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15
Maddox
From the second floor, Cece stands next to her friend, looking down. I’ve glanced up a couple of times, and I think I saw a smirk once. Ever since the date a couple of nights ago, I feel … weird.
No, weird might be the wrong word to use. Peculiar? Curious? I have no idea, but I like it. Which is all the stranger. I didn’t mind dressing up nicer to meet with her, I liked talking to her, and for the past couple of days, I’ve been trying to think how I can do everything in my power to not mess this up.
Like I said, weird.
I don’t get like this with girls. I haven’t lived up to my nickname for the past couple of years by merely partying and ignoring the girls I come across. The parties and girls go together like peanut butter and jelly. Coffee and cream. Salt and pepper. And I couldn’t care about either of those things anymore.
Adam’s been meeting with his studio heads, but called me last night that he was at a party for a big-time director. I passed. Passed! I said no to a party that would no doubt be littered with alcohol, girls, and anything else I may want to indulge in. Then, earlier tonight, Jenny called me again, asking if I wanted to hang out afterward. I told her I had to meet up with the band early tomorrow morning—which I don’t—so I needed to make sure I don’t go crazy after my sets tonight.
What is happening to me?
The crowd dances around, waving their hands in the air and yelling out in mirth. As the song winds down, I see Mr. Mavin walking into the cub, dressed up in a similar suit I saw him wearing earlier this week. Behind him, I see the guy who’s been around Cece a couple of times and what looks like an older version of him.
They head upstairs to the second floor, and Cece smiles, walking over to her father. Her grin is a lot wider than I’ve seen, and I can only assume it’s because her father hasn’t been to Luxe since it’s opened. The older man next to him doesn’t look impressed, and the younger guy grins, leaning closer to Cece, giving her a hug.
What is that I’m feeling? Jealousy? No, that can’t be right.
As my set finishes up, the crowd cheers again, and I wave to them. I should head to my room, but my eyes shoot back up to the second floor. Cece is explaining something to the old guy, then laughs at something the young one says.
Ugh, I am jealous. Shit.
Before I know what I’m doing, I make my way through the crowd, toward the staircase. A few people stop to say hi or shake my hand, but there’s something wrong with me. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want to stop and chat with people I know or others complimenting me. I want to be closer to Cece.
I hear the faint noise of footsteps in my mind. Then the slamming of a door. My inner voice has left the building.
The younger guy’s eyes meet mine, and he looks a little surprised. Cece’s saying something to her father when her gaze lands on me, and she seems just as surprised.
What the hell am I doing up here?
“Hey, Mr. Mavin,” I say, offering my hand to him.
He and the man he’s standing next to have identical expressions. They scan me up and down, each of them quirking an eyebrow, staring at me like I’m a weird, lost, dirty dog. Looking myself over, I see my jeans are ripped, and my tank top fits me snuggly, revealing my tattoos. My black hat is turned backward, and my Air Jordans are untied. Sure, it might look raggedy, but this ensemble runs over four hundred dollars.
Glancing over at Cece, she stares at me with an incredulous gaze, but her lips are turned up in a smile. Her father turns to her, and she shakes her head, holding back a giggle.
“Daddy, you remember Maddox Barkley from the meeting. He’s our DJ.”
“Oh, right,” he responds, but doesn’t look back over.
“Maddox, this is Mr. Thornhurst and his son, Winston.”
“This is your DJ?” Mr. Thornhurst says, giving her a puzzling expression.
She nods enthusiastically. “Yes. Maddox is a great DJ, and he’s the drummer for Kings of Karmichael.”
“Who?” he replies.
To my surprise, the young guy next to me speaks up. “They’re a band. Hey, nice to meet you.”
He extends his hand, but I can’t help glancing over at Cece. She smiles like all is right in the world, and as I take Winston’s hand, I probably give a shake that’s a little firmer than it needs to be. “What’s up, man?”
“Cece, is it always this loud?” her dad asks.
“It’s a club, Daddy. It’s supposed to be loud.”
