Honey Drip // Danny Wagner

III

I had told myself I would leave the set early to keep working on my paper but Josh had been right--drinking was an incentive to stick around. With Josh, Jake and I being the only legal drinkers out of the whole group, Sam had taken it upon himself to sneak large sips of my gin and tonics and then try to get me to buy him beer. He kept hounding me until I gave in, slipping the bartender another few bills, and handed him the glass. Sam winked and went back to the small stage, ducking by Danny's drums to chug the beer.

Danny and I hadn't had much interaction other than meekly waving at one another. I was on my second gin and tonic when the boys actually starting playing--I was always a little mesmerized by them. They all had different styles on stage yet came together in such a fluid way.

I loved watching Josh grin and dance around the stage, never failing to do so even when the audience was practically dead, like the audience was that night. Jake moved aggressively with his guitar, strands of his hair clinging to his face; Sam always looked so in it, like the entire room was empty except for him and his bass; and Danny pounded the drums like a beast, his hair wild around him, the ever-growing muscles in his arms still visible even under his t-shirt.

I clapped the most emphatically out of everyone else in the bar, the alcohol only fueling my excitement. By the third song my uncertainty about Danny had faded and I was lost in the music, raptured by Josh's belting vocals and the boys jamming around him and, by the final song, the bar crowd seemed a little more enthused than they had at the beginning, but the older, disgruntled-looking crowd seemed more focused on their drinks and each other than Greta Van Fleet. Still, the band didn't seem to give them too much mind--myself and the few others in there who had cheered and clapped must have been enough to keep them all in good spirits.

Danny sidled up next to me at the bar, running his hand through his hair and leaning on the counter. "Hey," he said, his eyes, dark in the dim light, regarding me amiably. "Sorry I haven't been, uh, in touch much recently."

"It's okay, I haven't been either," I said. "Sorry."

Danny smiled a little. "I'm glad you came out."

"Me too. You guys were great. Even when Jake messed up."

Danny laughed. "It's always Jake."

I finished off my drink, getting my wallet out one last time to leave a final tip. "What are you doing now?" I asked.

Danny turned to glance at his bandmates. "Uh, I'm not sure. I mean, Sam and I can't drink here," he said. "Probably just go back to their house. You coming?"

I thought of my paper waiting for me back in my apartment but then I thought of kicking back with some beers with the boys.

"I'll come," I told Danny, forgoing the paper and all of my other obligations.

Jake bought an entire 30 rack of beer, which I knew would only get us into more trouble, especially with Josh and I having 8am classes the next day, but no one protested. However, with the Kiszka parents being home, we all ended up at my apartment, which is how it went a lot of the time with them--tame plans turning into nights of slight chaos.

Sam immediately kicked his shoes off and sprawled himself on the couch; Jake placed the 30 rack on the coffee table, practically threatening to bust the legs of it, and tore open the cardboard. He popped one for himself then tossed one back to Sam, then to Josh. I grabbed one for myself and one for Danny, who had seated himself on the floor with his back against the couch, Sam above him.

I handed the beer to Danny and sat down next to Sam, lifting his legs and putting them in my lap.

"Don't you have a paper?" Josh asked me, smirking behind his beer.