Read Online Kiss Me Goodnight by Michele Zurlo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michele Zurlo
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the upswing. New job. Cute single guy with awesome taste in music. Night out with my best friends. My soul soared.
Chapter Five
“W HAT’S T HE N AME O F T HE B AND ?” Jane leaned over to ask me.
“I have no idea.”
I introduced Daisy to Jane and Luma. My friends were impressed that I knew the drummer in the band, and they probably assumed I was there to support her. I didn’t ask or in any way try to correct assumptions they may or may not have made.
Dylan’s band opened with original music. He’d changed his clothes from earlier. They all had. Each member was now clad in a black cotton T-shirt and dark blue jeans. The three men looked scrumptious, and even behind the drum set, Daisy stood out in her V-necked baby tee.
Jane leaned closer. “If you don’t know the name of the band, how did you meet them?”
I hadn’t met them all. “I spilled coffee on the lead singer.”
She hit me. Hard.
I winced, flinching out of her reach and rubbing my arm. “Ow. Damn it, Jane. What was that for?”
“You spilled coffee on Mr. Too-Hot-for-Words, and you’re just now mentioning it? Luma and I will be torturing you for the details later. And introductions. I concede that you have dibs on the lead singer. We’ll work out who gets the keyboardist and who gets the bassist.”
Dylan played lead guitar, and I was impressed at his skill. He was effectively doing two complicated things at once, and I had to wonder how that ability translated into other areas of life.
The band played another original song before launching into their version of “Endlessly, She Said.” Dylan dedicated it to me, or actually to “the lovely woman with the iced latte,” as he didn’t use my name. I’m not sure how I feel about that gesture. I mean, I’m pretty certain the song is about the death of hope. It speaks to my soul, but it whispers dreary sentiments. This did not bode well for my prospects of exchanging my battery-powered lover for a manual one.
Meanwhile, Dylan’s voice and expression seemed to mesmerize everyone in the room. I don’t think anyone had expected to be swept away, but that’s what he did to them. For me, those are the sweetest of experiences: the unexpectedly good ones. I went willingly, even when I realized he was singing a punked-out version of “You Give Love a Bad Name.” It was almost enough to make me want to listen to Bon Jovi.
Almost.
Jane and Luma enjoyed the show tremendously. By the time Dylan introduced their last tune, my friends had sobered up.
“I’d like to thank all of you for coming out tonight. We are Kiss Me Goodnight, and this is our final song.”
It started slow, with the melody kicking in after the drum established the beat. It had a catchy chorus:
I’ll lock all the doors
And turn out the lights;
Curl up in my arms, darling,
And kiss me goodnight.
There was more, of course. The song told the story of lovers comfortable in the knowledge that they’d always be together. He sang it sweetly, so even though I didn’t catch all the lyrics, the song still managed to penetrate my emotions.
When the band had abandoned the stage and the DJ took over the sound system again, Jane turned to me, her eyes narrowed.
“Spill it, sister. I can’t believe you’re holding out on us.”
Luma lifted an inquiring brow, and they took turns with the interrogation.
“What’s his name?”
“Dylan.”
“You met when?”
“Last Friday.”
“First date?”
“No.”
“He ask you out?”
“No. He asked me to come see his band.” I looked around. A lot of pretty girls were here. I wondered how many he had invited. Jane opened her mouth to ask the next question, but I held up my hand. “It’s not a big deal. I spilled coffee on him. He asked me to come see his band play. I’m here. End of story.”
They gave me the look that said they knew I wasn’t telling them everything. But they also knew, from experience, that if they kept asking questions, I’d be in the bathroom
Chapter Five
“W HAT’S T HE N AME O F T HE B AND ?” Jane leaned over to ask me.
“I have no idea.”
I introduced Daisy to Jane and Luma. My friends were impressed that I knew the drummer in the band, and they probably assumed I was there to support her. I didn’t ask or in any way try to correct assumptions they may or may not have made.
Dylan’s band opened with original music. He’d changed his clothes from earlier. They all had. Each member was now clad in a black cotton T-shirt and dark blue jeans. The three men looked scrumptious, and even behind the drum set, Daisy stood out in her V-necked baby tee.
Jane leaned closer. “If you don’t know the name of the band, how did you meet them?”
I hadn’t met them all. “I spilled coffee on the lead singer.”
She hit me. Hard.
I winced, flinching out of her reach and rubbing my arm. “Ow. Damn it, Jane. What was that for?”
“You spilled coffee on Mr. Too-Hot-for-Words, and you’re just now mentioning it? Luma and I will be torturing you for the details later. And introductions. I concede that you have dibs on the lead singer. We’ll work out who gets the keyboardist and who gets the bassist.”
Dylan played lead guitar, and I was impressed at his skill. He was effectively doing two complicated things at once, and I had to wonder how that ability translated into other areas of life.
The band played another original song before launching into their version of “Endlessly, She Said.” Dylan dedicated it to me, or actually to “the lovely woman with the iced latte,” as he didn’t use my name. I’m not sure how I feel about that gesture. I mean, I’m pretty certain the song is about the death of hope. It speaks to my soul, but it whispers dreary sentiments. This did not bode well for my prospects of exchanging my battery-powered lover for a manual one.
Meanwhile, Dylan’s voice and expression seemed to mesmerize everyone in the room. I don’t think anyone had expected to be swept away, but that’s what he did to them. For me, those are the sweetest of experiences: the unexpectedly good ones. I went willingly, even when I realized he was singing a punked-out version of “You Give Love a Bad Name.” It was almost enough to make me want to listen to Bon Jovi.
Almost.
Jane and Luma enjoyed the show tremendously. By the time Dylan introduced their last tune, my friends had sobered up.
“I’d like to thank all of you for coming out tonight. We are Kiss Me Goodnight, and this is our final song.”
It started slow, with the melody kicking in after the drum established the beat. It had a catchy chorus:
I’ll lock all the doors
And turn out the lights;
Curl up in my arms, darling,
And kiss me goodnight.
There was more, of course. The song told the story of lovers comfortable in the knowledge that they’d always be together. He sang it sweetly, so even though I didn’t catch all the lyrics, the song still managed to penetrate my emotions.
When the band had abandoned the stage and the DJ took over the sound system again, Jane turned to me, her eyes narrowed.
“Spill it, sister. I can’t believe you’re holding out on us.”
Luma lifted an inquiring brow, and they took turns with the interrogation.
“What’s his name?”
“Dylan.”
“You met when?”
“Last Friday.”
“First date?”
“No.”
“He ask you out?”
“No. He asked me to come see his band.” I looked around. A lot of pretty girls were here. I wondered how many he had invited. Jane opened her mouth to ask the next question, but I held up my hand. “It’s not a big deal. I spilled coffee on him. He asked me to come see his band play. I’m here. End of story.”
They gave me the look that said they knew I wasn’t telling them everything. But they also knew, from experience, that if they kept asking questions, I’d be in the bathroom
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