There he was. I don’t know how, but I’ve always been able to spot drummers from miles away. He was tall. Muscular. So buff you wouldn’t believe. He was faced away from me, but I could tell he was handsome. There were a few other people at the airport cafe, but I only had eyes for this big, manly drummer. It was destiny that we were at the airport at the same time – and although I had said no to his earlier request to meet, I was too curious to let the chance pass me by. Privacy be damned.
Funny. I didn’t know what he looked like, but somehow, I just *knew* that I would know him as soon as I saw him.
I was concentrating so hard on what I was going to say to this man, that I tripped and caught myself on a chair nearby, accidentally tapping the shoulder of the person seated there. I steadied myself with a mumbled apology and turned to the beautiful man who was still oblivious of my presence. I reached out and touched his shoulder.
“Excuse me” I said, trying not to sound nervous. “Are you RD?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man I had accidentally bumped into spinning around and around on his chair. I briefly wondered what that was all about, but soon focused all my attention on the man who was slowly turning around to greet me. My heart skipped a beat. I knew he was with someone whose name started with C, but he was just so beautiful I couldn’t help but sigh inwardly and entertain fantasies of an innocent seduction.
I expected a smile, a glow of recognition as shy and as pleased as my own. I had worn my custom made Gypsy t-shirt especially for the occasion. (My boss, who I was flying with, looked slightly askance at me as I walked into the airport with him, but I figured it would be worth it. It had a clickable link and everything.)
But all I got was a slightly quizzical look. “Sori?” he said in a thick accent, that didn’t sound British at all.
I wasn’t expecting this. Suddenly feeling foolish, I stammered, “Er… Are you RD? The Drummer?”
The gorgeous man just stared at me. Then, getting up and picking up his bags, he mumbled “No hablo ingles” and hurried away, leaving me stumped and fidgeting with my bags, which suddenly felt very heavy.
“Um. Excuse me” said an extremely British sounding voice behind me.
I turned around and saw the man I had actually brushed on my way to Mr. Spanish.
“Yes?”, I said irritably, realizing with growing embarrassment that he had watched the whole spectacle.
He waited, as if expecting me to say something more. I raised my eyebrows, indicating that I had no idea what I wanted. He sighed irritably. “I’M RD!” he said, thoroughly annoyed.
I took a moment to appraise him. Shorter than Mr. Spanish. Less muscly than Mr. Spanish. Less hair than Mr. Spanish.
“Are you sure?” I said, hopefully.
“YES!” he said crossly, looking as if he wanted to hit me. Then he did some air drumming just to prove it. That was kind of sexy, to be honest, and my mood brightened considerably.
“Do you like my t-shirt?” I said, doing a spin before I sat down next to him and ordered a diet coke.
“Yeah I was really chuffed when I saw it. I’ve never seen a shirt with a clickable link before. Bollocks” (Ok so maybe he didn’t put all that misplaced Brit slang into the conversation, but I imagined he did.) He ordered a coke as well and turned to face me.
“You have really big feet” he said conversationally, and that set us off.
The rest, as they like to say, is history.