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I shake my head. “Boone decided it was time for lunch, but I think I’ve been effectively ditched. I’m not hungry yet anyways, so I just figured I’d wander around a bit and take a look at everything.”
Nikolai pushes himself off the wall and lays his arm across my shoulder, turning me around and guiding me back down the hall from where I came from. “Come on in and join us for a bit. We could all use a neutral party in the studio with us today.”
I begin to protest but stop. What better things do I have to do? Boone’s likely already off at lunch with Naomi, Vik was tied up in as many in-person meetings as she could squeeze in today with the short time we have here, and no one else was propositioning me with a better offer. So I let myself be guided into the studio at the end of the hall, a little bit of excitement simmering at the thought of watching the guys record live.
Doing so much of my song composition on my computer, I rarely ever get to see artists recording their tracks with live instruments, so it’ll be interesting to see how their process goes.
As Nikolai pulls open the heavily insulated door, the quiet hallway is quickly filled with loud drumming and my attention is immediately pulled to the live room in front of me, feet carrying me inside with a mind of their own, taking me right up to the window opposite where Walker is currently playing.
He leans far over the drum kit, this one white and gold, looking very plain compared to the black and neon green one he has on the tour. Walker’s muscles bulge as his arms move quicker than my eyes can follow, sweat dripping from his forehead and dark hair hanging in his eyes, swaying with the rhythm he bobs his head along to.
His large chest glistens, sweatshirt abandoned in a heap next to the kit. The pounding of the drums reverberates through the small space from the speakers built in around the room.
Shaking myself out of the trance watching Walker put me in, I scan the room. Hayden is lying on the leather couch across from the console, typing away on his phone. Reid is notably absent. Nikolai strolls up beside me, watching Walker for a moment before turning around to ask Hayden, “When did you guys switch?”
Hayden doesn’t look up from his phone, but answers, “A few minutes ago. He couldn’t stop tapping on the console, pacing up and down the studio. Thought he might burn a hole in the carpet. He clearly needed to work off some energy, so I told him I wanted a break and he jumped in there.”
My focus is pulled back to Walker as he rapidly fires on one of the cymbals, before stopping and throwing his head back, dislodging the headphones he’s wearing. They fall behind him, but he makes no move for them, instead grabbing a hand towel hanging over a music stand to his left, quickly wiping his face and neck.
His chest heaves and I can’t look away, watching every rise and fall of his breath. Walker cracks his neck side to side, Adam's apple partially hidden behind a dusting of hair that’s grown overnight. The stubble fits him and my palms twitch with the desire to run my hands across it.
What the fuck?
I shake my head slightly, my cheeks warming with embarrassment. It seems hotter in this studio than the one Boone and I were working in and I roll the sleeves of my jacket up as far as I can.
Tossing the towel aside, Walker grabs his drumsticks and spins the one in his right hand. I’m momentarily mesmerized by the speed at which he deftly twirls it around his fingers and hand, never faltering or letting it slip from his strong grasp.
He looks up to the window for the first time since Nikolai and I entered the studio and I’m surprised at the twinge of disappointment that zaps through me when Walker doesn’t seem to acknowledge me. Not a smile or an eyebrow raise, not even a not-so-subtle flex of his muscles that I’ve caught him doing to me before.
No sign of his usual humor dances on his face. Instead, he jumps right back into playing, sans headphones, and gets lost in his rhythm.
I hang out in the studio for about an hour with Nikolai and Hayden, talking off and on with them in between Walker’s playing. We talk about our various projects we’re working on, mine seeming to be going much better than theirs if the dark look on Hayden’s face has anything to say about it. When my stomach starts to growl, I bid them adieu and head out in search of food. Walker’s still in the booth pounding away when I leave and I don’t spare a glance back at him as I exit the studio.
Making my way down the hallway with lunch on the brain for the second time today, I’m stopped in my tracks once again as my name is called out behind me.
“Scar,” Walker yells as he jogs to me, towel hanging from his hand. “Didn’t even say hi to me? How unlike you,” he says sarcastically.
I turn to face him. “You seemed pretty busy in there.”
As he closes the gap between us, the smell of his cologne and sweat, strong and masculine, hangs heavy in the air, making my head spin.
“Where are you headed off to?”
“Going to grab something to eat. You want anything?” The offer spills from my lips, surprising us both.
Walker vibrates with energy, foot tapping on the floor. “I’m good,” he declines. “I gotta get back in there, but I didn’t want you to leave without getting to say hi.”
I nod, not sure what else to say and turn to leave, but before I get around the corner, he calls out again.
“You like what you saw in there? Think any of it has potential?”
Turning around, I can’t hide the confusion on my face. Is he asking for my opinion on his drumming? That’s not quite my area of expertise.
Picking up on my hesitation, he shifts from foot to foot. “I just mean…did you enjoy watching at all?” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s nervous.
I answer honestly. “I did.” His chest falls a bit, as if he was holding his breath awaiting my answer. “It was cool to see you in your element.”
“Maybe next time, you’d like to watch me on stage? Finally stick around for one of our sets?”
