Page 28 of Playing the Backbeat

“Hey.” She slaps my shoulder. “I am not loud.”

“You are the model after which megaphones were designed. It’s an accomplishment. Physical education teachers across the nation have you to thank for the breakthrough.”

Her laugh reverberates off the walls of my bedroom, and I can’t help but laugh along with her.

My chest warms at the sight of her head thrown back, dark brown hair flitting around her shoulders, hands resting on her stomach, leaving smears of flour across the black fabric of her oversized T-shirt, nearly meeting the hem of her hot pink biker shorts.

I liked living alone. I’ve been on my own ever since Dominic proposed to Ellie and they moved in together. I like my space. I like things being where I left them—something I notably don’t have the luxury of anymore—but being here as Dee cooks with her niece, as she sings in the shower so loudly I can hear her from my room, having her laugh at my stupid jokes. It’s warmed a corner of my chest I didn’t realize was…lonely.

Was I?

I have the guys. I have the Bridge and my coworkers. But it’s been a long time since I’ve imagined myself finding something more. Casual and comfortable has been the way I’ve wanted things to be. Until Aiden and Bec started planning their wedding, I hadn’t felt the pressure of time counting down on my love life. But this feeling…it’s something I can’t name. Somethingshifting. And I can’t place it.

“You’re such a smart-ass.” Her comment forces my gaze from her thighs.

“Takes one to know one. We missed you at the convention last year.”

“Sorry to miss it. I was too busy at the hot singles convention.”

“Can you teach me?” Emi asks, eyes lit with excitement, still yelling over the sound in her headphones as she strikes everypad and cymbal in quick succession, no rhyme or rhythm to her movements.

“Sure, Emi.”

She pauses, pulling one side of the headphones off her ear. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

Dee smiles warmly at Emi. “You might have to do a little morelisteningbefore you can wear the headphones.”

“But it sounds so much cooler,” Emi complains, letting the headphones drop back around her ears and slamming away at the pads.

“I won’t mind if you tell her you can’t,” Dee says, sparing a glance in my direction. “I understand this is your space and this is super invasive of your time, on a Friday night no less.”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t mind. I teach a few kids at the local music shop once a month.”

“You do?” Dee asks, her voice raised over the beating Emi is giving the drums.

“Yeah.” I reach into my crossbody bag, digging out some sheet music. “I wanted to start an open community lesson at the Bridge, but it didn’t work out.”

“The owner?” Dee asks, and I nod. “What the hell is up his ass anyway?”

I shrug. “If you figure it out, let me know. He’s supposedly coming to the Bridge at the end of the month for one of the concerts. Finally, an artist he likes enough to show his face, I guess.” I don’t miss the annoyance on Dee’s face, and I can’t help but feel the same. It’s confusing as all hell to me too why someone would care enough to own a concert venue but not give a shit about music.

Emi tosses a drumstick in the air with a flick of her wrist, and it bounces off Dee’s hip. She narrows her eyes at her niece, who giggles as I hand her another replacement before she’s off again, pounding away with vigor.

“Shit, she’s really having a great time. Morgan and Kai are going to kill me.”

“Nah, blame it on me. It’s notyourdrum set.”

“We’re too good of friends for me to blame this on you.”

“Friends, huh?” I don’t know why I ask. Some impulsive string inside of me pulling taut, driving me to let the words fly between us. Wanting her to say it out loud so I can shut this voice inside me up, convincing me that maybe there’s something more between us.

I’ve known Dee for years. The verbal sparring, the constant teasing, bickering. It was natural, easy between us. Never rattled, but ignited and inspired to drive each other further. This competitive fire, this need to get her worked up the same way she does me. It’s as easy as breathing. There was a moment last year when I convinced myself that I was feeling more than friendship with her. But I talked myself out of my own stupidity. So why am I still hearing that voice saymaybe there’s more here?

There’s not. There never was. And there never will be.

“I know, I know,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. The flour on her shirt distracted me earlier, but now I catch a glimpse of a streak across her cheek. I fight the urge to wipe it away with the pad of my thumb. “You think we’re just an annoyance to one another, but I do consider you a friend, Dylan. You realize that, right?”

My stomach sinks at her words.