After a few minutes, Darren came back, tapping lightly at the door to announce his arrival. “Hey,” he said as he opened the door. “Don’t worry, that guy won’t be back tonight, or ever again.” He looked at me, hugging myself in the center of the room. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
To my horror, I felt my chin begin to tremble. I did not want to cry right now, not in front of the handsome man who had just come to my rescue. I breathed in deeply and forced myself to smile. “I’m okay.”
Darren regarded me doubtfully. “I think we could both use a drink right about now,” he said finally. “How about we go out to the bar and chat for a bit?”
I nodded gratefully. “That sounds great.”
Out in the main room, much of the action seemed to have died down. It seemed most of the patrons had either gone home or moved on to one of the playrooms. Darren led me to the bar in a far corner of the room. “What would you like?” he asked.
I was embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know much about alcohol, so I settled on the drink Peter had bought me before: “Um . . . vodka cranberry?”
Darren nodded and motioned the bartender over. After ordering for both of us, he turned back to me. “Great show tonight; I was hoping I’d get a chance to meet you.”
For a moment, I was disappointed that he hadn’t recognized me, until I remembered that I was still wearing my mask and wig. As Demi had pointed out, my own father wouldn’t recognize me. “Thank you,” I said, just as the bartender delivered our drinks. I took an experimental sip, relieved to find that this one seemed to have far less vodka in it than the first. “Does that happen often?” I asked finally. “I mean, that guy . . .” I trailed off.
Darren made a face. “Not too often, thankfully. The Ball is pretty careful about vetting their members. But there is the occasional jackass who slips through the cracks. Luckily, the Ball has a zero tolerance policy for things like that.”
“That is good,” I agreed.
“I don’t want you thinking that everyone here is like that.”
“I definitely don’t,” I assured him.
“That’s good.” Darren flashed me another smile. He studied my face. “You look so familiar. I have to ask: have we met?”
I kept my features carefully neutral. “I don’t think so?” I said. Of course, I could have taken off the wig, the mask, revealed myself as the girl Darren had met in the bakery the day before, but I was enjoying the anonymity of my disguise, the freedom to explore this new, wilder side of me that Sexerella brought out. I was worried that without the trappings of my disguise, I would lose all my newfound confidence. “I haven’t left West Virginia much, to be honest.”
“I see,” Darren said thoughtfully. “I have to admit, I’m glad I got to meet you tonight, although obviously I wish the circumstances had been better.”
I smiled into my drink, suddenly overcome with shyness. “I’m glad too,” I said. I reminded myself that Sexerella wouldn’t be too shy to flirt with a cute guy, and forced myself to meet his gaze.
“I’m a big fan of the Prince Charmings,” I said. I took a long sip of my drink, running my fingers up and down the length of the thin straw, enjoying the way Darren’s eyes followed the motion.
“Are you?” Darren asked, surprised. “That’s awesome.”
“Mmhm.” I leaned forward. “I’ve been trying to remember everything I can about the band all night. You were one of the founding members, weren’t you?”
Darren’s face colored, his flush stark against his Celtic coloring. “I was. Saul and Grant and I grew up together. We had a series of garage bands in high school, but we could never settle on a name for very long.”
I laughed. “Oh yeah? What were some of the ones you tried?”
Darren considered this, smiling slightly. “Well, let’s see . . . there was ‘Blood Red July’, then ‘Limp Torch’ . . . that was a little too suggestive, in retrospect . . . oh, but my favorite was ‘the Shouting Goblins.’”
I laughed out loud. “Those are all terrible.”
Darren shrugged, grinning. “Well, we were fifteen.”
“How did you settle on the Prince Charmings?” I asked.
Darren thought. “You know, I don’t remember? I know it was Grant’s idea, but I don’t know if he ever told us where it came from.”
“Your band is great,” Darren said, changing the subject. “How long have you been together?”
“About a year,” I said. “But I’ve been singing my whole life.”
“It shows,” Darren said. “You’re very talented.” He rested his arm on the bar next to mine, his skin just barely touching mine, and a shiver of delight ran up my spine. “How long are you in town for?”