Page 115 of Hot Mess
“So what’s the deal with you and Steel Trap?” I asked him. “I’m a great listener, by the way.”
Xander snickered. “What do you want to hear? That I’m unhappy with my band? That guitar hero number one and guitar hero number two write all the songs and tell me what to play and how to play and don’t let me contribute creatively and it’s hurting my feelings?”
“Is that the truth?”
“I’d love to be in a more collaborative situation, with other musicians who realize what I have to offer.”
“And what if I could offer you that?”
He laughed again. And shook his head.
Maybe I deserved that laughter. We both knew I’d been in a position to offer him exactly that before. That he had been offered that—and I’d taken it away from him.
He didn’t look pissed about it, exactly, but he definitely wasn’t playing his hand. I had no idea if Dylan was right; if he was seriously looking to step away from Steel Trap. His words, the look on his face, his body language… None of it told me shit.
Maybe he was never gonna leave his band. Maybe he would, but no way in hell he’d be joining my band.
Maybe he’d consider joining my band if I just kissed his ass enough, stroked his drummer’s ego.
“So what’s going on between you and Summer?” he asked, totally changing the subject.
“Absolutely nothing. Besides what I said… We’re putting together a band.”
He just smiled like he didn’t believe it and slugged back his drink, then looked away.
He watched the girls working the poles across the room. It was Monday and it was still early, so it’s not like the pick of the litter was up there. There were maybe a dozen guys in the room, and the half-dozen girls on the floor were really hustling for their attention. But they were definitely holding Xander’s attention.
Either that or he just didn’t have much to say to me.
He didn’t trust me. I was pretty sure about that. He was still annoyed about what happened between us, all those years ago. Between him and the Penny Pushers.
Apparently, dude could hold a grudge.
Wasn’t sure I blamed him, really.
Other than that… I didn’t reallyknowXander anymore. We used to hang a lot when we were teenagers, when we were both playing around town, bouncing from one garage band to another. Still did hang, sometimes, but always in some group situation. A party, a nightclub, backstage. This was the closest I’d been to being alone with him in years.
I knew he was born and raised in Vancouver and, like me, he still lived here when he wasn’t on tour.
I knew Dylan got along with him. That Dirty’s North American tour this winter, where Steel Trap opened for Dirty, was the biggest break Steel Trap had ever had.
I knew he was talented and, like me, his potential had probably been throttled by the limitations of the band he was in.
But as the night rolled along, he didn’t seem to want to talk about our bands, past, present or future.
He was also incredibly popular with strippers, according to the attention he kept drawing in this place.
The girls checked me out, too. But as the liquor continued to flow our way, they kept beelining for Xander across the room, drifting right past me to touch his shoulder or his thigh and ask him if he needed anything. Which meant that they knew he was where the open wallet was at.
Must’ve been a regular.
I watched it, every time the waitress dropped off our drinks. The way she always served him first. The way she smiled at him and her whole body flirted with him as he checked her out.
Granted, Xander was hot.
Way hotter than he used to be when we were kids.
Dude always had a face that made the chicks double-take, but now he had the body to match. He wore loose jeans and tight, slick shirts that showed off his chest. The shirt he was wearing now was sleeveless and he was leaning forward on his elbows on the table. His arms were seriously cut and they were covered in tats. So was his neck. I happened to know that his whole upper body was pretty covered with ink.
