Foolish Games

by Leah Spiegel

  “Are you wearing another one of our shirts?” He tugged at it from the bottom to straighten it out over my chest.

  “Yes,” I gently slapped his hand away, “but it’s not why you think.”

  “Ah, huh,” he said, not sounding totally convinced with a wicked grin on his face. “So how do you feel about tour buses?”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” I rolled my eyes. He wrapped an arm around me to guide me down the hallway. Although I didn’t want to go on his bus, I did like his arm around my shoulder.

  “What? You have a problem with tour buses or something?” He looked like nothing could please him more. We walked down the boardwalk-like hallway. Lights were lined intermittently up above, casting off just enough light for us to see the ground below.

  “Yeah, I do.” Tilting my head against his shoulder to look up at him, I realized how close our faces were to each other now. His warm breath trickled down my neck and the smell of fresh aftershave filled my nose. The heat and smell momentarily disoriented me until a small knowing smile crossed his lips. Snapping my head forward, I lied on a whim. “Now, that I know The Grimm Reaper is planning to target one of them.”

  Hawkins just threw his head back with laughter. “Ohh, I got it now,” he said sarcastically while tightening his grip around my shoulder as we pushed through the doorway. The wooden planks beneath us changed to bits of gravel in the parking lot. Across from us was a line of tour buses.

  “So that’s what really terrifies you?” He seemed humored by the question. He released his firm grasp on me when we reached his tour bus.

  “Of course,” I emphasized in a valiant effort to sound sensible.

  “So this isn’t about your rules, then?” he asked knowingly. If only Lizzie would have kept her trap shut, I thought grudgingly.

  “No,” I said, surer than I felt.

  “Good.” He propped open the door and waved. “Get in.”

  “The Grimm Reaper,” I reminded him in a soft, hushed voice.

  “I had security thoroughly check the bus,” he explained. “You have nothing to worry about.” It wasn’t like I had kept my displeasure of being on a tour bus from him. We both knew that this “visit” wasn’t by chance.

  “Right,” I murmured, but hesitated at the opening of the tour bus.

  “It’s completely harmless,” he said while nearly close to laughter. I rolled my eyes. Damn you, Hawkins! I had already broken several rules. What’s one more? So I turned and walked up the steps.

  The tour bus felt oddly intimate and private, like I had walked into Hawkins’ home for the first time. Of course, it was stunning and filled with all the bachelor’s pad necessities. I gazed down at the leather seating on either side of the aisle in the front. The kitchen area was behind the couches: gray slick countertops, stainless steel fridge, and a lavish half circular booth for sitting. Further down the aisle were bunk beds on both sides. Hawkins passed by me to turn on the lights to the rest of the bus. He quickly collected some items of clothing and clutter in an effort to pick up the place. Hawkins tossed the stuff into a darkened room in the back, which I assumed was his bedroom, shut the door and turned off the light in the back.

  But it was the little things that made the bus personal: little mementos and photos covering the fridge, an iPod with ear phones was stashed in the corner of the couch, a bag of left over fast food was on the counter, and empty, green beer bottles were still in their cup holders along the table. Hawkins met me halfway back down the aisle. He gazed around the bus before he tilted his head back down to look at me.

  “Pretty fancy.” I nodded while glancing around at the kitchen area.

  “Hey, it’s better than all of us being crammed into one van,” he emphasized, thinking that I was being sarcastic.

  “Amen to that,” I said under my breath.

  “Now, where were we?” he asked while rummaging through his fridge. “Coke?”

  “Sure.”

  He grabbed up two bottles of coke and placed them on the table before he sat down. He motioned for me to sit across from him. The dim light above the table gave off a flattering glow, and the ebb of darkness around the small booth made it feel suddenly intimate.

  “What do you want to know about me?” he asked. “So you can ridicule me later?” He arched his eyebrow as he took another sip of his coke.

  “What makes you think that I haven’t already figured you out?” I glared at him.

  “Oh, wow.” He tilted his head. “Umm,” he said mockingly, like he was trying to really think about it. “Could it be all the wrong assumptions you’ve already made about my life? Or could it be because you haven’t figured yourself out yet,” he said under his breath as he rested his elbow on the table and dangled the bottle in front of him before taking another sip.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, really,” he insisted while locking eyes with mine. All of the attention was a little daunting, but I forced myself to keep eye contact.

  “Like what haven’t I figured out?” I asked him mockingly.

  “Why are you following us around?” he asked innocently enough.

  It felt like a time to be honest. What did it matter now, anyway?

  “My dad died recently,” I shrugged. “He didn’t make much of his life and now my mom is pestering me because she’s afraid I’ll turn out like him.”

  “So you’re avoiding her?” he said, sounding slightly disappointed.

  “I’m preserving what sanity I still have left.”

  “How’s she pestering you?” He looked at me curiously as he took another sip of his drink.

  “College is in the fall,” I muttered. “She’s hell bent on me succeeding at something.” I looked away from his daunting gaze to the fridge across the aisle.

  “So, what have you chosen?” he asked. “I mean, if you know yourself so well and all.” A crooked little smile played across his face while his eyebrows peaked, prompting me to answer.

  “I’ve discovered that I am a damn good writer.” I smirked as I said it.

  “That’s what you think.” He laughed.

  “Good enough to get hired by your record company.”

  “Like it’s really hard to trash a person.” He sat up and met my smirk with his own. Crap, was he intimidating! Crossing my arms, I pinched my face like, you don’t know anything.

  “Where does your mom really think that you are now?” He arched his eyebrow knowingly as he took another sip of his coke.

  Pondering whether I should continue with the truth, Hawkins tilted his head and looked up at me with those crystal clear blue eyes.

  “She thinks that I’m working for Senator Johnson’s campaign,” I said flatly.

  He suddenly sprayed the soda in laughter.

  Wonderful

  “That was, umm,” he wiped a hand across his mouth, “unexpected.”

  “You’re such a jerk.” I shook my head while grinning.

  “What is it that you do exactly for Senator Johnson’s campaign?” His expression looked unfathomable as though he couldn’t picture it.

  Suddenly I was regretting my confession. It only seemed to make him happier. “Writing for his website,” I admitted with all seriousness.

  “Wow, that couldn’t have been very good for his campaign,” he wagered. “Senator Johnson’s speech jolted my bones,” he quoted my review while laughing.

  “Really, since we’re sharing tonight, why do you want to quit the band?” I shot back while glaring across the table at him.

  The smile suddenly left his face. “Who told you that?”

  “It’s just what I’ve heard.” I wondered how accurate Riley was in his assumptions now that I was openly saying them to Hawkins.

  “Heard or assumed?” he questioned. “Because with you, I have to ask.”

  “Heard,” I said, like my source was as legit as they come and not the offhand discussion I had with a friend. “So?”

  “The fame is really hard to deal with,” he sai
d sarcastically when I realized that Riley had been right.

  “Yes, to have everyone there at your beck and call. Making millions of dollars doing something you love.” I rolled my eyes at him.

  “Well, not the beck and call part…aside from you,” he added jokingly before saying, “I used to love it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Actually,” he said gravely. “I lost someone, too.” The sarcasm suddenly disappeared from his tone. He looked distractedly over my shoulder like his thoughts suddenly took him a hundred miles away.

  “My brother.” He exhaled heavily with the confession. “He died in a car crash not that long ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “Please don’t say that you’re sorry.” He held up a hand to stop me. His twisted expression made the shadows on his face contort under the lighting.

  “Why do people use that expression anyway?” he asked with annoyance.

  “It’s because they don’t know what to say.” I assumed, which was strange since I had wondered the same thing when my dad passed.

  “So you wanted to quit because of your brother?” I tried to make sense of it.

  “Okay, first of all,” Hawkins pushed his drink to the side, “there was no quitting,” he set me straight. His upper lip curled in disgust from the insinuation.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “So he died and?” I prompted him, but he hesitated while leaning back in his seat again.

  “No, bullshit,” I reminded him.

  “Since Dylan died, when I tried to sit down and write a song, I couldn’t. Music has always helped me deal with life and now it’s like that part of me is dead, too,” he confessed like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I got a sense I was the first to have heard about this.

  “And whatever I try to do…” He looked distractedly down at his hands. “I can’t seem to get it back,” he whispered almost to himself.

  The unexpected confession left us both silent.

  “Tragic story, right?” he said sarcastically in an effort to lift the mood.

  “So people think that you’re cynical when you’re really…” I drifted off.

  “Maybe this honest policy isn’t what is best for either of us,” he warned. He looked noticeably uncomfortable, like he regretted his confession.

  “This isn’t something I would share with anyone else,” I hissed, upset that he would think so little of me.

  “O-kay,” he muttered. “Another one of your promises that you won’t keep?”

  Throwing my hand up in the air, I snipped, “It was all a misunderstanding. Why can’t you understand that?”

  “Oh, god, not this again,” he groaned while rolling his eyes.

  “Whatever,” I said, leaning back in the seat to a have a full sulking fit. “I can tell that I’m not ever going to be able to convince you.” I huffed. “God, you’re so stubborn.”

  “I’m the stubborn one?” He laughed, but I could tell he was more amused than upset by the accusation.

  “Fine, since we’re trusting each other now, why the rules?” He continued to probe me with question after question, but I wasn’t sure if being honest was in our best interests either.

  “It was a good idea to set Lizzie straight at the beginning of the tour. Just to let her know I wasn’t going to be tagging along,” I lied. “It was really only meant for her to hear. Who knew she would blurt them out to you.”

  “Ohh, I see,” he hummed. “I thought that we were being honest with each other?”

  “Are we or aren’t we?” I said with an edge. “Who can keep up?”

  “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” He smiled knowingly at me.

  “No, probably not,” I confessed as a small smile escaped. “Besides I thought that I was going to be the one asking questions?”

  “What do you want to know?” he asked coyly.

  “Why are you so fascinated with me anyway? There is no way I’m the first person to call you arrogant,” I said with a hundred percent certainty.

  “No, you’re not the first,” he stressed. “But the last person who told me to get my shit together, in so many words, ended up dead because I didn’t take the keys from him when I knew that he had had too much to drink.”

  Speechless, I realized that he meant his brother.

  “Everyone else just smiles to my face.” He frowned.

  For the first time, Hawkins had shut me up.

  “Are you sure that you really want to ask me questions?” he asked brightly. “I’m not exactly known for being optimistic, but you already knew that, right?” His eyes twinkled from across the table. “So,” before I could comment, he changed the subject, “why do you hang out with Lizzie?”

  Staring at him surprisingly, I murmured, “I like her.”

  “You like her?” he reiterated.

  Feeling exasperated, I looked away from him before my eyes, flicked back, “My parents are friends with her parents.”

  “Wow, now I find myself saying it.” He flashed a smile that grew wider with each second. “I’m so sorry.”

  We both laughed, releasing the tension of the previous conversation.

  “So what’s Warren like?” I asked on a whim.

  “A genuinely good guy,” he answered.

  “What’s Riley like?” The smile disappeared from his face.

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “Your best friend, huh?” He suddenly narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The look reminded me of last night when he had misunderstood my need to find Riley so I decided to set him straight.

  “Yes, I was the first person he came out to,” I added for his benefit.

  “Huh, oh right.” He gave a curt nod then tried to hide a smile by taking a sip of his drink.

  “He’d like to meet Rob Harlow,” I blurted out absentmindedly.

  “Rob is gay?!” he sputtered.

  “No!” I quickly intervened. “Riley just respects and admires his work.”

  “Is that what you say about me when you’re lying?” he asked coyly. “That you respect and admire my work?”

  “No, I just tell them that you’re arrogant and smug, remember?”

  “Ha, nice.” He smiled.

  “Well, it’s getting late.” I noticed with a glance over at a nearby window.

  “Yes, of course, we’ve got to get you back to that parking lot, right away.” He pointed at me. His face was mockingly serious before he caved and laughed.

  “Three of us live out of a van while you live out of a luxurious tour bus. That one cracks me up every time, too,” I said sarcastically while scooting out of the booth.

  Hawkins slid out from his seat in one quick motion, landing on his feet in front of me in seconds. The closeness had him towering over me in the little walkway. We were so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. Moving to the right at the same time he went to his left, landed us in the same spot. We both laughed. He wrapped his big hands around my shoulders making me feel like a little kid next to him.

  “I’m going to go to my left,” he whispered. “And you’re going to go to your left.”

  “Unless you don’t want to, that is.” His gaze drifted down my lips and flicked back up to meet my eyes. “I’m not going to stop you, if you want to keep running into me like this,” he whispered suggestively.

  “Le-left it is,” I stammered like an idiot, and I could tell he didn’t care for my answer since it would take me down the aisle and away from him.

  Our bodies were almost touching when he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “You know you’re frustrating, right?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” he insisted as the corner of his mouth lifted up.

  “So, I guess we should try this again.” He gestured down to the walkway. “Remember, go to your left.”

  “I think I got it.” I smiled.

  “On the count of three,” he continued, “One…two…three.�
�

  Thinking we had this down, I went to my left, but he quickly went to his right causing me to plow right into him. He caught me, and our bodies pressed against each other for a brief moment.

  “I thought you were going to go to your left?” I whispered breathlessly.

  “And you trusted me?” He looked down at my lips. “With my past actions, I would’ve thought you would have been prepared.”

  “So you agree?” I murmured.

  “I agree?” He leaned into me while tangling his fingers in my hair.

  “It’s good to know that you can finally admit it was you that started this game,” I whispered.

  He stopped to stare over my shoulder in a delayed reaction. His face scrunched up skeptically before he dropped his mouth open to argue.

  “I appreciate the confession.” I fought back a smile. “Maybe you’ll sleep better at night now?”

  As I went to walk past him, he grabbed the back of my elbow and pulled me right back into the tight space between us. “Oh no, you don’t,” he grumbled while the muscle in his jaw twitched. “I didn’t start anything.”

  “So your first words to me weren’t that you prefer blondes,” I reminded him of the night in the elevator.

  “Joie,” he said with his lips hovering over mine.

  “What?” I felt my heart flutter.

  “Shut up,” he muttered and then he kissed me.

  9. THE RULES

  Bam! Lizzie slammed the door as she entered the room, waking me up. She hopped on my bed and the impact roughly tossed me up in the air and back onto the bed.

  “So where were you last night?” she asked me as I recoiled from her and pulled the pillow over my head.

  “Hello under there?!” She wrenched the pillow off my head.