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iculously and accepts one of the beers from the girl whose name I can’t remember.
“If anyone’s going to get off with a sexy band member, it’s going to be me,” the unnamed girl says. She passes out pints to everyone and tosses her straight brown hair.
Kate gapes at her as does Tasha. “Don’t be such a bitch, Willa,” Kate says with a scowl. “There’s no calling dibs on men, we’ve established that a long time ago.”
Willa frowns, drinking her beer and flicking her green gaze around the room. “I’ll be right back ladies. I see someone I know.” She throws her shoulders back and sticks her nose in the air as she makes her way through the mob.
“Christ, Kate. Why’d we invite her again? She’s irritating enough as a teammate and even worse as a friend,” says Tasha.
Kate shrugs. “She overheard us talking about it. Hey!” she calls out, waving towards the door. “There’s the rest of the girls. Let’s get them and grab a good spot by the stage, we don’t want to miss anything.”
“Sure.” I feel a little out of place. Tasha’s nice and everything, but I don’t know these girls and they all know each other really well. My knowledge of football is nonexistent so I don’t have a lot in common with them.
I’m starting to think I should just go home when the lights in the audience dim and the stage is lit up by a couple of bright spotlights. Kate grips my arm and squeals, “It’s time! This is going to be so fun!” She’s bouncing up and down with all of the excitement that a normal teenager should have.
I sigh, it’s too late to disappear. May as well try to have a good time. I take a giant swig of my drink and watch the stage.
5
Adam
“Okay boys, you go on in five, so make sure you’re ready.” George, the lanky owner of the Drunken Kitten, a decent pub just outside the city proper, pokes his head into the room we’re waiting in to let us know it’s almost time.
Dax and I were lucky to get this gig. The DK is a popular hangout for young people, being close to several universities and located amongst the trendier spots on this side of town. I almost blew the audition with my fucked up hand, but George saw our potential and luckily, believed me when I said I’d be able to play by tonight.
“Ready?” Dax stares at me as he cracks his neck and strums a few quick chords.
I breathe in and out in a pathetic attempt to control my nerves. Dax and I are both guitarists. We play an all-acoustic set of different songs, new, old, and some of our own originals. I sing lead, he sings backup. I anticipated a lot of different problems tonight, but me being nervous wasn’t one of them.
“Yep. Ready as I’ll ever be.” This is our first paying gig. A real paying job, for actual money. Money not earned illegally by working for my brother, running his drugs for him, and it feels bloody fantastic.
Quickly, I strum through my practice chords and nod, “I’m good.”
Dax grins and holds out his huge, scarred fist. I put mine up and bump it to his. “We’re gonna kill this, Reynolds.” His confidence knows no bounds. Must be nice.
George comes into the tiny room where we’re waiting and smiles. “Full house out there gentlemen, let’s do this.”
He motions for us to follow him to the small stage at one end of the dark pub. As George chats up the crowd, I let my eyes scan the room. George wasn’t lying, there’s loads of people here tonight.
Shit, Reynolds. Don’t be a big girl’s blouse and just man the fuck up. Dax shoves his elbow into me, pushing me toward the stage. “Go, idiot! They’re waiting,” he whispers.
I snap to my senses and hop up onto the wooden platform, walking over to the microphone. I’ve always been good at being the charming, likeable guy. I can wear it whenever I want. It’s the product of having a shitty home life, creating a personality to hide behind. Hell, maybe I am the charming, likeable guy. Fuck if I know who I’m supposed to be after all these years of pretending everything is okay when my life is actually complete crap.
The crowd applauds as we step up to our individual microphones. The loud noise lessens and I hear our names being screamed by a group of girls off to the side. Turning to give them one of my best wicked smiles, I make eye contact with one of them and freeze.
It’s Ellie. Ellie Palmer. The same Ellie Palmer that I’ve been obsessing over for the last three weeks. The girl that I traded my soul for in order to keep her safe. My heart is hammering in my chest and it feels as if the breath has just whooshed out of my lungs, leaving me speechless. She’s just as shocked to see me as I am to see her.
“Our first song is one you’ll recognize,” Dax says, his voice ringing clear over the speakers as the crowd quiets down.
Crap. As the lead singer, I’m supposed to introduce the songs. I to see Dax giving me an incredulous look. All I can do is shrug stupidly and start playing.
We breeze through our set, starting with popular ones like the Eric Clapton version of I Shot the Sheriff, and closing with the Beatles’ Let It Be with a few of our own songs in between. I’m pretty sure the crowd liked our music, but I was too busy focusing on Ellie to notice much else. Every time I looked her way, she was staring directly at me, either unashamed at being noticed or too caught up in her thoughts to realize she was doing it. I don’t care which it is, just the fact that she’s acknowledging my existence, even without meaning to, is enough to make my heart falter in an unfamiliar yet not unpleasant way.
“That was brilliant!” Dax exclaims as he thumps my back once we’re backstage. “Such a fucking rush!”
“Yeah, it was,” I agree. I take off my guitar and pack it up in its case, stretching out my fingers. I’d been so wrapped up in Ellie that I hadn’t noticed the throbbing pain in my hand until now.
“Boys, that was abso-fuckin-lutely fantastic!” George says, barging into the room with a pint for each of us. Sweaty and hot, I accept the beer gratefully and chug down half of it. “So, you want to be regulars, on Friday nights?”
