by Darcy Woods
My greedy eyes gobble up Carlisle from afar as we ascend through wisps of cloud cover. When the burners stop firing, we lapse into silence, floating like a dandelion tuft caught in a gentle breeze. Gripping the edge of the basket, I barely register the goose bumps prickling my skin as I take in the patchwork landscape below.
“See? This is why I said bring a sweater.” Seth opens his jacket, wrapping me inside of it. “Although…keeping you warm definitely has its advantages.”
“It does.” I snuggle closer, relishing the heat and the feel of his body at my back. “I still can’t believe you set this up. I think this ranks as one of the best surprises I’ve ever had. Exactly how many girls have been completely swept off their feet by this gesture?” I pause. “By the way, that was an accidental pun.”
Seth laughs. “None. This is my first time in a hot-air balloon, too.”
“Really?” I reply with a note of surprise. Given Seth’s resources and sense of adventure, I wouldn’t have guessed that he was a virgin ballooner. “So, where’d you get the idea?”
I feel his shrug at my back. “You. Listening to you talk. You belong up here, Wil.”
My head rests against his chest while I gaze at the setting sun. And it’s so quiet, I swear I hear the moment that great orb hits the curve of the earth, unfurling into a thousand ribbons of yellows, oranges, and reds. “Amazing, isn’t it?” Silence. “Seth?” I tip my head up to see he’s not at all looking at the spectacular horizon.
He’s watching me.
I swallow. “This must’ve cost a small fortune. And you’re missing it.”
“You’re happy?” he asks. “I mean, really happy?” His heart is racing, prodding mine to do the same.
“More than happy,” I breathe.
He lowers his head, brushing a featherlight kiss on my lips. My eyes flutter open when Seth draws back. “Then I’m not missing anything. Because from right here”—he purposefully gazes down at me—“the view is perfect.”
We arrive at Absinthe just as the opening act leaves the stage. Seth and I are inching our way through the packed crowd.
The air is thick with warring body sprays and pheromones. Nomadic eyes flit from person to person in split-second dismissals or appraisals; the judgments are instantaneous and binding.
Seth shouts or nods or lifts his chin to a number of people as we pass. Never once does he let go of my hand, not until we reach our destination in front of the stage.
“Thanks, man.” Seth claps the back of a beefy guy holding a spot for us.
“No sweat. Nice to get out from behind the bar and into the action.” It’s Nico. I’d recognize those prolific sideburns anywhere. “You see Tessa? Girl is on the prowl tonight.” He whistles through his teeth. “Jesus H, wait’ll you see what she’s wear—”
“Uh, Nico,” Seth coughs. “You remember Wil, right?” He reaches back, pulling me in front of him through the crowd.
“Hello again,” I say.
Nico blinks and quickly recovers with a predatory grin. “Please, Seth, I never forget a pretty face.” He grins a little wider. “Sugar, you sure you’re with the right Walker?”
And…I’m so stunned I can’t articulate a response.
Seth slugs his arm.
Nico chuckles, rubbing his bicep. “Ow, hey, I’m just yanking your chain. Besides, Grant was the one who gave the green light to give her whatever she wanted at the bar. When I saw ’em dancing, I figured they were together. It’s not like he makes the rounds like he use—”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Seth’s tone is arctic.
Nico’s grin holds, but his eyes have gone flat and hard. “Yeah, I do. But lemme give you a little advice, friend. Ease up. You don’t do jealous; don’t start now.”
Seth’s posture remains ramrod even after Nico’s disappeared into the throng of bodies around us. And it’s ridiculously trivial, but my mind’s tripping over the fact that Grant bought the ginger ale, which means…Could Seth’s sudden departure last Sunday have been provoked…by Grant?
The silence hangs between us. It’s gotten louder in the club, but somehow our silence is all I hear. I need to get us back on track.
Banishing Nico’s idiotic words, I lace my fingers in Seth’s and pull him closer. “I thought we were having a great time. Is my company boring you already?”
Seth’s mouth twitches.
Bingo.
He motions me closer. Blood thrums in my veins as his lips hover at my ear. “You and boring don’t share space in the same universe.”
I’m about to object. As a matter of fact, I can be quite boring. Like when I get sucked into a special on the Discovery Channel, and sit catatonic on the couch with a bag of potato chips that disappear faster than a falling star from the sky.
The emcee’s voice cuts through the crowd’s dull roar. “So, how bad do you want them?” Cheers erupt. The emcee grins. “I don’t know if that’s bad enough. You’re gonna have to try a little haaaarder.” He thrusts the mic toward the crowd and their deafening cries. “Ah, that’s better. Now let’s give some love for tonight’s headliner, Absinthe’s very own…Wanderlust!”
Wanderlust? It’s the band from the flyer at Inkporium.
The stage explodes with bright, glittering lights. And the crowd goes…absolutely nuts.
Manny raises his drumsticks, clicking them in quick succession. “Three, two, one!” he shouts. The beat grabs everyone’s attention and doesn’t let go. Manny thrives under the spotlight during the opening drum solo. He wields two sticks, but the fast blur of motion makes them look like hundreds.
The keyboard and guitar come in next. Each instrumental layer compounds the musical spell. There are whistles and cheers. People bounce and move to the fast rhythm.
The blond, shaggy-haired lead singer leaps to center stage. So this is Tristan. Whoa, his jeans are snug. I can count the change in his pockets from the front row—all two dollars and seventy-five cents in compressed coins. But my awareness of his shrink-wrapped lower half instantly disappears when he begins to sing.
Tristan’s pitch-perfect voice has just the right amount of grit—smooth with rough edges—as he pours raw emotion into the lyrics.
The keyboardist hammers the keys in tempo with the drums. His newsboy cap is slightly cocked as he nods to the music.
Finally, after my eyes have explored every band member, I give myself permission to look at Grant.
Grant’s probably the least flashy of them all in his plain gray T-shirt, frayed jeans, and duct-taped shoe. Under the bright lights, I see I was right. The tattoos on his arm are music notes.
And I’m mesmerized by the way his fingers work the guitar strings. The tendons in his forearms pop and release as he plays. Grant is dreamily lost in the music. He rocks to the beat, a euphoric almost-smile touching his lips. And I want to go to that place. Blindly follow wherever it is he’s gone. Even if just for one solitary song.
As if hearing my thoughts, Grant chooses that moment to look up from his guitar. Gazing directly at me.
I suck in a breath. Look away. Look away. Look anywhere…just not…at Grant. But even Tristan’s gyrations and throaty lyrics don’t break my trance. Because everything else has fallen away—faded into nothingness. But not Grant, he is real. As real and true and bright as the North Star herself.
Then he lifts his chin at me.
And…I think I might come undone.
This is awful.
By the time we head backstage, I’ve pulled myself together. Grant is nothing more than pollen. An allergen. It’s a simple matter of desensitization. Expose myself in small doses and, eventually, I won’t have any reaction at all.
And Seth deserves someone worthy of his generosity and kindness. Someone equally enamored of him. For the love of Venus, I vow that girl will be me.
“Wait.” I catch the hem of Seth’s shirt, stopping him short of the door, where postperformance festivities are going strong. I stand on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his
, sealing my renewed silent promise with a kiss.
“Mmm.” Seth raises an eyebrow. “What was that for?”
I lower back down. “Because. Just…because.”
His mouth hikes up at the side as he curls a finger around my belt, drawing me closer. “Good enough reason for me. You know”—he peeks covertly left, then right—“Absinthe is full of dark corners. Say the word and I’ll offer a personal tour.”
I’m grateful for the dim light because I’m sure my cheeks are glowing. Seth’s breath is hot on my skin as his lips graze my shoulder. My knees forget they’re supposed to be supporting me. Which complicates standing. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” I murmur.
“Well, of course. Can you keep a secret?”
“Yeah,” I reply uneasily.
Seth drops his voice to a low whisper. “This is where I store the Batmobile. There’s this elaborate underground cave system where I hide the—” He laughs when I slap his chest, and pulls me closer. Then his expression sobers. “Listen, Wil, there’s something else I should…” Seth bites his lower lip uncertainly.
Uncertainty? How un-Sagittarius of him.
The backstage door flies open. A girl with a wild mane of curls halts in her stilettos. Her miniskirt is…let’s say I’ve seen flexible Band-Aids with more coverage. “Well, well, if it isn’t Seth Walker.” Her tone is as lethal as the spikes of her heels. “Didn’t take you long, did it?”
Seth lets go of me and folds his arms. “We broke it off months ago. What do you want, Tessa?”
“What do I want?” She lets out an evil laugh. “I want someone to run that worthless heart of yours through a meat grinder—see how you like it! I want to never look at your stupid face again! Or catch you feeling up some ska—”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t come to a club my family owns,” he replies coolly. “Just a suggestion.”
Tessa’s jaw clacks shut; her nostrils flare. “Mark my words, Seth. One day some girl’s gonna bring you to your knees. And nothing, not even that perfect little smile, will save you.” She mumbles a few more colorful phrases before stalking away.
“Yeah, nice to see you, too, Tess. And, uh…real creative use of the f-bomb. Seriously.”
She doesn’t turn around. Instead, her middle finger has the final say.
“She wants to study acting, so”—he offers an apologetic look—“drama’s kinda her thing.”
“I’d say she has a solid future ahead of her,” I reply. “Seems very in touch with her emotions.”
Seth chuckles with evident relief. “You’re not mad?”
“Well, drama’s not generally my thing.”
“God, I’m so in like with you.” He pushes open the door. “All right, we’ll just make an appearance. Long enough for the guys to drool over how hot and drama-free you are, and then I want you to myself.” He grins, leading me into the testosterone lair.
Backstage has none of the fanciness I envisioned. In fact, it’s one step above a garage. There are crates and boxes for seating, and a brown plaid couch that looks donated by someone’s great-grandmother. The place is cluttered with people and other random things—like a garden gnome with sunglasses and a cigar stuck in his mouth. In the back corner there’s a skeleton with a sideways baseball hat guarding a popcorn machine. It’s a mishmash of weird. So of course I love it.
I process all this in less time than it takes for the keyboardist to use a lighter to pop the cap off his bottle.
“Dude,” he says as he fist-bumps Seth.
“Wil, this is Ryan. Master of the keyboard and brother from another mother.”
I smile. “You guys were amazing tonight.”
“Thanks.” He adjusts his hat, flashing a set of dimples. “And we’ve sorta met already.”
“You have?” Seth glances between us.
I’m as perplexed as Seth. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember—”
“Oh, you wouldn’t. I was the guy on the ground. You know, the one instructing you not to jump from the water tower.”
“Oh God, that was you?”
“In the flesh.” He chuckles at my obvious mortification. “Yeah, one minute we’re cruising to the music store to get some new amps—finally got Grant to admit it was time to trade in those relics.” Ryan shakes his head. “And the next, Grant’s running the wagon off-road and ranting about some girl about to jump. Totally wigged out, which I guess makes sense because of…”
“The heights thing?” I ask, smiling helpfully.
Ryan’s dimples fade as he gives Seth a peculiar glance. Seth responds with a subtle shake of his head. Well, seems I’m odd man out of the unspoken conversation. “Uh, something like that,” Ryan finishes vaguely. “Anyway, you guys survived, so”—he holds up the bottle—“cheers to that.”
I chuckle, part embarrassment and part resignation. “I’d love to say stuff like that is atypical. But…” I shrug.
“It’s true. You should have seen her today in the hot-air balloon,” Seth adds, snaking his arm along my shoulders. “Managed to con the pilot into teaching her Ballooning 101, right before she almost landed us in a tree.”
I elbow his ribs. “Hey, there’s no crime against being inquisitive. Besides, what if the pilot became incapacitated?”
Ryan’s green eyes glimmer. “Why would he be incapacitated?”
“I don’t know. Hostile takeover by…sky…pirates,” I finish lamely.
Seth squeezes me, tickling my side. “Sky pirates, huh?”
“The balloon’s not going to land itself! And I was at least twenty feet from that tree. Stop!” I giggle, doubling over. “You should be grateful I was prepared.”
“Oh, I’m grateful.” His voice rasps in my ear only loud enough for me to hear. “And I promise to prove it later.”
I shiver.
Ryan pulls out his cell. “All right, you two are gonna make me hurl. I gotta track down Ginger. I swear that girl’s a damn beacon for disaster. But then, look who I’m talking to,” he says to me with a wink. “Be back.”
Seth carries on with the informal introductions. “Where was I? Oh, that heathen over there is Tristan. He’s the one having the party next Saturday. Hey, Tris,” Seth calls, “this is Wil.”
Tristan pauses his conversation with a couple of fans and flicks the blond hair from his eyes. “Hey there,” he projects in a swoon-worthy voice.
“Hi.” I wave back.
“And the spaz next to the fridge is—”
“Succulent Wil!” Manny shouts across the room. “You bring the secret recipe or just the sexy tonight?”
“You did not just say that.” I laugh.
Seth’s eyebrows bounce up. “I take it you’ve met.”
“Sure have.” I’m still grinning as Manny joins us. “Ill-mannered Manny. You were fairly awesome tonight.”
He bear-hugs me like we’ve been friends for ages. And for some reason, it feels like we have. Of course, it’s partly because of his charming exuberance as a Libra. “Fairly? Chica, please, I lit those drums on fire, and speakin’ of fire…” We part. “Dig the dress.” He lets out a low wolf whistle.
“I was going to say the same thing about your shirt.” Which boasts: LESS CALORIES! TASTES GREAT!
Manny smirks, then looks up at Seth. “Sorry, vato, but I’m stealing her. We’ve got some classified matters to discuss.”
Before Seth can voice an objection, Ryan returns. “Hey, man, you got any jumper cables? Ginger’s POS car won’t start and she’s stranded at work.”
Seth hesitates, briefly scanning the backstage scene. “Manny, you seen Grant?”
“Not my turn to watch him,” Manny quips. “Last I saw, he was with Lila.”
Ryan fusses with his hat impatiently. “So, Seth, you got cables or not? I had to loan my car to my sister, so I’m kinda up shit creek here.”
“Uh…yeah.” Seth turns to me. “I’m sorry, Wil. You cool with hanging here for a few while I help them out?”
“Sure, no prob
lem.”
Seth reels me in by my belt loop once more. “Good, because this night isn’t over. Not by a long shot.” His eyes are full of promises that his lips will deliver later.
“I’m holding you to that.”
“Music to my ears. I’ll hurry, okay?” My Sagittarius lets go, pausing before ducking out the door. “And, Manny, I’m coming back for her, so don’t get any dumb ideas.”
“Whatever,” Manny mutters, hooking his arm in mine. “Thirsty, Wil?”
“Bottle of water if you’ve got it.”
He opens the refrigerator, graffitied with so many indie-band stickers I couldn’t tell you the appliance’s original color. He hands me a water bottle before snagging a Red Bull for himself. Yeah, he needs the extra energy boost like a jackrabbit needs amphetamines.
Manny motions toward a stack of boxes. “Have a seat.”
I sit down. “Thanks. So, uh, what’s this classified matter all about?”
“I’m trying to think of a tactful way to say it.” Manny scratches the back of his head. His eyes divert to the door.
“Okay, that’s ominous. What if I said I’d try not to be offended?”
“It’s a start.” He cracks open the can and takes a swallow. Then levels me with his brown eyes. “What are you doing with Seth?”
My stomach capsizes like a vessel caught in a violent squall. I right my innards, which really have no reason to be affected by the question. “It’s called dating.”
He takes a seat beside me. “Yeah, I figured. What I can’t figure out is why.”
“Well, it isn’t exactly a great mystery of the universe. He asked me out and I said yes. Not that I owe you an explanation.” I’m joking. But I do find his keen interest in my dating habits bizarre.
“You don’t,” he agrees. “Except I think things would’ve played out different if Seth hadn’t barged in like he did. Kinda dickish, if you ask me.”
I frown.
He nudges me. “All right, I know you didn’t ask me. Look, I’ve known Grant a long time.”
“From school?” I take a drink of water.
“Come on, do I look like preppy Hartford material? Hell no. My dad has a landscaping company. We service most of the houses in his neighborhood, which is how I met Grant.” Manny takes another swig of the energy drink. “Turns out I wasn’t much for landscaping.” He flashes an impish grin. “But I could tell you the color and pattern of every single bikini on the east side.”
