Mayhem

by Jamie Shaw

  I had a dream last night. You were there, and Adam was there . . . and I trampled you to get to him. Sorry! (Kind of.)

  “My friends are ridiculous,” I explain when Adam gives me a curious look.

  “Oh yeah? What are they saying?”

  “They’re just gushing over how hot they think you are.”

  Adam grins and abruptly steers the car onto the shoulder, shutting it off.

  “What are you doing?” I nervously ask.

  He pulls one of his rings off and says, “Here, give me your hand.” I do what he asks and he slides it onto my ring finger.

  Butterflies. So many freaking butterflies.

  “Take a picture of us and send it to them,” he says. His smile is bright with trouble, and it makes me bust up laughing.

  “You’re a genius!”

  I turn my back to Adam so I can get a picture of us together, but then his arm snakes around my waist and tugs me over the center console, pulling me flush against him. He presses his cheek against mine for the photo, and I know I’m blushing like an idiot. I fumble around for my camera app, and then I snap a picture of me holding my ring-­clad hand up in an exaggeratedly giddy pose. I laugh and crawl back into my seat, texting the picture to Dee and Leti as Adam starts the car again and pulls back onto the highway.

  Within seconds, my phone starts blowing up, and I laugh. Dee’s messages are as loud as she is.

  You are so full of shit! But OMG LOOK AT YOU!

  He is so fucking hot!

  MARRY HIM FOR REAL. OR GIVE HIM MY NUMBER!

  Even as I’m reading her texts, my phone keeps beeping from the messages Leti is sending me.

  I squealed like a schoolgirl!

  Please tell me you’ve had a repeat of last month!

  Bring him to my room! I promise I won’t trample you (all the way) to death!

  Look at how happy you two lovebirds look. AW!

  “Did they buy it?” Adam asks.

  “No,” I laugh. “I think we just encouraged them.”

  He looks all too happy to hear it, smiling from ear to ear as I start responding to the texts. I tell Dee I’ll call her later to tell her all about the trip, and I tell Leti I’ve been good. He sends me a picture of him pouting with his bottom lip pushed out, and I giggle and shake my head.

  Turning the volume on my phone low so that Adam can’t hear, I start listening to my voicemails. My mom just wanted to check in, so I text her to let her know that I’m alright and that I’ll call her later in the week. Dee has left me multiple voicemails threatening “unforeseen consequences” if I haven’t been “deflowered” by the time I come home. And finally, Brady.

  His voice plays through my phone. “Hey, Ro . . . I’m just calling to see if you’re free at all this weekend. I have both days off, and I just thought that maybe we could get together and talk . . . if you’re up for it. Call me, please. Whenever you get a chance.” A long pause. “I still love you, baby. I’m not giving up on us.”

  I manage to keep a blank poker face as I tuck my phone away, and then I look over at Adam, at his braceleted wrist and black fingernails. He catches me staring and gazes over at me, and for a few seconds, our eyes stay locked, neither one of us smiling or speaking. What is he thinking?

  I realize I’m still wearing his ring, which is too big for my finger anyway, so I take it off and hand it back to him. “Thanks for the picture,” I quietly say. “That was awesome.”

  He slides the ring back onto his pinky finger. “Thanks for wearing my ring.” He winks at me, and I giggle and roll my eyes.

  “You should sing me another song.” I recline my seat a little farther back and close my eyes.

  “You want me to sing you to sleep?”

  “No, I want you to keep me awake.”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “How about one of yours?”

  Adam picks up his phone and sorts through his music, setting it to an instrumental, acoustic version of one of his band’s calmer songs. He sings me the lyrics, about best friends and late nights and memories that will last forever. I watch him as he sings, thankful that he doesn’t look down at me, because then I’d have to look away. His voice is quiet compared to when he’s onstage, and here, like this, it sounds even more beautiful. It gives me chills.

  When the song finishes, he finally looks down at me, and I’m smiling up at him. “You really are talented, you know.”

  He switches hands on the wheel and reaches over to cover my eyes. “Stop,” he says bashfully. “You’ll make me blush.”

  Adam? Shy? I laugh and pull his fingers away. “Yeah right.”

  He winks at me with a smirk on his face, and I have to look away from him, over at the trees to my right. I keep telling myself not to fall for him—­because he is Adam freaking Everest and my heart’s already been broken enough this year as it is.

  I let the wind wash over my skin for a long while, listening to the music pouring out of Adam’s speakers, before I pick up my phone and type a reply to Brady’s voicemail.

  I’m busy this weekend, but we’ll get together soon. I promise I’ll call you in the next few days and we’ll set something up.

  Later, I’m on the tour bus alone while the rest of the band sets up inside. I curl my feet under myself on a bench seat and call Dee. The first thing she says when she answers the phone is “DETAILS!”

  “What do you want to know?” I ask, and I’m sure she can hear the smile in my voice.

  “How far have you gone with him?!”

  Expecting that would be her first question, I answer, “We’re just friends, Dee.”

  “Boys like that don’t have girl friends, Ro. I mean, Jesus, how can you stand it?! I got a hot flash just from looking at that picture you sent me! Just ask Macy! I had to lie down!”

  I laugh into the phone. “I’m not saying it’s easy . . . But he’s just a really sweet guy.”

  “So what’s the problem?!”

  “He’s not really sweet to the girls he sleeps with . . .” I remember the way he shifted that girl off of his lap last night like she was nothing but a clingy housecat he was finished paying attention to.

  “Oh . . . has he hooked up with girls since you’ve been with him?”

  “No, but there were a bunch all over him last night.”

  “And? What happened?”

  “He . . .” Okay, this is going to sound so much more significant than it really was. “He kind of ditched them to hang out with me.”

  “WHAT!”

  “Because we’re friends! I felt totally out of place, and I think he could tell.”

  In a singsong voice, Dee says, “He liiikes you!”

  I shake my head. “I mean, yeah, I guess I could probably hook up with him if I wanted to. He doesn’t exactly have high standards . . . But he’s not looking for a relationship, Dee. And neither am I, but I’m not looking for a one-­night stand either. Especially not after . . .” I let the sentence hang, and she sighs, knowing exactly what I was going to say.

  “Is he still calling you?” We’re not talking about Adam anymore.

  “Yeah . . . I told him we’d talk soon. Probably this week.”

  I can tell Dee is being deliberately careful about what she says next. Since stealing my phone and telling Brady off on our way back from fall break, she has definitely toned down her bossiness. “What are you going to say?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out when I see him.”

  “You’re not thinking of going back to him, are you?”

  “I don’t think so . . .”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “We have a lot of history, Dee. I just . . . I’m just going to talk to him and figure things out. But I’m not stupid. You know that, so just trust me.”

  She sighs, and there’s a
long moment of silence before I ask, “So have I missed anything good since I left?”

  “Carrie came by to officially kick you out of our room.” She scoffs, and I roll my eyes at the mention of her RA. “You should have seen her face when you weren’t here. She gave Macy and me an official written warning, but I’m not worried.”

  An official written warning? I frown. “What will happen if I keep staying there? What did the warning say?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Ro. She’s just a bitch who has nothing better to do than harass ­people who actually have friends.”

  “I need to look into getting an apartment . . .”

  “Can you afford that?”

  I’m silent, because we both know the answer is no, and there’s no way I’m asking my parents for more money.

  “Maybe you can stay with Leti a few nights a week . . .”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I agree, but I don’t mean it. I’m tired of being a burden on my friends, so I need to figure something else out. Soon. “Are you nervous about work tomorrow?”

  “Nah,” she says. “I’m ready to start raking in those tips! I’ll even take you and lover boy out for drinks when you get back!” I’m chuckling when she says, “OH! And guess who I went out with last night!”

  “Who?”

  She tells me the guy’s name, but I don’t bother committing it to memory since in two weeks, she probably won’t remember it either. By the time she’s finished gushing, it’s almost time for the concert to start. I brush the tangles from my hair and toss it up into a messy bun, and then I change into a pair of tighter jeans and freshen my lip gloss. When I step off the bus, locking the door behind me, I’m surprised to find Adam leaning against the siding with one leg propped against the black metal and a lit cigarette dangling from the hand hanging by his hip. He takes one last drag and smashes it when he sees me, walking over and draping his arm across my shoulders.

  “What are you still doing here?” I ask, looking way up to meet his gray-­green eyes. That night at Mayhem, I’d been wearing skyscraper heels. Without them, he towers over me. “I thought you were heading in to get ready.”

  “And be on time?” He scoffs and smiles down at me. “I’d rather walk you in.”

  Adam had a few drinks before he left the bus, and I can smell them on his breath, the smoky scent of the whiskey mixing with his cologne. When he walks me to the front of the line and we slip inside with his arm still around me, earning envious stares from every girl we pass, I find myself repeating a familiar mantra.

  Don’t fall for Adam. Don’t fall for Adam. Don’t fall for Adam freaking Everest.

  He leads me backstage and I hang with the band until they take the stage. Then I stand with Driver and watch as they perform. Girls scream their heads off after every song, and by the third, I find myself joining them. Adam hears me and spins around, flashing me that smooth pearly-­white grin that turns my insides into funfetti pudding. In spite of my blushing, I cup my hands over my mouth and scream even louder. I look over at Mike behind the drums, who laughs at me before he starts the beat to the next song. The guys are absolutely amazing, and when Adam and Shawn both sing at once, finishing each other’s lines and singing over each other, it gives me goose bumps all over. Shawn’s voice is lower than Adam’s, but they work together perfectly. Shawn, Joel, and Cody all have quick fingers as they strum their guitars effortlessly, and Mike on the drums is as hectic and controlled as ever. I wonder if Adam would consider me a good enough friend to let me come backstage even after this trip . . . I’d love for Dee and Leti to be able to see this.

  When the band ends its set, they’re all drenched in sweat. Adam walks over to me and lifts his arm like he’s going to rest his elbow on my shoulder, but I quickly step out of reach. When he gives me a look, I tell him, “You are soaked.”

  His eyes drop to his sweaty shirt, and then they lift back up filled with trouble and bad ideas. “Aw, c’mon, you’re not afraid of a little hard-­earned sweat are you?” He takes a threatening step toward me, and I take a matched step backward, throwing my hands up in self-­defense.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  His eyes dart to a spot over my shoulder, and I’m about to turn around to see what he’s looking at, when long arms suddenly encircle me. Big green eyes meet mine from under short black hair—­Shawn. Before I can wiggle out of his hold, Adam presses against my front, squeezing me into a sweaty Shawn-­and-­Adam sandwich.

  “EW!” I squeal, cringing and trying to make myself paper-­thin to escape their sweat-­dampened T-­shirts. But then another molten-­hot body is pressing against my side.

  Mike’s arms wrap around Shawn’s and Adam’s shoulders. He smiles down at me and says, “I heard you have a thing for secondhand sweat.”

  “NO!”

  Joel squeezes in on the other side. “Mike! I heard that too!” They’re all laughing as I try to make myself as small as possible. I’m not trying to squirm out from between them because then I’d just end up getting even sweatier. They’re all so tall, I doubt anyone looking at us from the outside would even be able to see me standing here helplessly in the middle. Eventually, I drop to the floor and crawl out from between someone’s legs, sliding over to Driver and jumping up behind him. I grab onto his shoulders to use him as a shield.

  The guys laugh as he tries to get away from me and I hold on tight, practically strangling him with the collar of his own T-­shirt. When they finally go back to gulping down water and toweling themselves off, I release Driver and give him a sheepish smile before I take a seat next to Cody on the stairs. He’s pouring water on a towel and rubbing it over his face and head. Cody and I haven’t shared more than a few words, but I think that’s because he’s much quieter than the other guys. “You guys sounded really good tonight,” I tell him, hoping to spark a conversation.

  He smiles over at me. “Thanks.”

  “Is everyone planning on going back to the bus after this?”

  “Hey Shawn!” Cody yells, interrupting the conversation that Shawn, Adam, and Driver are having. “Are we going out or staying in?” Like dominos, Shawn looks to Adam and Adam looks to me. Slowly, his lips curl into a smile, and then he’s grinning at me like a Cheshire cat—­one with very bad ideas.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “OUT” IS REALLY just a dive-­bar across the street from the venue—­which goes from being crowded to being unbelievably crowded when the band and their entourage walk through its doors, followed by masses of concert-­goers.

  Adam’s hand stays glued to my lower back as he leads me to the only open bar stool, sitting me on top of it and standing behind me. He orders a round of shots for everyone in our group, and then he asks me if I’ve ever done a tequila shot before.

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “You’ll have to let me show you how then,” he says near my ear.

  If he thinks I’m letting him slurp tequila out of my belly button, he’s got another thing coming. I turn around, prepared to tell him so, when I come face to face with the group of girls who have sidled up next to him.

  “Hi,” the clear leader of the harem says to him. She has long midnight-­black hair that is curled to perfection, with thick fake eyelashes that she’s batting for no reason, since Adam isn’t even looking at her. When he finally notices she’s talking to him, he turns to her and smiles.

  “Hi.”

  “We just came from your show,” she says with a seductive smile. “You were so amazing. I love the way you sing.”

  “Thanks,” he says in that smooth voice of his. He doesn’t look ruffled at all by all the heat she’s throwing at him. I guess he must be used to it.

  When our shots appear in front of me, I pick mine up and down it before Adam even has a chance to see they’ve arrived. He’s still chatting with the black-­haired hussy, and I need the liquor like I need air. I’m tempted to gulp his d
own too but decide that might be a little much. At some point in the conversation, Adam’s eyes travel to our shot glasses, to my empty one, to me. He interrupts the girl mid-­sentence to ask me, “You already drank yours?!”

  I chuckle at his horrified expression. “Sorry.”

  “That’s not how you do a tequila shot!”

  “Oh!” the girl next to him says. “I love tequila.” Her hazel eyes swing to me and she smiles. “You’ve never done a shot before?”

  Before I can answer, she says, “Here, let me show you.”

  She takes a lime wedge in one hand and one of her friends’ wrists in the other, sensually licking the pale skin there before covering the area with salt. She places the lime wedge between her friend’s teeth—­a short girl with a peroxide-­blonde pixie haircut—­and then her tongue glides provocatively over the salt on the girl’s wrist. She swallows Adam’s shot and then bites the wedge from her friend’s mouth as sluttily as humanly possible.

  I roll my eyes, but no one catches it. Adam is thoroughly engrossed with the spectacle in front of him, which makes my blood boil. “Lovely,” I complain.

  He peels his eyes away to give me a devilish smile. “Want to try?” I narrow my eyes at him, and he laughs. “Come on. It’d be fun.”

  I’m looking at the black-­haired bimbo when I say, “Pass.”

  Adam leans in close, whispering in my ear. “Not with them.”

  “Rowan!” Shawn suddenly shouts from behind me, weaving his way through the crowd to stand next to Adam. “What are you drinking there?” He looks down at my empty shot glass and then smiles at me. “Schnapps? Peach?”

  I ignore his stupid implication and hop off the stool, grabbing his elbow. “Play a game of pool with me.” I need to get away from Adam before I lick him from head to toe, and away from his whores before I claw their eyes out.

  Shawn leads me to the pool tables, where Cody and Joel are already mid-­game. “Who’s winning?” I ask, vaguely noticing that Adam has followed us—­and so has his glitter-­fueled convoy of girls. They blend in with the groupies already here watching Cody and Joel. Mike is standing off to the side with a beer, and even he has a girl trying—­and failing—­to get his attention. He’s ignoring her like it’s his job, standing with his arms crossed and his shoulder against a wooden pillar. When he hears me ask who’s winning, he walks over to stand next to me.