Page 110 of Dirty Like Seth
“Yeah,” she said, “I guess.” And I knew what she was thinking. She was thinking thatIwas what was best for theband.
But there was no point in either of us sayingit.
I agreed with her, but in the end, it was too fucking depressing to talk about itanymore.
A distant chime rang through the front of the house, and Elle frowned a bit, getting up. “Doorbell,” she said. “I’ll getit.”
When she returned a few minutes later, she was trailed by a giant redhead. All six-and-a-half-feet of Dylan Cope strolled into the studio behind her, his green eyes landing onme.
I froze, guitar in hand. I had the Fender plugged in and I’d been playing the saxophone solo from The Doors’ “Touch Me” on the guitar, just kinda mucking around while I waited forElle.
“Seth,” he said, nodding a greeting atme.
“Dylan,” I choked out. “Good to see you,man.”
He didn’t come over to shake my hand or give me a hug or a fucking kiss, so I didn’t go in for one,either.
Elle gave me a quick look that was somewhere between apologetic and resigned. She sat down neatly on her fluffy chair and said, “Dylan just stopped by to see me. I told him we have something to play forhim.”
I put down my guitar. “Right. Okay.” I wiped my now-sweaty palms on myjeans.
As Dylan sat on the couch, I played back the track we’d been working on last night, the one Elle told me to play for him. It was a ballad, heavily acoustic, the first song I’d played for Elle in this studio. We’d called it “Somewhere.”
Dylan listened carefully, gazing at the carpet as he did, his mind deep in the music. When it was done, I felt the need to say, “It’srough.”
Dylan looked up, straight at me. “It’s good,” hesaid.
I glanced at Elle, who was sitting back in silence in her angel chair. “You wanna hear some more?” she askedhim.
Dylan’s eyebrows went up. “There’smore?”
“Yeah. A fewmore.”
“Howmany?”
“Three.”
“Three…” he repeated, looking from Elle to me and back. “Three like the one I just heard?” He looked kind of astounded. “You guys’ve laid down four songs,already?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged, uncomfortable. “Well, one of them’s probably better. It’s Elle’s favorite, anyway. Summer came by and played on it…” I glanced at Elle again, wondering if it was okay to saythat.
“Do you wanna hear the songs or what?” Elle proddedDylan.
“Yeah,” he said, looking me over as he leaned back, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “Lay ’em onme.”
So I played him all the songs we’d recorded so far, and after the last one finished, Dylan nodded and said, “It’s good,”again.
Elle’s eyes met mine. She was holding back a smile, which I took to mean Dylan’s “good” was prettygreat.
After a minute, he said, thoughtfully, “Summer laid down some decent beats on there. But you guys should really get a decent drummer to play some drums for you.” He looked at Elle. “Too bad you don’t know anyone likethat.”
The grin spread across Elle’s face; she lit rightup.
Then she flew out of her chair and gave Dylan a hug that was so tight and so long, I might’ve been jealous if I didn’t knowbetter.
* * *
The next daywas fuckingsurreal.
