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“A ticket?”
“Don’t tell me you already forgot.” He shakes his head playfully. “You said you’d come watch us play. Remember?”
“Oh. Right.” I think about the hundred-dollar bill that Nero just gave me. I never thought I’d shy away from the sight of money, but now that he’s pretending like I don’t exist, it feels dirty to keep it. “I have some cash,” I offer, deciding that spending it on a concert ticket right now would be an easy way to get rid of it.
“Pssh.” Carlton waves his hand like he’s shooing a fly away. “You don’t have to pay. I was given a couple of freebies. But I gotta text you the ticket so you have it.”
I worry my lip.
A part of me feels like I shouldn’t take him up on it. But I did tell him I’d go. And I’ve never been to a concert before. And it’s not like Nero and I are dating, we’re too busy pretending like we don’t know each other.
Screw it.
I force my eyes to stay on the man in front of me and recite my number to Carlton as he types it into his phone.
I’ve barely finished saying the last digit when I feel my own phone vibrate.
He’s still tapping at something, but I pull my phone out, expecting to find the ticket.
Unknown: Did you seriously just give that man your phone number?
I swallow, my mouth feeling suddenly dry.
Not a ticket.
Unknown: Who the fuck is he?
I set my phone face down on the counter, feeling it vibrate as I do.
I don’t owe Nero an explanation. This is none of his business.
“Okay.” Carlton tips his phone toward mine on the counter. “Click on the link I sent you and it will open to your ticket. Then just show it at the main doors, and voila!”
My phone vibrates again, the sound amplified since it’s sitting on the hard surface, but I don’t look down. This time I’m sure it’s the ticket.
“Who––” I start, but the screech of a chair scraping across the floor makes me fumble the question. “Um, who’re you opening for?”
Carlton launches into a detailed background on the other band, but I’m not really listening. All my energy is focused onnotwatching Nero’s approach.
Nero is holding his phone in his hand when he stops uncomfortably close to Carlton. But Carlton is so deep in his story, he doesn’t even notice the unhappy man inches behind him. “––which is how we even heard about it,” he continues.
Nero’s fingers work swiftly across his phone screen.
My phone vibrates.
“––so Dan sent them a message on Insta—”
And vibrates again.
“––should be pretty killer. But we need to get there––”
And again.
“Do you need to get that?” Carlton gestures toward my phone.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
Then, cutting a look to Nero, I pick up my phone and slide it into my apron without looking at the screen. The muscle in his neck twitches a second before I feel my pocket vibrate with yet another text.
