by Toni Aleo
“Usually, this is the part where you say some corny line about getting together later and I quickly decline, because… Yeah, I don’t have a good reason, except that I have no time for that. And then you walk away, dejected.”
My mouth curves as I slowly shake my head. “I don’t get dejected.”
“Aw, cute. Are you one of those persistent kind of guys? The one who knows he’s gonna win, no matter what?”
“I always win,” I say simply with all the confidence in the world. I even shoot her a winning grin, but she laughs.
“Well, big boy, chalk me up as a loss, because I don’t have time for lame lines that are invites to things I don’t want.” She moves her hands down the strings as if her words were lyrics.
Not missing a beat, I ask, “Who said anything about dating?”
“Oh, that’s right. You want to buy a night with me.”
She’s funny and I love the color her cheeks are turning. They are glowing almost like she just came hard. It’s hot.
Grinning, I shake my head. “I don’t pay for sex.”
“Whoa,” she says quickly, holding her hands up, her eyes wide and intoxicating. “Don’t make me use my pepper spray, you perv. I thought you wanted to buy me to have someone to watch Netflix with you.”
I can’t help it; I laugh and I laugh hard. She watches me, her eyes full of light as I bend over laughing. “You’re funny.”
“I try.”
She is quick and witty. I like that. “So, if you aren’t busy watching Netflix because some dude paid you—”
“Ugh,” she moans. Instantly, my cock comes to life in my jeans as she leans against the tree, acting as if she is bored, her palms up, arms hanging beside her. “Is this the lame pickup line?”
When Markus starts to laugh, I glare back at him and he shrugs. “She’s funny.”
“Shut up,” I mouth before turning back to her. “No, No Dating Diane.”
Her face lights up as she perks up. “Ha! That’s funny.”
“I try,” I say with a grin. “But anyway, the Bullies are throwing a party tonight if you want to come.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m coming already.”
Surprised by that, I ask, “You got invited?”
She shoots me a little kitten grin that goes straight to my groin. “Yeah, by some dude wanting to sleep with me. No biggie, though. I’m going for the free booze, not the sex.”
She is very blasé about it, and I like that. Most girls would be creaming their panties at getting an invite from one of the guys on the Bullies. We are royalty around this campus—being regional champions gets you that respect—but this girl doesn’t care one way or the other.
Nodding my head, I grin. “Cool, I’ll save you a beer, then.”
“Cool, yeah, I’ll come take it off your hands. I like beer.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
But I don’t move. Instead, I stand there, my eyes getting lost in hers until Markus clears his throat. “Let’s go, bro.”
“Yeah,” I say, remembering we have to leave. “Use that money wisely.”
She looks down at the two bucks and fist-pumps. “Yes, I can finally afford that Airhead I wanted.”
“Only if it’s green.”
“Duh, that’s the only good color,” she said simply, taking a dollar in each of her hands and waving them in the air. “I got a dolla, I got a dolla, I got two dollas, hey, hey, hey, hey.”
My face breaks out into a grin as I nod. “Cool, see you tonight, No Dating Diane.”
Pausing, she grins back at me. “Till tonight, Lame Line Larry.”
I unlock the doors to my car and climb in after Markus is already in his seat.
“She’s different.”
“Yeah,” I say, stealing one last glance at her. She’s watching me, her eyes dark and full of desire. I hadn’t noticed that before, and seeing it now hits me straight in the gut.
“She’s hot, too.”
I nod. “For sure.”
Markus laughs and I tear my gaze off her to meet his. “What?”
“Nothing, you’re all googly-eyed.”
My brows furrow and I realize my heart is pounding against my ribs. What the hell is wrong with me? “I don’t get googly-eyed.”
“Sure you don’t,” is his opinion as I back out of my parking space, deciding there is no reason to dignify his accusation with a response.
Because I don’t get googly-eyed.
I’ll also never admit that I glance back at her one last time.
Just one more time.
Just in case she doesn’t show up tonight.
Nope, I’ll never admit that.
Well.
Wasn’t he interesting?
And hot.
Like superhot.
Watching as he pulls out of the parking spot, his blue BMW’s rims flashing in the sun, meaning his daddy has money, I drink him some more. The hard lines of his face, the stubborn chin covered in dark stubble, the way his thick, dark hair dusted his ears in an unruly way. I can’t deny I’m attracted to him. He has great bone structure, excellent lips, thick and full, and he’s big. Not break a doorway with his shoulders kind of big, but he is strong. With one glance, I know he is a hockey player. He’s built like my brothers, and you only get a body like that from being on the ice twenty-four seven.
Yes, I know it’s weird I know that.
But being from a hockey family and growing up with the sport crammed down my throat, I can spot a hockey player from a mile away. I grew up with three of them and traveled with hundreds of them. But when his eyes met mine again, a grin picking up at the side of his mouth, the thoughts of years upon years traveling all over God’s green earth for hockey tournaments with stinky boys were gone, and butterflies went nuts in my gut. His eyes were dark green and full of all kinds of naughty things. One look in that boy’s eyes and it was safe to say he was one thing:
A player.
I have seen his breed of man plenty of time. Thankfully, I have learned over the years to keep my heart out of reach. Being around hockey players all the time not only means I can pick them out of a lineup. It also means I have dated my fair share of them and had my heart broken too many times to count. You would think I would have learned. I didn’t, but really, that doesn’t matter. It isn’t like I’m in the market for a boyfriend. And even if I were, I know I wouldn’t be in the mood to try to change him. I don’t have time for that. I have my eyes on the prize. I left my family up north for school in the south for a reason, and it’s to live my dreams.
With no one holding me back.
Shaking my head, or really, shaking away thoughts of Lame Line Larry, I put my guitar back in my case. But then I pause, reaching for the dollars he threw in there. Smiling, I take them, tucking them in my pocket before placing my guitar slowly in its case. I run my fingers along the strings, an untuned melody coming from the box that holds my Martin X series, and I smile. My mom got it for me before I left for Nashville. Telling me to follow my heart and kick some ass.
I am going to do just that.
Shutting the case, I lock it before standing up and looking around campus. People are everywhere. It is a busy day, the first full week of school, and I am starting to get into the groove of things. One thing is for sure, though, I like it here. It is a big change from Princeton, New Jersey, my hometown, but I am finding my way. I’ve only been here a week, and in that week, I went to all my classes, performed at three open mics, shot three videos, and even wrote two songs. Oh, and I was invited to one of the biggest parties of the year, according to my roommate.
Apparently, I’m not invisible here.
Apparently, it doesn’t matter that I’m not a boy here. The guys actually like it.
Apparently, there is more to life than hockey here.
And I’m pretty sure those reasons are why I am totally, unabashedly in love with Nashville, Tennessee.
It wasn’t a hard decision to move here when it was time to c
hoose a college. I had one dream and one dream only, and Bellevue was my ticket to it. Despite my twin brother having a full ride to Boston College and my parents wanting me to go with him, I decided to go elsewhere. Like always.
No matter what my parents said, I always wanted the opposite. I wasn’t the star child like my twin Matty or my older brothers, Seth and Laurence. Never had been. When Mom was pregnant with me, they didn’t see me hiding behind my monstrous brother on the ultrasound. Because of him, they didn’t find out about me until a month before her due date.
What a surprise.
Not.
I was the unwanted child; I know this. One, I’m not a boy. Two, I don’t play hockey. And three, I actually have a mind of my own. Oh, and I’m sarcastic. Very sarcastic. Drives my dad nuts, but I’m always begging to stand out. Not only am I the shortest of the family at a modest 5’5”, but my brothers are all over 6 feet. Even my mom is tall. It’s like Matty sucked up all my height and added it to his. It wasn’t fair, and I always got overlooked. Why sign me up for dance when we have two tournaments in one weekend? Why buy me a Barbie when Laurence, Seth, and Matty all need new gear? Who cares if I don’t want to go to tournaments or games? What I wanted didn’t matter, only the boys.
Nope, I was always the afterthought. Always put on the back burner for hockey. My mom tried, she did, but with four big personalities like my dad and my brothers, we couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
But things are about to change. I am on my own, I am making my own decisions, and it is time to live my life.
I know they wanted my hopes and dreams to lead me to Boston College, but that place had nothing for me. I want to be a singer, a songwriter, something other than the add-on to Matty Haverbrooke. Yeah, I know I could live my dreams there, play at some coffee shops, but that isn’t enough for me. I want to be in the heart of music. I want to live and breathe the industry. And what better place than the music capital of the world? No, I am home now and I am ready to do this.
Ready to live the life I want.
The life where I come first. I matter.
And it was hard to ignore how I felt under that guy’s gaze. It felt like I was all he saw, and that was awesome. I wasn’t just the girl you slept with to get closer to her family. No, I was just some girl, leaned up against a tree, playing a tune. Hey, he liked me enough to tip me. It was only two bucks, but that’s a start! I might have to frame my two bucks, just so I never forget this moment.
The moment when I was Avery Rose Haverbrooke. A singer. Against a tree.
Hey, it has a ring to it.
Setting my guitar down, I pull the two bucks back out and take a quick picture, sending it to my mom with the caption:
Some dude tipped me for singing.
Before I could even pick my case back up, a text came through.
Mom: Because you are awesome! Whoopin it up!
Rolling my eyes, I laugh.
Me: Mom, what is whoopin it up?
Mom: I heard it on that Housewives show. Is that not right?
This woman… Gets rid of her last two kids and starts watching trash TV and eating bonbons. I wouldn’t want it any other way, though. My brothers have run her into the ground, and I know I wasn’t easy to raise.
Me: Yeah, but usually, they say it in the context like, we are about to whoop it up. I think you should have said whoop whoop!
Mom: Oh. Well, WHOOP WHOOP! I knew I could count on you to support me when I’m old.
Me: Good job, Mom. And yes, I got you.
Mom: Thanks, love you. Miss you.
Me: Love and miss you too.
I go to tuck my phone into my pocket when it signals another text. Glancing down at it, I find it’s her again.
Mom: Did you pick your meds up? I called the doctor and she said she sent them to the pharmacy on campus.
Swallowing loudly, I type back.
Me: Yeah, picked them up this morning. All is well.
Mom: Good.
Sucking in a breath, I start for my dorm, putting my phone in my pocket. It is only a two-minute walk from where I was sitting to play around on my guitar. I had been getting ready for the video I wanted to post and I wanted fresh air. I wish it weren’t hot as hell, but it’s okay. I dealt, and because of it, I met Lame Line Larry, so I feel I’m winning.
When my dorm comes into view, I smile. It’s okay, small, but I love my roommate. She is a very quiet and sweet girl named Mekena Preston, and she doesn’t mind all my sound equipment. Probably because all she needs is her bookshelf of books and she is good. Nonetheless, I like her and we are getting along effortlessly, which is great.
The thing is, I am happy. Like, really happy. I love the campus. It has everything I need, even a coffee shop with an open mic night twice a week. Along with that, the other big reason I applied to go here was the fact that everything was on one campus, so I really didn’t need to leave unless I wanted to. They have a great music program with teachers who have worked in the industry for years. For once, I actually have something to be excited about. It is mind-blowing. Not only that, but I am so close to the heart of Nashville and that is awesome since I am trying desperately to get an internship at a music label.
This is what I want, and I am doing it.
I am almost to my dorm when my phone rings, vibrating like mad in my pocket as Ed Sheeran sings “Thinking out Loud.” In my opinion, that is one of the best-written songs, lyrically. Dude is a genius. But when I see it’s my dad, I groan. “Damn it.”
Well, there goes my good mood.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, baby. How’s everything?”
“Good, just going back to my dorm. I was playing outside. It’s so warm here.”
“Yeah, I like Tennessee fall. It’s nice… Oh, one second.”
Rolling my eyes, I shut the door behind me, laying my guitar on my bed before sitting down.
“Sorry about that.”
“No big deal,” I say, crossing my legs as I listen to him shuffle around paperwork. I’m not sure why he called when he is at the office, but I figure it must be important. “So, what’s up?”
“Oh, not much, just calling to see how everything is going.”
“Great, I’m moved in and happy.”
“Good. You got your meds, though?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Great, have you decided… Oh, wait. Hold on, honey,” he says quickly and I sigh. This is why I hate talking to my dad on the phone. I am always on hold. “Avery, sorry, have you decided if you are coming up for the opening game? I haven’t spoken to you since you left.”
Yeah, because he is always busy and also because he is still a little bitter I didn’t go to school close to home. He works a lot, I know, but come on. I’ve been gone for two weeks, and this is the first I hear from him? And also, it’s about hockey? Yeah. He’s mad.
“Yeah, I don’t know.”
“Honey, remember it’s a tradition.”
“That I don’t like,” I say, but before he can scold me for it, I quickly start talking. “I’ll think about it. Depends on my classes.”
“Okay, well, Seth is playing that night against the Devils, so it would be nice if you are here— One second.”
Leaning my face against my hand, I listen as he tells his assistant that he needs something by three. I don’t know. I start to zone out.
“Okay, so Laurence is gonna fly in from Wisconsin, and you know that Matty will be here.”
“Of course he will,” I mutter as I roll my eyes. He is such an ass-kisser.
“Well, it is an easy drive for him. Crap, hold on.” Closing my eyes to his stoppage again, I lean against my hand, wishing this call could just end.
“Dad, do you want to call me back later?”
“Yeah, I’ll call you back. We have some scheduling issues I have to work out.” He sounds relieved, and that bothers me more than it should.
“That’s fine.” The annoyance in my voice could be heard from the moon.
“Love you,” I mutter before hanging up the phone and rolling my eyes. I understand that he is busy, that he has a very demanding job, but it’s annoying. If I were one of my brothers, he would have made time to talk to me. I’m just the daughter with the unattainable dream who is going to school for some music degree that won’t get me anywhere. His words, not mine.
Whatever.
My dream isn’t unattainable.
It will happen.
Going to my desk, I lift the lid on my laptop and open QuickTime to record. When my face appears on the screen, I smile at myself. I’m living my dreams, and the smile on my face speaks volumes. I haven’t been this happy in a long time, and I basically skip the short distance across my room to get my guitar out of its case. Sitting back down, I scoot my chair back so I’m in the frame on my computer. After messing with the angles and making sure I look good, I glance at the clock to see that I have at least an hour before Mekena gets back.
That’s more than enough time to get this video done.
Hitting record, I smile, feeling almost euphoric as I say, “Hey, Avery Rose here, and thanks for checking me out. This is my cover of ‘Tee Shirt’ by Birdy. Hope you enjoy it. Make sure to subscribe to my channel and leave a comment. I love hearing what you think. So, okay, here we go.”
Then I start playing, my voice adding to the chords in perfect unison. As I look up to make eye contact with whoever will watch this, I love how joyful I look. I love the sparkle in my eyes, the way my face is hurting from grinning so hard. It’s perfect. I’m not sure if I’m still on the high of moving to Nashville and doing what I want or if it’s Lame Line Larry that has me giddy.
Which is a little concerning.
I know that Lame Line Larry is a bad idea; he’s a total player. Plus, he’s a hockey player, and I know what that means. Hockey is all he lives and breathes. He probably only sees me as his next goal, a new notch in his sheet of ice, and that’s fine. Really. I mean, nothing says I can’t enjoy him for what he can give me.
