Nick’s blue eyes bore into mine as he answers. “I haven’t even gotten started with that one.” My heart, which is clearly at odds with my thoughts, does an unwanted skip.
Cam and Dame laugh and throw some “Ooohs” in there, slapping each other like it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard. A part of me wants to be upset at their little talk, but I’ve been around this kind of thing too long to let it bother me.
“Well, sweetheart, you call me when you need a shoulder,” Cam says, addressing me now.
“Not gonna happen,” I snap. I don’t even want to turn around because I don’t want him looking at my ass again. Nina’s busy on her phone so she’s not even paying attention anymore, and I want to strangle her for always abandoning ship when it’s fucking sinking.
“All right, guys, I’ll see you later,” Nick says, closing the door.
“Remember, offer stands,” Cam calls out.
“Give it a rest, Cam,” Nick says, the threat in his voice unmistakable. “The only person she’s calling is me.” He closes the door, putting an end to the debacle, and I can still see the guys laughing and bumping fists as they walk off.
“Guys are such fucking pigs,” I mutter.
Nick lets out a laugh. “Yeah, they are. Maybe the next one you choose will be a man, not a guy,” he says, emphasizing the words slowly.
I narrow my eyes. “And let me guess … you know just the right person?”
He shrugs. “I have two brothers. I’m sure one of them is your type.”
I try really, really hard to not look surprised at his words, but my mouth drops open on its own accord.
“Oh, that’s it,” Nina chimes in from the couch, finally putting her phone away. “You two are meant for each other.”
Nick laughs his carefree boyish laugh, and even though I feel like an idiot, I find myself laughing along with him because his laughter is contagious. His entire demeanor changes and his eyes light up in such a way that they remind me of the sun reflecting the beach on a sunny day, it’s spellbinding.
“What’s up? BK! Nina-licious,” Shea greets us excitedly, causing me to tear my eyes away from Nick’s and walk over to him, rolling my eyes at his nickname for my cousin.
“Hey,” I say, giving him a half hug.
Nina walks up to us and greets Shea with the same half hug before letting go and looking at him for a moment. “You’re smoking again?” she snaps, then looks at me pissed off. “Nope. You’re not going.”
I laugh. “What are you, my mother?” I ask.
“Your mother,” Nina scoffs with an eye roll. “Please.”
“Touché,” I mutter.
“I would never let her touch that shit, Nina!” Shea says loudly.
“Yeah, just like you would never-”
“Both of you, shut up! I am an adult!” I scream, stopping her from finishing the rant she’s about to go on. “Jesus. What is wrong with you people?” I say, shaking my head. I’m interrupted by my ringing phone, which I take out and look at, frowning when I see my dad’s number on my screen. “I’ll be back, gotta take this.”
I sprint outside and shut the door behind me and answer the phone. “Hey, Dad.”
“It’s about goddamn time you answer your phone!” he huffs.
Here we go. I exhale, hating the way my stomach drops when he reprimands me. “This is the first call I’ve gotten from you.”
“Well, this is the third time I’ve called. What are you doing? Did you meet with the band? Did you hear the demos I sent yesterday? Are you scheduled with anyone else this week? What happened at that bar on Saturday?” He spits out question after question not even pausing to give me enough time to answer him. I know from the sound of his voice that he’s exhausted and has been pissed off ten ways to Sunday today, so I tread carefully and wait until I know he’s finished.
“How was your day?” I ask. “How have you been for the past two weeks? How are you settling in? Are you getting along with your brother?” I say, not letting my voice sound as pissed off as I am. I’m more upset at the saddening realization that my parents just do not give a shit about me, but rather than start crying over it, I’ve learned to accept it. Accepting it doesn’t loosen the grip on my throat, though.
He exhales loudly. “How’s everything, Brooklyn?” he mutters, completely uninterested.
“I did meet with the band. I liked them, but not enough. You would hate them. I heard the demos—there were three that stood out. I’m already on those. I’ll have meetings set up by tomorrow afternoon. The bar band was fine, nothing outrageous.” Tears prick my eyes as I talk and I continue swallowing them down, speaking slowly so the dam doesn’t burst while I’m on the phone.
“Good. Good. At least some people around here are reliable. All right, baby girl, I’ll talk to you soon,” he says, cooing the last part, I’m sure for my benefit.
“Okay,” I respond quietly, blinking rapidly. “How’s Mom?” I ask, wishing I didn’t care.
“She’s fine. Spoke to her last night. She should be getting back at the end of the week so I’m sure you’ll hear from her then,” he says. “I gotta go.”
He hangs up and because our conversation was two minutes worth of nothing personal, I feel empty. Shoving the phone in the back pocket of my jeans, I walk to the window on the other side of the elevator. I place my fingertips on it and look at the darkening sky over me, taking deep breaths to keep my emotions at bay.
“Everything okay?” Nick asks, behind me.
I nod, still looking outside, not daring to turn around and face him. I can’t let him see the hurt look I know I have on my face.
“Fine,” I reply, my voice steady. “Why’d you come out here?”
He scoffs. “I wasn’t going to stand around and listen to more of that bickering. Jesus. Your cousin acts like a ninety-year-old cat lady with no friends.”
Laughter sputters out of my lips and I finally bring myself to turn around. His face is downcast, but he brings his eyes up to me and gives me a small smile that tells me the joke was for my benefit, though I have no doubt that Nina yapping away.
“She kind of is like that, huh?” I say, taking one last deep breath.
Nick nods and exhales. “So you’re going?”
I look down the hallway and back at him with questioning eyes.
“No, I mean on tour,” he clarifies.
Down casting my eyes from his, I twirl the ends of my hair, shifting my feet. “It’s only for a couple of days here and there,” I say nonchalantly.
“You realize he’s still into you, right?” Nick says.
I bring my gaze back to his probing eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”
He raises an eyebrow and leans against the wall behind him, swinging one ankle on top of the other and crossing his arms. “No?”
I shake my head slowly, trying to figure out why I feel like I need to explain myself to him. “We dated, if you can even call it that, a while ago. A whiiiile ago,” I say. Nick nods for me to continue. “When we were teenagers. Like I said, long time ago. Over the years he’s always been my constant.”
“Your booty call,” Nick says.
I cringe, hating how that sounds coming out of his mouth for some reason. “Exactly.”
“And you ended things? Or he did?” he asks.
“I did,” I say. “Why are you so interested in this, anyway?”
Nick laughs lightly. “For the same reason that you’re entertaining my questions.”
I frown, thinking about that and look at him, not understanding what that means.
He shakes his head slowly, pushing himself off of the wall and strides towards me. I just stand here, watching the way he moves. He’s so graceful. I don’t understand how such a tall, defined body can move that gracefully, as if he’s practiced the walk countless times. Maybe he used to model underwear or something. It’s a dumb thought, but it’s the only one that comes to mind. He stops when he’s standing so close to me that I have to crane my head to look at
him. His blue eyes are heated, burning into mine and making my breath hitch.
“Oh shit, sorry,” Nina says.
I slump my shoulders and Nick shakes his head with a low chuckle. I start walking back toward the studio, my heart still beating wildly at the possibilities of what might’ve happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.
“Fifty cats,” he says quietly behind me, making me laugh.
When we all walk back into the studio, Nina and Shea are getting along again, but from the look on Shea’s face I know Nina laid it down for him. He looks pissed off at me and I’m wondering what the hell she’s told him. It can’t be that bad. I mean, what have I told her? Holy shit, did she tell him about Nick? Not that there’s anything to tell. Damn it, why does this guy make me feel like a child with my hand in the cookie jar?
“What?” I ask Shea.
“Nothing. Nina pisses me the fuck off like no other. She thinks you need a fucking mother to fill in for the sorry ass one you have. She apparently doesn’t realize that you’ve done well all by yourself,” he spits, shooting daggers at Nina.
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I just don’t want her to be around drugs. Big fucking deal.”
“Don’t worry, Shea will have Gia to keep him busy,” I say, smiling at Shea, who looks even madder that I brought her up. “Oh, what? You got bored of her too?”
Shea narrows his eyes at me. “I never got bored of you!”
My eyes widen at his outburst. I look over my shoulder but see that Nick has earphones on and is playing with knobs so he can’t hear us.
“Shhh!” I reprimand.
“Oh, this is rich. You have a thing for Shadow?” Shea asks with a laugh. “This gets better by the second.”
“I don’t have a thing for anybody, Shea. I’m going to check out the stupid people you want me to check out and then I’m done.”
Shea shrugs. “Whatever. Are we done? We’re wasting precious recording time here.”
Nina and I both nod. Nina gets up and slaps the back of his head before giving him a kiss and walks up to Nick to say goodbye. I follow behind but don’t even say goodbye to Shea, I’m that mad at his pissy attitude with me. He’s telling me he’s doing me a favor by introducing me to the acts he wants me to see, but I’m doing him the favor by going.
Shea comes up behind me and grabs my arm, pulling me into a hug. “I’m sorry, Bee. I just got a lot going on.”
I nod against him. “Yeah, well, stop being a douchebag. I don’t care how big of a favor you think you’re doing for me. It’s hard for me to go back there.”
Shea nods, his cheek brushing against mine. “I know. I know.”
He lets go and walks into the recording booth, signaling to Nick that he’s ready.
“I’ll see you, then,” I say to Nick, who looks up at me for a second before going back to what he’s doing.
“Yeah. Until we meet again,” he says, gazing at me again for less than a second.
I don’t know what it is about him that makes me want to grab his face in place so that he’ll never look at anything but me. I’m not sure what bothers me more: the realization or the fact that I can’t remember feeling this way about anybody before him.
I keep hearing hype about this girl, Christina Ferucci, and have been dying to catch her performance. She’s supposed to be in a little place called The Bitter End tonight, which hosts a lot of open mics for new artists, and that’s how I find myself pulling up to the small venue on Bleecker Street. A lot of amazing artists have performed here in the past. I caught a Lady Gaga show here before she was “The Lady Gaga.” It’s always nice when you get to see people sing before they become household names. When somebody stood in front of Harmon the other day handing out flyers, I knew it was a sign for me to catch a show here.
As I walk through the old wooden doors, I spot a small table in the dark towards the back and make a beeline toward it. I like enjoying shows from little dark corners, where I feel like I can prop a leg up and lay my head on my knee as I close my eyes and listen to the artist sing their hearts out. And that’s exactly what I do when Christina comes on stage—I pull my knees up so that my boots are touching my bottom, and wrap my arms around my legs, closing my eyes and letting her voice take me far away. She has great stage presence and a strong voice that can be heard even without the microphone, which I enjoy.
When she’s halfway into a song she said is called “Fifty Foot Fire,” I feel the seat beside me dip. I don’t open my eyes because I don’t mind company as long as they don’t talk to me while I’m enjoying the music. But of course they don’t know that, and usually, they start talking. I don’t understand why people need to talk so damn much.
“Hey,” the voice says, and my eyes spring open because the voice is Nick Wilde.
“Hey,” I respond, wide-eyed, feeling my heart clogging my throat. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
“Watching the show,” I say.
“You’re not really watching,” he quips back as a smile spreads over his lips.
I roll my eyes. “Listening. Do you come here often?”
“When I’m in town I do. I got one of these and I figured I’d stop by,” he says, flashing me the same flyer I have.
I nod in response, unable to tear my gaze from his. “Cool.”
His lips twitch again. “Are you here to see her?” he asks, motioning toward the stage.
I nod. “What about you?” I ask.
“The act that follows.”
“Who’s that?” I ask, wishing I had seen the entire bill. I just didn’t care because Christina was who I came to listen to.
“Paige Chaplin,” Nick says simply as he takes a sip of the amber drink in his hand.
I frown, not having heard of her. That bothers me a little, that he would know someone I don’t. He’s a producer, so I’m sure he knows a lot of people that I don’t, but it doesn’t bother me any less.
“Shouldn’t you be working on Shea’s album?” I ask.
Nick raises an amused eyebrow. “Keeping tabs on me? Or telling me how to do my job?” he asks as a slow smile spreads over his face. “I don’t mind either, in case you’re wondering.”
It’s not even funny how much I want to smile right now, but I try to fight it. When I know I can’t win, and I’m going to smile because he’s looking at me with those freaking up-to-no-good eyes and his mouth is turned up and his words make me feel like he tapped my heart with Pixie Dust on speed, I place my head on my bent knee and turn it toward the stage. He laughs and tugs my hair, and I smile hard, but it’s okay because he can’t see me. Christina ends her set and we clap as she thanks us for listening.
“So she’s good?” I ask, still facing away from him.
“Very good,” he says, his raspy voice low and in my exposed ear, making me gasp and sit up straight. What is it about him that makes my insides feel like they’re charged with electricity?
“How’d you hear about her?” I ask, looking at him now.
He shrugs. “The internet.”
“Have you worked with her?”
“I hope to,” he says with a smile that makes jealousy bubble up inside of me, which is so stupid.
He’s not mine for me to be jealous over. Nick laughs when I turn my face away from him, so I know it’s too late to hide my thoughts. I hate that my heart is painted in my eyes for all to see. He tugs my hair again softly and moves closer to me.
“Professionally,” he adds, near my ear again in a way that makes my insides tingle at his voice.
“I didn’t say anything,” I protest quietly.
“You didn’t have to,” he responds just as low.
I breathe out through my nose, pursing my lips, wishing that he would move away from me so that my heart can roll back into my chest from the place in my throat it’s perched on.
We speak a little more about music, about siblings,
about random things—nothing of real significance, even though everything is significant. And then Paige walks on stage with her guitar, introducing herself before she begins to sing, and I forget that Nick is beside me. The strumming of her guitar and her soulful voice make me want to smile, cry, and cheer at the same time. The combination speaks that much to me. It’s that beautiful. Nick doesn’t say a word; he seems as submerged as I am. We both, maybe out of coincidence, turn our faces to each other at the same time when Paige sings: You’ve tied yourself, through and through, my skin, my bones.
Our hands inch closer together below the table as we look into each other’s eyes, the tips of our fingers barely touching. We listen to the rest of her song like that, looking into each other’s eyes, singers brushing against each other but not close enough to hold hands. And when it ends and the crowd begins to clap, he blinks, I blink, and we begin to clap as well. A moment gone, just like that. But the stupid seed of hope has been planted. Just like that.
Even though it’s been a couple of days since the bar incident, I’m still smiling over it. Walking through the Harmon doors, I add a little speed to my steps and step into the elevators just before they begin to shut.
“Close call,” Nick comments behind me, the sound of his voice making my blood pump faster.
I let the strap of my oversized purse fall and position it between my legs so that it doesn’t bump anyone before letting myself turn to face him. His dark blond hair is styled into a messier faux hawk than usual and he has sprinkles of stubble along his chiseled jaw. My fingers twitch to touch his face, to let the tiny hairs prickle my fingertips, so I curl them tighter on the strap of my purse. Nick’s eyes have a seductive hooded look as he peers down at me, a look that makes my heart run marathons inside my chest. Jesus, that stare could make anybody crumble.
“Hi,” I say, my voice barely audible over the chatter going on around us. The elevator stops and some people push to get out, making me stumble onto Nick’s chest.
Catch Me Page 10
