Band On The Run

Social Cues

With my cheeks still a bright burning red from the heat of the water, I made my way down the hallway, following the sound of the television.

It was a nasally voice that guided my way and I could've rolled my eyes. Apparently that ban of any gossip channels in the apartment had fallen by the wayside, because I'd heard that woman bad mouth me far too many times lately.

Just as I entered the room, carelessly braiding my damp hair over my shoulder, the words became very clear.

"The Spares forsake Maureen Jones. Have they gone too far?"

This time I did roll my eyes as I stepped up to the couch where Nick was sitting on the couch, his brow furrowed as he watched. He was so focused he hadn't even noticed me. Flicking my braided hair over my shoulder, I leaned my hands against the back of the couch near his head, finally grabbing his attention. "Why are you watching this shit?"

"First thing in the morning I like to get the lay of the land to see if someone is going to assassinate my girlfriend today," he replied, wearing a grin. "Why are you up and about so early? Now that you don't have to be at the studio you're spending most mornings holed up in your music room."

"Band practice," I answered simply before leaning in and kissing him lightly in good morning. Then I was pushing up straight to walk into the kitchen.

"There's coffee on for you," Nick called after me. "It's pretty fresh – I didn't know if you were going to venture out."

There was a smile on my face as I found the pot just like he'd said. Blocking out whatever was being said on the television – I definitely needed caffeine before listening to that – I poured myself a rather large mug. I didn't even bother to wait to put my regular splash of half and half in, taking a deep fortifying sip. It only burnt my tongue slightly.

It was freeing these days without having to rush into the studio to work on the Fly Way album, and so very nice to not have to see Robert on a daily basis. I could wake up when I felt like it, not contractually obligated to spend a certain amount of time in the studio per day. That month off had kind of been like this, but there'd been a hell of a lot more stress considering I had that album to finish looming over my head combined with my own inability to play music or sing – not to mention the concussion.

My days were still pretty full with The Spares publicity and the city tour I was still on, but it was so much easier to fit in my own song writing in without also producing an album. I always had rather enjoyed being a producer, but it was moments like this why I remembered I tended to put so much time between producing albums for other people. It was nice to just be a musician for a bit and nothing more.

"So did you come to a conclusion?" I asked as I opened the fridge to grab the carton. I poured a rather large glug into my mug, and gave a contented sigh when I took my next drink. Much better this way.

"A conclusion?" replied Nick, confused.

Putting the carton back in the fridge, I wrapped both hands around the mug as I walked out of the kitchen. "As to whether or not I'm going to be assassinated today. Am I safe?"

That had Nick giving a laugh as he tipped his head up backwards to get a look at me. "Well, you seem to be," he told me in mock seriousness, "From the public, at least. But I never would put it past your band. I would say to keep your guard up."

With a theatrical gasp, I said, "Will would never."

That only had him laughing again.

"But you are right, we never do know with Seth," I pointed out fairly, but there was a grin curling the corners of mouth. I leaned down to kiss him again, but this time it was in farewell. "Best keep on my toes."