by MK Schiller
“Guess.”
“I require regular oil changes.”
“Not even close, smartass.”
“I’m not playing this game with you.”
“Good, cause I don’t plan on telling you. You can figure it out for yourself, dumbass.”
We talked about Mom, school, and his tour. I didn’t say it as often as I should, but life had taught me you couldn’t take things for granted. “I’m proud of you, Colt.”
He smiled his signature Colton Keyes grin that had all the girls dropping their panties. I wondered if Lilly had a crush on my brother. For the first time in my life, I felt jealous of him.
“Want to tell me about the girl now?”
“What girl?”
My strained voice and Colton’s wide grin cut through all the bullshit like a machete.
“Richie Rich told you?”
“Yep. Hayden’s cool, but you get a couple beers in him, and he thinks he’s in confessional. Anyway, I almost didn’t believe him. My big bro drooling over a girl?”
I shouldn’t have left them at the bar last night. “I don’t drool.”
“You haven’t shown interest in anyone since you got back. This is a good sign.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I was busy with therapy and surgery.”
“But you’re done with that now.”
“She was a cute girl, who I’ll never see again. Besides, she has a crush on you, dickhead.” Figured, the one girl that stirred something in me, which I thought was long dead, was into my little brother.
“How do you know?”
“Her final dance number. She choreographed it to Finding My Way Home.”
“She likes my song—our song. It doesn’t mean she’s hot for me.” He plucked his T-shirt. “Of course, I couldn’t blame her if she was.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Ahhh…so you do like her?”
“It doesn’t matter. Besides, I lack all social graces these days.”
“Let me help you.”
“How can you help?”
“I have some inside information, thanks to Hayden’s little sister.”
“His little sister?”
“Yeah, we were talking at the bar last night. She’s friends with Lilly. I’ve got a plan.”
“I don’t like where this is going.” The thought of Colton plotting something put me on edge, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t interested.
He shrugged as if this was no big deal. “Suit yourself, bro.”
A few agonizing minutes pass while he gnaws on wings. “What’s your plan?”
“Oh, so now you interested,” he said, as he licked his fingers.
“Don’t test me, Colton.” It’s what I would say to him when he was little and about to cross the line with me.
He smiled. “Okay, okay. I checked and Lilly Franklin has a front row seat to my concert tonight.”
My fingers gripped the edge of the table. “So you’re gonna give me the seat next to her?”
The waitress interrupted us with a fresh plate of spicy wings. Colton dug right in. My patience was wearing thin, waiting for him to chew. He swallowed down his food and exasperated me further by picking up another wing. “Speak!”
“I tried. But we’re all sold out. But I have a better idea.”
He leaned into the table, his voice lowering as if we were planning some military coup. After he laid out his idea, I laughed, realizing it was more of a preschool prank.
“That’s never going to work.”
“Why not?”
“Um…because I’m not twelve.”
“No, but you are acting like a bitch baby all the same. Just trust me.”
Just trust me, he’d said.
Famous last words.
Chapter 4
Lilly
I waited anxiously for the theatre doors to open. I couldn’t believe I was going to see Colton Keyes live. It had been a long time since I’d done anything fun, just for me, especially something of this magnitude.
My life revolved around my chosen profession of dance. I didn’t have many friends, except my fellow dancers, and they were more like colleagues. It wasn’t that we weren’t friendly, but it was difficult to form those kinds of relationships when we were in constant competition with each other. I’d chosen a cutthroat occupation. The dance program here was so small that opportunities were scarce compared to a larger school. We armed ourselves with barriers that made normal experiences impossible. Tonight was the exception, though. Not only would I see Colton Keyes perform, I’d have the best seat in the house.
The heavy wood doors finally opened. I kept up with the stampede of people. It didn’t matter because this was a small venue with assigned seats. Colton Keyes was an Indie artist on the edge of fame, but not quite there yet. I felt privileged to see him in this intimate setting before his stardom skyrocketed.
I headed straight for the front, checking my stub for the hundredth time, not believing it actually said A18. I ignored the ushers assisting people. I knew exactly where my seat was. After all, I’d performed at this very venue many times during the last four years.
Although I was familiar with the layout, I’d never been on this side of the stage. I gasped, seeing how close the platform was to the front row. I’d hear every riff coming from Colton’s amped guitar, inhale every note of his raspy voice as it drifted in my direction, and even see the sweat as it rolled down his beautiful face. I tried to avoid crushing on guys, but I’d made an exception for Colton when I’d heard his songs.
I walked past the rows of empty velvet seats, counting them down in anticipation until I reached mine. I would have jumped into it, except for one problem.
It was occupied.
“I believe you’re in my seat,” I said to the man with a Tiger’s baseball cap pulled low over his face.
He straightened up and slipped the cap off. He wore a black crewneck sweater, dark blue jeans, and a pair of Converse on his enormous feet. Even in the dim light of the auditorium, I could make out his thick dirty-blond hair, dark brown eyes, broad shoulders, and a smile that stretched from smoldering to sinful in two seconds flat.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“I’m not your sweetheart, and yes, you are in my seat.” I shoved my ticket stub in his face.
He glanced at it, reached into his back pocket for his wallet, and pulled out his ticket. “Look for yourself.”
I stared at the cardboard replica he’d given me, trying to make sense of it. Technology had passed the theatre dept. We had old-fashion perforated paper tickets.
“Give me mine back,” I said, holding out my palm. He placed it against my flattened hand, caressing my wrist in the process. I almost dropped it, surprised by the contact.
I compared the two slips side-by-side only to find no differences—same date, same venue, same time, same seat number. What?
“Is there a problem here, miss?” an usher asked, aiming his flashlight over the tickets in my hand.
“There seems to be.” I handed him the stubs. Mr. Seat Stealer’s grin widened. I gave him a steely look in return. Did he think I would give up my seat because he was the blond version of Channing Tatum a la Magic Mike? Yeah yeah, I’d watched it...for my career. I appreciated good dancing in every form.
“How strange. I’ll be right back,” the usher said, disappearing with our ticket stubs.
“I have a simple solution,” Seat Stealer offered.
“What’s that?”
He patted his left knee. “You can sit on my lap.”
“Is that your idea of a come on?” I placed my damp hands on my hip. Why were they damp?
Even though I was the one standing, he seemed to exude more power than me with his long legs kicked out in front of him casually. No doubt, he spent a great deal of time working on his body.
“No ma’am, it’s my idea of a solution.”
Did he call me ma’am? It didn’t fit with his confident, cocky
smile and the fact he’d called me “sweetheart” a moment ago.
“This is my seat. You could just be a gentleman and let me sit in it.”
“But I wouldn’t get to have you in my lap then.”
I jabbed my finger into the air in his general direction. “Let’s get something straight. I will never sit on your lap. This place could be on fire, that seat made of ice and I still wouldn’t share it with you.”
My pulse raced with anger. How dare this jerk screw up my carefully made plans?
He chuckled, sitting higher in the chair. “You have an interesting way of putting things.”
“I’ve followed Colton’s career you know.”
“Me, too,” he replied. I wasn’t expecting that. Colton had some rocking songs, but was more about the love ballad. His music wasn’t something I expected Mr. Seat Stealer to enjoy.
“I waited in line at the student union for three hours to get this ticket.”
“I didn’t buy my ticket, but you best believe I went through a lot to be here, too.”
“I love Colton Keyes,” I said in desperation.
It was just a brief second, but his fingers tightened against the armrest. “So do I.”
I sighed, irritated by this conversation and the stubborn boy who stood, or rather sat, between my seat and me. Luckily, the usher came back. He’d straighten this out for sure, except the small man had a deep frown on his face. “I’m sorry, miss. We aren’t sure how this happened, but it appears we printed two identical tickets.”
I crossed my arms. “Get this man another seat then.”
“I’m afraid this is a sold-out show.”
“This looking any better to you, sweetheart?” Mr. Seat Stealer asked, patting his leg.
Damn him! “I’d rather sit on the floor.”
“I’m afraid that’s against fire code, miss,” the usher said as if I was serious.
Ushers…the most unhelpful people.
“How do you intend to resolve this, sir?”
The usher looked over at Mr. Seat Stealer and back at me. For a ridiculous moment, I thought he was going to make the same suggestion. “I am not sitting in a stranger’s lap!” I screamed, drawing curious glances.
“Well, I think it might be uncomfortable if I sat on your lap,” Seat Stealer replied. “By the way, I’m James Hutchinson. Everyone calls me Hutch. Now, at least, we’ve fixed that.”
“Fixed what?”
“I’m not a stranger anymore.”
I bit my lower lip, trying to keep calm. Tonight was supposed to be my one time to let loose and enjoy myself. This man put a major dent in my plans. “Hi, I’m Lilly Franklin. Everyone calls me Lilly, and until you relinquish that seat, I’ll be referring to you as Seat Stealer.”
“Although I admire your modern day usage of the word ‘relinquish,’ I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“No need to get upset, miss,” the usher said, reminding me he was still there. “I’ve spoken to my manager. You can share the seat, alternating. Most people stand during the shows anyway.” The small man scurried off before I could release my rage.
I turned to Hutch, who smirked at me in the most infuriating way. Okay, maybe I can appeal to his sense of guilt. “Do you know how hard I work? How long I’ve been looking forward to this night?”
“Probably as much as me, which is why we should both enjoy it.” His words carried weight to them as if it was a difficult thing for him to admit. Maybe he realized that too because he cleared his throat and lightened his tone. “I’ll even let you have the first shift.”
“First shift?”
“In the seat.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“I’ll sit on your lap,” a pretty blonde chirped next to him. I should have encouraged that, but instead, I just watched him. He returned my stare, his intense chocolate eyes locked on me. We both ignored her.
He had a scar that traveled from his ear to his chin, jaggedly marking his right cheek. It should have created a sense of danger with his brooding looks and built body, but it didn’t. Instead, the mark made him more vulnerable…boyish in a way. He turned his head downward. I shouldn’t have stared. How was it that I was now feeling guilty?
All the seats filled up. The house lights dimmed. I took a deep breath and turned away from him toward the stage.
“There’s an opening band, and the concert’s going to be a long one. Those shoes don’t look comfortable. You can’t stand the whole time.” His voice, deep with hints of gravel, gave birth to a flock of butterflies in my belly. I shook my head, trying to remember why I disliked him. The lines of reason began to blur.
I swung around and fixed my eyes on his. “I’m a dancer. I assure you I can stand the whole time.”
He leaned back against the seat, crossing his arms behind his head. “Go for it. As far as I’m concerned this is a really nice view.” It took a second to sink in that he was talking about my ass. I wouldn’t give him the benefit of a response. I would wait it out, keeping my dignity in the process.
Twenty minutes later, my dignity had diminished, as did my capacity to stand for hours. I should have known better than to try out new heels. Then again, I thought I’d be sitting. The shoes were shrink-wrapping themselves around my tendons, cutting off my circulation. It didn’t help that a few people had yelled for me to sit down or get out of the way. The usher was wrong. No one was standing but me.
“Will you fucking sit down already!” A man, a few rows back, yelled.
“Shut the hell up,” I heard Hutch say.
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll make sure your jaw won’t move right for weeks, and you won’t have a choice,” he threatened.
I swallowed, not wanting to be the cause of a fight, but when I looked back, the yeller was staring at Hutch, who now stood. The yeller’s face had transformed from pissed off to freaked out in an instant. I couldn’t blame him. Hutch’s frame radiated strength with the perfect combination of tall, powerful, muscular, and sleek. I turned before he saw me fan myself.
He stood less than an inch away from me. If I stepped back, I could lean against his chest. I almost took that step. Who the hell was I right now? I wondered for a second what kind of magic he possessed to put me under this spell.
“Please take the seat,” he said in a much softer voice, barely above a whisper. The warmth of his voice traveled down my spine, connecting all the cells in my body for one brief instance.
I crossed my arms in a sad attempt at indifference. “Then they’ll yell at you to sit, and you’re taller than me.”
“Then sit on my lap. Is it really such a horrible thing?”
Was it? It sounded very appealing right now. I went rigid as I felt the hard press of his hand against my lower back. His long fingers splayed. God help me, I liked his touch too much. I nodded, and I moved me back with him. He sat first then reached out his hand for mine. He smelled of cedar, mint, and man.
As the opening band played, I sat as far from his body as I could without falling. To his credit, he didn’t try anything.
“Do you go to school here?” I asked in the interlude between sets, an awkward attempt at conversation. After all, that was the polite thing to do when sitting in someone’s lap.
“Yes.”
“Are you a senior?”
“A freshman.”
I gaped at him. He was young but definitely older than eighteen. Plus he had that wise-beyond-his-years look in his dark brown eyes. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four,” he said.
“Isn’t that old for a freshman?”
I thought the comment might cause a snarky reaction, but he released that wickedly boyish smile instead. “My mother always said ‘It’s never too late to start something as long as you intend to finish it.’”
“That’s good advice.”
My mom had an expression too: Sometimes you find trouble, and sometimes you find troubled. It took a smart woman to know the difference. Clearly, in J
ames Hutchinson, I had found both.
“The best.” We stared at each other for a while. It should have been uncomfortable, and it was, but it wasn’t at the same time.
“What’s your major?” I asked.
He shifted his right leg father out, tapping it nervously. It’s a good thing we had the front row, or he’d be cramped.
“English Lit.”
“Who’s your favorite author?”
“Dr. Seuss.”
I laughed, pressing my hand against his chest. The hard muscles beneath his shirt caused the casual laugh to sound strained.
“I’m serious. No one can beat Dr. Seuss. But after that, I’d say Charles Dickens.”
“Those are some interesting choices. I’m an admirer myself.”
“Of Dickens?”
“Seuss, actually.”
“Well then, besides our admiration for Colton Keyes, it sounds like we have something else in common.”
“I suppose we do.”
“Did you say you’re a dancer?”
“Yes, I just finished the dance program here.”
“What kind of dance?”
“Modern.”
“Why did you pick that?”
I shrugged. “Just like it.”
“I don’t buy that. You picked it for a reason.” He was quiet, waiting for me to expand. Usually, people said it was an interesting choice and moved on. But he seemed interested.
“The truth is I can’t make up my mind. With modern dance, I get a little bit of everything—ballet, hip hop, tap. Last week, I did a Bollywood-type number on this very stage.”
“No kidding.” I’ve heard that saying, I’ve captured your attention, but I’d never captured anyone’s attention, not like this anyway. The way he looked at me was new and scary and exciting as if I was the only person in the entire room. “Tell me what inspired that dance.”
“My dad’s mother was born in India, and my mother was a dancer. It was sort of an ode to my parents. My way of saying I love you.”
“They must be proud.”
We were dipping our toes into the deep end of what I first thought would be a shallow conversation. I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve auditioned for a spot with an international company. If I get in, I’ll be dancing professionally in Europe.”
