop. “You are so lucky I’m an empathetic person,” I reminded, walking out after Didi.

“Yes yes I love you get out!” The door slammed behind us.

Didi and I looked at each other. “…But my phone’s in there,” she said sadly. I laughed and headed to the rest of my band’s room, conveniently adjoining the Audition’s.

We walked in on the final decision to get drunk and got caught up in the flood of people going out the door. I tossed Matt my laptop, which luckily he caught, before the door shut. “We’re just getting kicked out of rooms left and right,” I observed to Didi.

“Girls drink… differently,” Ryan said as we walked towards the elevator. “So you have to pick shit out.”

“Read: fruity colourful drinks,” Sean translated. “Like Cosmos.”

“’Scuse me, who drank you all under the table the other night?” I asked smartly, stepping into the elevator. “I do believe I did.”

“Yeah, well, you cheated,” Tim accused.

“Height is not an excuse,” Didi laughed.

“So,” Danny began once the elevator doors shut, “if you get half naked just from sleeping, does this mean alcohol might grant us some full out nudity?"

I felt the blush crawling up my neck as half the elevator turned to look at me. I pressed my eyes shut before raising an eyebrow at Danny, who was smiling at the number lighting up over the door. “Really?” Ryan asked.

I returned to staring at the door. “No. I am not an exhibitionist drunk.”

“She just ‘as an accent thicker th’n mine,” Sean added, grinning. He and Didi laughed, and the elevator opened, and we all went on our respectively merry way.

Lagging behind a step or two, I glared viciously at Danny. He laughed. “Oh come on, Angie, I’m just playing.” I rolled my eyes and said nothing, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Besides.” He lowered his voice. “You’re especially attractive when you’re embarrassed.”

I smirked slightly, but after a moment I realized that Bill had said something uncomfortably similar, and it slid right off my face. I’d picked up this book at the airport in New York about facial expressions and had practiced perfect, unreadable impassivity; I already knew it worked because I tested it out on Matt.

It also, apparently, aided in making the liquor store cashier believe my fake ID. I had to admit that Alex and his boys had spared no expense in making it believable, but the people who’d see it saw fakes all the time. But I wasn’t complaining. I got my bottle of Absinthe (just for me) and a bottle of spiced rum to share with everyone else.

Making absinthe with a plastic spoon is so not classy it’s ridiculous.

The Audition, being older than we, felt no need for drinking games, so we just sat around hanging out and getting drunk. We had music, too, but it was hard to come up with something that pleased everyone; to aid this problem, I mostly kept my mouth shut.

The only drawback to drinking with a bunch of guys was that they could, on the whole, drink a whole lot more than I could, which made keeping up with them hard. Maybe it was a bad thing that I always did a shot with them and then continued drinking whatever I was drinking, but I never got sick and I never had hangovers.

My levels of drunkenness are sober, happy and warm, everyone’s mum (which continues on through the rest), slurring a little bit, and Irish accent, at a rate of about two drinks per stage. I usually stop drinking around the time I stop being American. What people don’t know is that even at that stage of inebriation, I’m still inside my head and my conscience is loud and clear.

“Danny!” I garbled, plopping myself down on the couch next to him; I’d just ordered Seth to drink some water and forced him to sit on in a chair. “I ‘aven’t talked t’you all night. ‘Ow are yeh?”

He laughed, putting his arm on the top of the sofa behind me. “Good. Man, you are really drunk.”

I half-nodded. “I’m a bi’ tiddly, yes.” I gave him a vaguely concerned look. “D’you need anythin’? ‘Nother drink? Pretzels?”

“No, Ange, I’m good,” he said, laughing again. “You just chill.”

I smiled amicably at him and slowly tilted my head. He gave me an equally appraising look before grinning. “’Ave I ever told yeh how excruciatin’ly beautiful you are?” I asked, still staring at his face. He snorted. “No, really! Yeh’ve go’ incredible features. I mean, yehr shoulders…” I slid my hand up his arm, and suddenly Danny’s expression changed.

“And Ah could write a whole album jus’ ‘bout yehr eyes…” I lifted my hand and traced his cheekbone. “They’re bluer than anythin’ Ah’ve ever seen…”

Danny didn’t say anything, seeming to have lost his indignation at being called beautiful. He just stared at me. My fingers slid down his cheek, my eyes following them. “An’ yehr lips are amazing… So… perfect.” I traced them with my index finger, feeling them twitch.

After a few seconds of silence, something clicked in my head and I sat back, taking back my hand. I smiled. “Tha’s all,” I said plainly. Then I got up, realising that I had to pee, and I would only do so in my boys’ bathroom. (I knew they were relatively clean.) When I strolled out of the bathroom, I noticed that I’d left my laptop on the bed and got the sudden urge to video chat.

I flopped out on my stomach, logging into various applications, and wondered how fans would react to my random accent that wouldn’t go away. Then I decided it wasn’t a good idea to talk to fans drunk.

But luckily a little window popped up, telling me that “AWGaskarth” wanted to chat. With a grin, I accepted. “Allo, Alex,” I greeted when the camera turned on.

Alex was sitting in a hotel room similar to my own. “Dude, what’s up with your accent?” he asked laughing. “You sound like every drunk girl in Dublin.”

“Well, yeh’re ‘alf righ’,” I admitted, grinning. Zack wandered across the screen behind him. “’Ey, Zack!” He backtracked and leaned over Alex’s shoulder before waving. “Night off as well?”

“Yup,” he said, holding up a bottle before disappearing off-camera.

“How’s tour with the Audizzle?” Alex asked, sipping his own beer.

I giggled, head falling forward a moment. “The Audizzle?”

He chuckled. “Okay, it sounds ridiculous when you say it. How did you get that accent?”

“Welp… I migh’ be sor’ uv drunk,” I confessed slowly. I grinned. “Sor’ uv reeeally drunk.”

“Nice!” Alex grinned. “The last time you were drinking around me, we spent the night in a hotel together. We should do that again sometime soon.”

I rolled my eyes and noticed Danny walking out of the room. Odd, hadn’t heard him come in. “And as yeh’ll recall, Alex, nothin’ ‘appened an’ tha’s not gonn’ change.”

“We’ll see, Ange.”

“Yeh’re incorrigible, Gaskarth.”