The Now or Never Kind

Danny appeared to have learnt that I wasn’t the only one who could change the rules. I thought he would back off, let me brood on what he said—it certainly made my dreams interesting—and plan my counter, but he did quite the opposite. It seemed like any time I had a second to breathe, he was there with a notion or a touch that set me on fire.

He commented on all my stage outfits, whether how good they looked or suggestions for improvement (usually the removal of most to all of it). If I wore my hair down, he ran his fingers through it and messed it around; if I wore it up, he traced oh-so-lightly back and forth across my neck. Any time he felt like it, he’d whispered something dirty, lips pressed against my ear. And god forbid my pants sling low on my hips or my shirt edge up.

This continued for four days. Four days of constantly being touched and murmured to and innuendo’d half to death. By the morning of the fourth day—after Danny invited me to join him in the shower—I felt like my heart was going to give out.

“I’m done!” I declared as I walked off the bus. “Done done done!”

Didi and Beth, already carrying out merch, gave me a pair of strange looks. “What’re you done with?” Didi asked as we walked towards the venue together.

“This game. I can’t stand it anymore.” I shook my head, pulling my hat further down onto head. They looked less than sympathetic, which I could understand; after all, I was doing this to myself. Well, technically he was, but I was doing the same to him. “He asked me if I wanted to shower with him.”

Beth stared, gobsmacked. “And you said no?!”

I rolled my eyes and held the door open for them to pass through. Yeah, I was probably an idiot for that. But I was sick of being hounded and I wanted to have some time that didn’t involve Danny; true, if I just had my way with him, he’d probably back off for a while.

…Did I say my way with him? I meant let him have his way with me. Yes.

My escape from the Audition’s singer came in the form of my own boys and a video camera. Matt, as usual, had cooked up some crazy notion for a video in his sleep. This one was less antic-y but no less strange: the Newlywed Game, but with band members.

Aromi, with the help of Didi and Beth, came up with questions for us to guess what the person we were partnered with would say. Matt and Sean, being Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, paired up and Jesse and I, being fucking awesome like we are, knew we’d have it in the bag.

“If I were to make a mixtape for my girlfriend,” Jesse said, quoting the question and ignoring the fact that his girlfriend was in the room, “The one song I’d put on there would be… ‘She Will Be Loved’ by Maroon 5.”

“Damn,” I muttered. “I said Green Day’s ‘Redundant’.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “Yeah, I think that’s a better answer.” I shrugged. “Next, I think the most annoying slash embarrassing thing I do that nobody knows is that I snore.”

I laughed, nodding. “Like a fucking chainsaw.”

“He does?” Beth asked, standing behind Aromi, who had the camera.

“Yeah, but only when I’m not with you.”

“Awww!” the rest of us chorused.

“Shut the fuck up!” Jesse ordered, reddening slightly. “We’re playing a game here!” He looked, disgruntled, at me until I stopped laughing and waved him on. “If I weren’t in a band, I’d be in college, probably studying law or medicine.”

I nodded; I knew Jesse pretty well. His favourite comfort food was Ramen, he thought his best feature was his eyes, and the part of his wardrobe that sucked was his collection of identical white v-necks. I did get it wrong, though, what he thought his worst feature was: he said his gangliness; I said his huge fucking feet.

After that, it was my turn. “If you were going to use an album to torture me,” I announced, pretty confident of my answer, “It would be Miley Cyrus.”

Trill laughed. “I said the Jonas Brothers.”

I shrugged. “Close enough. If I were to describe my breath, it would be minty fresh.”

“If by that you mean so minty it gives me nosebleeds, then yeah!” I elbowed him as he laughed. “But yeah, I said minty. Minty, minty death!”

He knew that I took practically zero time for soundcheck and that if I could pick anyone to tour with, it would be the Matches. “They’re my babies,” I explained, grinning. My blitheness faltered. “Who are all seven years older than I am…”

“I do not always find a couch and lay down on it!” I argued with his answer. The question was what I did first upon getting to a venue.

“Yes you do!” he laughed. “I walked in today on you were fuckin’ sprawled out on this couch!”

“I helped set up merch first!”

“She did,” Didi confirmed, standing back and watching with amusement. “You just suck at getting out of the bus quickly.”

“Not my fault my gender is the majority on tour,” Jesse replied with a shrug. All three of us girls rolled out eyes.

Next Jesse and I leapt up—literally—and were replaced by Matt and Sean, but I didn’t stick around to listen to all their answers. I didn’t want to pollute the background noise with laughter. Instead, I headed back to the bus to decide what I was going to wear that night.

Nobody was around. I checked every room and bunk. Somehow the bus was completely abandoned. This gave me the excellent opportunity to relax and do some reading. After about an hour of enjoying both the silence and the genius of Neil Gaiman, my phone vibrated on the top edge of the couch where I’d staked my claim.

Danny’s looking for you, Sean informed me.

I rolled my eyes and typed out a reply. He can’t be looking too hard then. Then I replaced my phone and ignored it.

About ten minutes later, the bus door opened and a head of long, blonde hair appeared, soon followed by the rest of Danny. “Hey, An—Jesus titty-fucking Christ,” he greeted, losing his train of thought in the middle when he set eyes on me.

I glanced up, caught the slack of his jaw, and went back to reading. “Hey, Danny,” I said disinterestedly.

Normally I would have pinned his greeting as somewhat unusual. However, I was partaking in a habit that, while I loved it, I hadn’t been able to exercise on this tour, and this came as to somewhat of a shock to him. But, really, it was like he had never seen a girl sitting on a couch in merch shorts before.

“Uh.” He took a few steps forward, eyes glued to me. “I was wondering if… you… like…”

Stuttering and losing words was not something I expected of Danny Stevens, so it drew my gaze upwards again. Danny’s eyes lighted on my face before returning to my legs. I arched an eyebrow, setting my thumb between the pages. “Yes?”

“Why are you sitting in the bus with no pants?” he asked curiously. “Not that I mind, of course.”

I smiled wryly, returning to my book. “I’m testing out our new merch,” I replied. “Plus I usually wear shorts around the bus, only I haven’t because we’re sharing with you guys.”

“You… should definitely do it more often.” I snorted in amusement, and then got an idea. Here was potential for payback. Without putting my book down, I raised one foot and stretched my leg upward until it was level with Danny’s face. Then I lightly rested my foot on his shoulder. “…Fuck, you’re flexible.”

“Twelve years of dance does that to you,” I commented, bringing my foot down and getting to my feet.

Danny stood over me, still slightly awe-stuck. “That’s…” He blinked, and then frowned. “Wait. You just did that and weren’t worried about flashing your panties at me?”

I raised an eyebrow again. “Who said I was wearing any?” His eyes widened, and I strolled off the bus to get ready, grinning to myself all the while. I had more ideas!

Aromi laughed when I walked out of the bathroom, boots making far too much noise on the floor. “You look like a stripper,” he wheezed, holding himself up on Matt’s shoulder.

“A stripper would never wear a Jimi Hendrix t-shirt!” I argued, putting my makeup back into my bag. “And she certainly wouldn’t wear fishnet tights!”

“She’s right,” Jesse agreed, seemingly immune to my outfit. Thank god for Beth! “A stripper probably wouldn’t wear black shorts that say HOMEWRECKER on them either.”

“Except maybe on a day off,” Sean put in, strumming a tune on the White Falcon. Somehow my new old guitar had become the tour jam instrument.

I crossed my arms. “Okay, one, fuck you guys. Two, it was not my idea to put that on the merch. It’s from a song you wrote.” I poked Sean in the chest several times until he swatted me away. “And three… are my seams straight?” I finished, twisting around.

I could ignore the reactions to the outfit right up to the end of our second song; Danny, as per usual, had run off almost immediately after their set to hide from fans, so he was not privy to the sight as we took the stage. But there was only so much yelling and whistling I could take.

Looking over my shoulder at Matt, I called, “Just do it now!” before retuning my bass and handing it off to Didi.

“As some of you may have noticed,” Matt began, twirling a stick between his fingers, “Penelope dearest is modelling our latest merchandise.” I stood centre-stage with my hands on my hips, trying to look like a bored model.

“Available as of tonight!” Jesse announced. “But what do they say on the back, you ask?” Matt started a timpani roll and, laughing, I slowly turned. Cymbal crash, and people cheered.

I took my mic off the stand, which I dragged out of the way. “Alright, now stop staring at my ass,” I ordered. People laughed and I knocked my hair out of my face as I wandered back across the stage. I smiled wryly at the guy leaning down and looking up. “Stop trying, kid, my knickers are not for viewing.”

“That’s because you’re not wearing any!” I heard someone yell. Some people laughed, some turned around to see who it had been, but I knew immediately.

“Shut up, Stevens, I was lying to you.” How was it that no matter who we toured with, there was always someone that made girls scream at the sound of their name? It was so not fair! Stop stealing my limelight!

“Tease!” he called back from the bar.

“You know it, sugar,” I replied with a wink.

After the show, the guys and I did our usual round of selling merch and talking to fans. We loved our fans, and sometimes they brought us presents! Not that we asked them to, but we appreciated it. Security was just about to begin throwing people out of the bar when I noticed, over the head of the girl who was talking to me, that Danny was focused on me. He saw me see him and walked purposefully backstage.

My telepathy says he wants me to follow him! I announced in my head importantly. So I thanked the girl and her friend for coming and gracefully excused myself.

Only problem was, I had no idea where Danny had gone. I walked through the musician-break-area, trying not to look too much like Alice chasing her cat, and continued onward to the back hall. One of the doors went outside to the back lot, another went to the kitchen, and Danny was leaning against a third.

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked innocuously, folding my hands behind me and meandering towards him.

“Waiting for you,” he replied. There was that smile again, and it made my ovaries try to jump out and attack him.

I stopped in front of him, heels clicking together. “And what am I doing here?” I further probed, keeping on my naïve tone.

Without missing a beat, Danny grabbed me by the hips and kissed me hard. Immediately I melted into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing against his chest. He smirked against my lips, and in retaliation I clenched my fist in his hair. Intent on exploring every inch of my mouth, Danny slid a hand onto my back and opened the door, pulling me into the room, which turned out to be a bathroom.

“Classy,” I declared, pulling away to kick the door closed.

Danny tugged me back against him, fire in his eyes. “Shut up.” And oh was I happy to do so. I fumbled around behind me, feeling for the handle until I could click the lock. With that done, I could stop worrying about being walked in on and run my hands up his arms and down his chest, feeling all the muscles. He braced us with one hand against the wall and slid the other one down my hip.

I shivered as his fingers ran along the edge of my shorts, sending ripples down my skin when he played with the holes in my fishnets. Without realising it, I drew my leg up for Danny’s hand to continue down. Which he did, gripping my thigh as he kissed down my neck.

Even with me in heels, I was still a few inches shorter, which seemed to pose a bit of a problem to Danny’s desire to attack my clavicle. Making a frustrated noise, he turned my face back to him and kissed me fervently. My head floated off my shoulders for a moment… and then Danny grabbed my ass and lifted me off the floor. I would’ve squeaked if my mouth hadn’t been sealed against his.

He pressed me firmly against the wall, grinning against my throat as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Sighing breathily, I squirmed when he nipped his teeth at my skin, which drew a groan from his throat.

Then his phone started vibrating in his pocket, and I arched into him involuntarily. “Danny,” I moaned, hopeless against escape. He didn’t seem to notice, so I dug my fingers into his shoulder. “Y-your phone…”

Danny pulled away from my neck, removing one hand from my body—leaving me to tighten my legs around him—and wormed his phone out of his pocket. He looked annoyed, and the expression only deepened when he read the text.

“The bus is leaving,” he muttered, voice uneven. We looked at each other and, displeasure coursing through me, I returned my feet to the floor. He straightened his hair, and I pulled my shirt back down over my ribs.

Once we both looked relatively normal, I made to open the door, but Danny gathered me up in his arms again and placed on my lips a kiss so soft and sweet my knees almost gave out.

Neither of us said anything on the walk to the bus. I didn’t know about him, but my head was still reeling. I didn’t think you were supposed to get that much of an adrenaline/endorphin rush from making out with someone; that couldn’t have been healthy.

But it didn’t matter much because we were going to buy dinner—probably at Taco Bell again; I fucking hate Taco Bell—and the second I stepped onto the bus, the friends who knew me all too well (and were prone to noticing things) jumped on the fact that something was different.

“Tell you later,” I said in a low voice, trying not to look in Danny’s direction; Aromi sitting between him and me made it easier.

“Spill,” Didi demanded, a wide grin on her face as she leaned across the table. I sipped my root beer like I didn’t know what she was talking about. “What’d you do?”

“Nothing…”

“Honey, your lips are bruised,” Aero giggled, managing to keep his voice low for once in his life. We’d grabbed a table away from the rest of the guys and huddled together, whispering, which—let’s be honest—at least one of them had to have noticed.

I poked my lips and winced slightly. No wonder drinking this felt weird. “Well.” I leaned further over the table. “This sounds really sleazy, but Danny and I made out in the bathroom backstage.” Aromi squealed, Didi grinned widely, and Beth made a face. “Disgusting, I know, but…” I trailed off thoughtfully. “I’ve never made out with a guy who could pick me up and pin me against a wall.”

Now Beth grinned as well. “So does this mean you’re done being a nun?” Didi asked, munching on her taco.

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “I guess. But you know my standards and expectations of guys?” I queried to Beth.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah…?”

“Up until this tour? Way too low.”