Like Fire & Gasoline

“Why hasn’t she called me yet?” James asked, pacing back and forth in the recording booth. Kendall, Logan, and Carlos exchanged a glance, pulling the bulky headphones off of their ears.

“James, it’s been two days,” Logan said gently, motioning to the record producer that they’d need a minute. He nodded, turning the sound off.

“You’re being a total girl,” Kendall added, his face one-hundred-percent serious. James glowered at him, pausing in his place.

“Am not,” he shot back quickly, placing his hands on his hips. Carlos and Kendall looked at each other and cracked up. Even Logan’s serious face broke into a grin.

“Dude, just look at yourself for a minute,” Carlos said between chuckles. James turned to the window, seeing his light reflection staring back at him. A grin slowly slipped onto his face as well, and he returned to his pacing.

“What’s happening to me?” he groaned, throwing his hands in the air, spinning on the heel of his expensive sneakers.

“This girl’s really messing you up, well, big time, if you’ll excuse the pun.” As the words escaped Logan’s lips, a simultaneous grumble erupted from the others.

“I’m sorry bro, but even I have to tell you, leave the jokes to Kendall,” James said, shaking his chestnut locks. Kendall grinned triumphantly, nudging Logan with his elbow.

“Guys, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we really need to lay this track down,” Eric, their manager, announced over the intercom. The boys all held the headphones to their ears as the music started streaming through them. The first couple of lyrics were flowing out of Kendall’s mouth when a harsh ringing cut him off. Everyone froze as the music stopped, looking around and checking his pockets.

“Whose phone?” Eric asked, annoyed. The fuzziness of the intercom made him sound even more angered. Yet, the harsh ringing continued until James held up his Blackberry sheepishly.

“Sorry, gotta take this!” he exclaimed, and burst out of the booth and down the hallway. He heard Eric roaring after him, but slowed to a walk and pressed the talk button.

“I almost thought you weren’t going to pick up,” Bridgette teased, her voice still beautiful when distorted over the phone.

“Sorry, I was recording.”

“You could’ve called me back, I mean, I don’t wanna get you in trouble.”

“Too late for that,” he chuckled, ducking into a supply closet as he heard the yells approaching.

“Oops.” Her soft giggling echoed on the other end, and James pictured her gold hair falling into her face, and her cobalt eyes lighting up. He had to shake it from his head; he couldn’t remember what he wanted to say anymore.

“Listen, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go for coffee tomorrow before your classes? Or really anytime this week?” He rubbed his palm against the dark denim of his jeans. His hands were clammy, and he could hear his heartbeat bouncing around inside his head.

“Well, I suppose I could squeeze that in, since dinner was, and I hate to admit it, awfully nice. Tomorrow would be okay, actually. I don’t have a class until noon.” Relief flooded through his veins, and he found himself nodding enthusiastically for a few moments, before realizing she couldn’t see the silent agreement.

“Okay, great. I’ll pick you up at nine?”

“Nine it is. Now go get back to singing, before you get yourself in real trouble,” she teased, and his eyes widened.

“Yeah, I probably should. See you tomorrow, Bridgette,” he said softly, listening to her breathing on the other end.

“Bye, James.” The dial tone filled his ear, and he shoved his cell back into his pocket.

He took a few deep breaths, then poked his head out of the door, carefully inspecting the gray carpeted hallway. After deeming it clear, he softly closed the wooden door behind him, peeked around the corner, then slid his hands in his pockets and walked like nothing had happened. His footsteps were the only noise echoing off of the starch white walls which were graced with platinum records, illuminated by flickering florescent lights. He could see the door to their booth when a hand clamped over his shoulder. He turned around slowly, his face contorting into a cringe.

“Hi, Mr. Seely,” he said nervously, his hazel eyes resting on the red and black striped tie the older man wore.

“James, I thought your band was scheduled to be recording right about now in booth three,” he said suspiciously, straightening up his feathery salt-and-pepper hair. His brown eyes bore into James, who shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

“They are,” he answered in a small voice.

“Then why are you out here, attempting to look inconspicuous?” James thought he was toast. Really burnt toast. He made awkward eye contact with Mr. Seely, trying not to appear as though he had been doing anything wrong. The last thing he needed was to piss off the owner of the label.

“It won’t happen again. I just had a very important phone call.”

“From a very important female?”

“Yes. I mean, um, well…” James stuttered, trying to sort through his thoughts. To his utter surprise, Mr. Seely laughed.

“It’s okay, son. Just get back to work, and sing a killer song. Make her proud, ‘cause from the way you’re blushing, she must be something special.” James mouth hung open, and he occasionally tried to force words out of it. Mr. Seely started back down the hallway towards his office. He turned back for a second, a smirk on his thin lips.

“Maslow, I signed you as a singer, not a fly catcher. So get to work!”