Page 126 of Fate Fiction

“Saturday,” I cut him off. “We’ll do something Saturday.”

twenty-five

. . .

Friday, early March

Anyone who pretended that early March in Boston was springtime was a fucking liar. And anyone who considered a leather jacket to be a source of warmth was also a fucking liar. An icy breeze snaked through the crowd outside the House of Blues. Andrea, Caroline, and I stood in line shivering in line to see Shelby Dawes play. I wrapped my own leather jacket tighter around my torso and it did nothing to help block out the cold.

They were both fans who had their tickets for months. I impulsively paid way too much on a scalper website for a resale pit ticket. Under most other circumstances I wouldn’t have come, but Evan was going to be here tonight, and I wanted to be in the same room as him again. I couldn’t take him up on his offer of joining him in the VIP section. I couldn’t have my name be on a guest list.

When I told him I’d be going to the show he mentioned something about hanging out with him and Shelby in the green room and my brain turned into TV static. I didn’t need the physical proof that I was maybe-dating-maybe-hooking-up-with-maybe-just-friends with an actual celebrity.

The hundreds of follow requests on my now-private Instagram were more than enough.

So instead I cringed when I shelled out a few hundred dollars to get a general admission ticket to the show and prayed that it was legitimate.

We were all a solid eight years older than the average patron, and we all stood out in our comfortable shoes and adult clothes. Cool used to come second nature to us but we’d grown old and tired and the thought of standing for three hours in heels made my knees ache. Andrea was like a beacon in her bright pink jacket. At least to my benefit she and Caroline were remarkably easy to find in the sea of college kids in their black hoodies when I arrived.

I tugged a bit at my cropped t-shirt that now felt too tight.

The three of us shuffled along as the line inched towards the door.

“You’d think they’d know to have their IDs and tickets ready,” Andrea said. “I’m about to go full camp counselor on these kids.”

“Literally last week you held up the line at the liquor store because you had to fumble for your driver’s license,” Caroline retorted.

“I told you, I was genuinely shocked and flattered that they thought I was underage.”

We got closer and I pulled my ID from my wallet. I would need a drink. “Please tell me we aren’t going to fight all of them for barricade,” I groaned.

Andrea and Caroline both replied with a synchronized, “fuck no.”

We took our time going in, Caroline bought out the merch table while Andrea waited in a mile-long line for the bathroom. I lurked against the wall, thinking about how Evan was through a few sets of doors and behind bouncers.

The concert hasn’t even started yet and I’m already tired.

Does that mean I’m getting old?

Maybe: Evan:

It means we both are.

I took a nap in preparation for tonight.

The green room offer still stands.

Couch is comfy as hell.

I smiled at the screen when I felt a hand tug at my arm. “I’m getting us drinks,” Caroline said assuredly. “Tell my wife-to-be that I’ll meet you guys inside. By the way, it’s really obvious that you’re texting him right now.” She gave me a wink and hopped on the much shorter bar line.

Murmurs were spreading across the crowd on the floor as Andrea and I found a quiet spot in the corner among the other octogenarians. There were currents of a name weaving through the crowd and pointing towards the VIP section on the upper level.

“Oh my god, Evan McLeod is up there,” a woman whisper-yelled to her friends clustered next to her.

From my place on the floor Evan couldn’t bump into me and pull me into him for a kiss. He couldn’t sing along to the songs as his lips brushed against the outline of my ear.

It was safer this way.