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Lila’s hungry expression returns, “Sure you don’t want to come in for a few minutes?”
I go rigid, beginning to get more than merely annoyed by Kate’s pushy tart of a flatmate. “No, I’m quite sure. I have to meet my mates in a bit.”
Lila narrows her eyes into a sly glare. “Oh, well then, no problem…” she glances down at the paper in her hand, “Dax. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
I nod woodenly, wondering if she’ll actually give my number to Kate or if she’ll ‘lose’ it in a jealous bid to keep Kate away from the bloke who turned her down.
Fuck if I know. I’m more worried that if Lila does give Kate my number, Kate won’t use it. If Ellie, who was so obviously in love with Adam, could be so cold and heartless as to break up with him over the phone for no reason, I have no doubt in my mind that Kate might have shut me out for good as well.
After seeing Adam’s downward spiral after Ellie and the hurt in Kate’s eyes that night, I don’t know if I can live with that.
Kate
I fiddle with the edge of my textbook, worrying it until it tears off in my hand. This past summer, while traveling Europe with an international girl’s footy team, I was able to tuck Dax into a tight compartment in the back of my mind, forgetting everything about him. Well, not forgetting, exactly. The memory of Dax sits heavy on me every minute of every day. I remember every second I spent with him, his scent, the taste of his mouth taking mine, the feel of his rough hands on my skin.
Knowing we’re in the same city has made it all that more difficult to keep those memories locked away. Even the few dates I went on with Mateo haven’t lessened my fixation. I told him I needed to focus on school and the team and didn’t have time to date. He seemed to accept my need to stay as friends, but it’s still awkward to be around him.
It’s not healthy, the way I let thoughts of Dax dictate my actions even though I haven’t spoken to him in months. Dax is completely wrong for me—dangerous, heartless—he’d leave me broken with no one to help pick up the pieces.
Mateo is perfect. We have the same interests, the same goals, and he isn’t a cold, heartless bastard without any regard for anyone but himself. Yet when I’m with Mateo in a romantic setting I feel restless, like my skin is too tight, squeezing around my chest and making it hard to breathe.
Now, I have to face my fears.
After speaking with my mum last night, I found out Ellie’s dad died a few months back and her mum moved away from Hackney. Now I have no choice but to surprise the guys at one of their shows so I can talk to her. I can’t find Ellie on campus, the school won’t tell me where she’s living, and I have no way of contacting Adam. I’m well aware that the best way to find her is to find him. And wherever Adam is, Dax will be as well.
Chickening out on having to deal with Dax back in the U.K. after that horrible scene at the fight club was a mistake that now looms over me. It’s somehow grown into a much larger problem than it would have been had we discussed it immediately. Instead, I chose to shut him out completely, refusing to even speak to him or acknowledge his presence.
It wasn’t fair really. He wasn’t my boyfriend and didn’t owe me a thing. My heart however, just couldn’t take any more pain watching him shag girl after girl. I needed to distance myself so I could move on.
Unfortunately, time and distance haven’t helped at all.
Resigned, I log onto the shabby second-hand laptop my parents scraped together to purchase as a going away present, and go about finding where their next gig will be.
Tomorrow night at the Viper Room.
I figure I can borrow a friend’s I.D. and be at that club after the show.
Stupid U.S. and their drinking age of twenty-one.
Hopefully, I can deal with Adam and not have to see Dax. That’s nothing but wishful thinking and denial, I know. I try not to remember my time with Dax, good or bad, but I can’t help it. In a few short months, we went from hardly knowing one another to good friends, to nothing. I’m not about to lose Ellie because I’m afraid of dealing with Dax.
My best mate has been through so much and I wasn’t able to be there for her. I’ll be damned if I’m not going to be there for Ellie now, even if it means diving straight into shark infested waters and having my heart ripped right from my chest.
I nervously run a hand through my hair for the millionth time since leaving my flat to take the bus to the bar down off of Santa Monica Boulevard. Why I care what I look like, I don’t know. I shouldn’t care. It’s not healthy to still care. This whole sodding ten-year fixation on Dax fucking Davies isn’t healthy yet here I am, obsessing again.
My fake I.D. doesn’t even make the bouncer at the Viper Room blink. He simply glances at it and hands it back. When I walk into the crowded club, the first thing that hits me is the overwhelming excitement buzzing through the crowd. Sphere of Irony is the headlining act tonight and it’s late, so the band is already on stage. I hadn’t realized they were so popular, having been avoiding looking them up for fear of feeding my Dax addiction.
The band got to L.A. in April and it’s only September. Despite the small time frame, it seems they’ve got quite the following already. Girls in skimpy dresses and how-can-you-possibly-walk heels are everywhere, crowding around the stage area, their lustful eyes fixed on the guys as they play. The memory of Willa setting her sights set on Dax hits me smack in the face.
I shudder in revulsion.
See Kate? It’s better you didn’t get involved with him.
There’s no way I would have been able to handle this—the girls, the clubs, the crowd—all of them wanting a piece of Dax. It’s too far out of my comfort zone. Hell, I’m just a footy-playing tomboy, not a fuck-me heel wearing groupie.
Unfortunately, old habits die hard. I can’t keep my eyes off of the man I used to know. I’m drawn to the stage like a moth to a flame. He looks good, really really good. Dax’s large hands effortlessly move across the strings of his guitar, playing a song I recognize from back home. His dark blonde hair is thick and tousled, no longer in the near-military short cut he used to wear.
Unchanged are his huge muscles, his intimidating presence, that flicker of danger in his eyes… he looks just as threatening as always. Only, I know that this isn’t the real Dax. The real Dax is kind, thoughtful, and fiercely protective of anyone he cares about—if he lets you in, which, chances are he won’t. For a moment, I wish I could see through that false front he puts up to keep people away.
