Page 17 of Banging the Drummer

“I bet you’d forgive him if he tossed you a drumstick tonight,” Daisy says.

If he tosses me a drumstick, I might jab it up his nose. “We’ll see.”

Daisy laughs at something on her screen, her face lighting up.

I point at her once she looks back at me. “Who’s responsible for that?”

“What?” Daisy glances around.

“For putting that giddy look on your face. You’ve got a guy in your life you haven’t told us about yet?”

“Of course not. You know I’m no good at keeping secrets. If there was a guy in my life, you’d definitely know about it.”

I arch a brow at her. “If you say so…”

“I do say so.”

Then my own phone pings with a message from MAYBE_MASON.

Guess I can change his contact information now that I know I have actually been chatting with the real Mason Ball. I make the necessary change to his info before clicking on his message.

MASON: I can’t wait to see you tonight.

ME: I’m wearing a special shirt for you.

MASON: Oh yeah? What’s it look like?

ME: It’s a surprise.

MASON: You really are a vixen. I can wait. But maybe I’ll have a surprise for you too.

ME: I love surprises.

MASON: Good to know.

That night at the concert, the girls and I dance ourselves silly. It seems abundantly clear to all of us but Shelby that Jameson is singing directly to her every time he takes the mic. I’m so happy for her, for all of them really.

The dancing is definitely helping because my nerves are flooded with adrenaline. I’m doing my best to be in the moment and try not to obsess over how things will go between me and Mason once I get backstage.

He looks ridiculously hot up there on stage. His long blond hair moves with him as he bangs the drums, his hands moving ridiculously fast to the beat. Since he sits further back on the stage—though on an elevated platform—I don’t think he can see me dancing down here on the front row.

Ireland dances up beside me. “I don’t think I get the shirt,” she says close to my ear.

I glance down at my vintage Star Wars: The Phantom Menace t-shirt. “Jar Jar Binks,” I tell her pointing at the illustration.

She frowns.

“Because Mason’s name is Mason Ball—both of those names are actually the names of canning companies. So in effect, his name is Jar Jar. It’s just a pun.”

She laughs. “I get it. That must be why they call him Binksy sometimes. It seems to really irritate him.”

“That’s awesome,” I say with a laugh. “Then he will totally get my shirt. He knows I appreciate puns.” Now I really can’t wait to get backstage.

chapter

twelve

Mason