by L. Philips
Not that it matters. I was only up all night thinking (er, fantasizing) about it.
“Tell Meg if you see her before I do,” I say, knowing that sending her a text will be useless. Having a cell phone out during school hours means instant detention at Athens High, and Meg is one of those strange people who prides herself on going her entire high school career without receiving a detention.
At lunchtime, I head to the art room. Jamie’s whole being lights up when he sees me, and my stomach clenches with guilt about Travis. But that wasn’t my fault, I reason. Travis kissed me without provocation. Hell, he practically jumped me. There was nothing I could do. Besides, it’s not like me and Jamie are a couple. We haven’t even gone on a date yet.
“Hey,” he says, coming over to me and plastering himself against my side. He’s gotten a little bolder with me since I asked him out, and I’m really beginning to love that he doesn’t hesitate to touch me anymore.
I wrap an arm around his waist and hold him close. “Hey. What are you working on today?”
His smile is proud, but of the shy variety. “I finished the Jubjub earlier, so I was just going to clean up.”
“Can I see?”
He nods at me and lifts a paint-stained finger in the direction of an easel in his corner. I leave him to wipe off his hands and make my way to the canvas. The finished Jubjub is electric magenta and purple, soaring among stormy, silvery clouds. It’s beautiful as it struggles against the thunder, its eyes focused on something below, its expression almost human and full of desire.
“It’s amazing, Jamie. How do you do this?”
Jamie comes to stand by my side, looking at his painted bird with a critical eye. “You like it?”
“I love it.”
“Then it’s yours.”
“What?” I turn to him, startled. “You can’t . . . you should sell this or something.”
Jamie shakes his head and looks me in the eye, determined. “I want you to have it. Unless you’d rather have another. Like the phoenix or something. It’s not done yet, but you can have it when I’m finished. Or any of them. Whichever you want. Or if you don’t want them I can paint something else.”
I pull Jamie into my arms, nearly crushing him to me. “Are you sure?” I ask him. It’s unbelievable that he would want to give me the painting, but then, if he’s the real Perfect Ten, that seems about par for the course.
He pushes me back, just enough so he can look into my eyes. “Yeah. But only if we’re still on for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, yes,” I say even as my mind drifts off to tonight, when I’ll be listening to Travis’s band play and who knows what else afterward. The guilt punches me in the gut again.
“So what should I wear?”
I give him a sheepish smile. “I don’t know what we’re doing yet. Been trying to wrack my brain for an idea since I asked, but nothing around here seems suitable.”
Jamie gives me one of his smiles, his special brand of coy. “I don’t care what we do, Sam. I’m still just kind of in shock that you’re interested.”
I can’t help but chuckle a little. “Why is it shocking that I’d be interested in a gorgeous, talented artist?”
Jamie grins. “Gorgeous, huh? If you say so.”
“Jamie, if I could paint, you’d be my first subject.” He laughs and it’s like a summer breeze flowing through the room. Just then, an idea blindsides me. A brilliant idea that might really impress the gorgeous artist. “Hey, would you be willing to wake up early and travel a little tomorrow?”
He narrows his eyes, suspicious. “How early?”
“Like, nine-ish? I want to take you somewhere.”
“If you must,” he says, feigning irritation. His eyes are laughing. But then he gets a horrified look on his face. “Wait . . . I don’t have to wear a suit, do I?”
I laugh and wrap my arms around him, and his body fits so well into the folds of mine that I almost sigh. “No. Jeans are fine. But look good, Fisher. I don’t want to be able to take my eyes off you all day long.”
“Color me intrigued,” he says, slow and sly. “I’ll definitely look my best.”
His best, I realize with a slight groan, could actually kill me.
I spend the rest of the lunch period helping him wash out his brushes, our soapy hands touching often under the water in the sink, accidentally on purpose, my stomach in a nervous knot over our date the next day, Travis almost—but not quite—forgotten.
The bouncer at the Smiling Skull looks as though he could pick me up with one finger and snap my neck with two. Which is why I sort of stutter out my name as he looks over the lists on his clipboard. He finds my name but gives me a suspicious look, flashing a menacing yellow-toothed smile at me before saying, “You give anyone any trouble and your ass is brass.”
If he were anything but a four-hundred-pound biker I would have criticized his use of a rhyming cliché, but the mental image of being pulverized by his huge hands makes me think better of it.
I grab both Landon and Meg and step inside the bar. It’s just as rough as I always pictured it. Everything looks a little beat up, including the people. The floor is covered with something sticky, my guess is residue from about forty years’ worth of beer spilling from frosted mugs. And it’s green inside. I don’t know whose bright idea it was to paint the walls kelly green, but for a townie bar, it’s almost comical the way everything’s lit up like Kermit the Frog. Makes the huge skull and crossbones painted above the bar look a little less threatening.
“I still would like to know how you did this,” Landon says, and Meg nods vigorously in agreement. They both did their best to look the part tonight, dressing in nearly all black, tight clothes, hair messy, and Meg’s even wearing a metric ton of black eye makeup. It would have looked good on Landon too. Would have made his pretty eyes stand out against his pale skin, but I don’t comment on that.
“The powers of persuasion,” I say as an answer, which doesn’t convince either of them in the slightest.
“With Travis Blake? Yeah, right,” Landon snorts, and then, as if I’d planned it, Travis appears behind me, one arm snaking around my waist possessively.
“You’re here,” he says, and nowhere in his voice is there a note of surprise.
“Had to return your jacket, didn’t I?” I say back, touching the collar of his jacket, which I’m wearing.
“Looks good on you,” he says, then leans in, mouth on the shell of my ear, my back pressed tightly against his front. “Going to look good on my floor tonight.”
I hiss out a curse. I’ve never met anyone like him before, never known anyone who could say such filthy things with such powerful confidence, never known someone whose voice alone could make my knees buckle. And I’ve certainly never met anyone who could make me enjoy feeling like I’m nothing but a possession. I can’t make sense of it or of him. My brain is a mushy mess of rights and wrongs, contradictory feelings, and in the end, all I can do is agree with him.
“See you after, then?” he asks, already knowing my answer. “Enjoy the show.”
He nips at my neck before leaving, disappearing through a door next to the makeshift stage by the bar. I turn to Landon and Meg, barely seeing them because I can’t think and I’m pretty sure my body is full of aching, burning fire.
It’s Meg who speaks first. “What was that?”
“What?” I ask her.
“What do you mean what?” She’s staring at me with a weird expression on her face that just might be awe. “Are you some sort of groupie now?”
“No,” I say, defensive. “He invited me to the show yesterday and we talked a bit. That’s all.”
“And what about Jamie?”
“I’m seeing Jamie tomorrow.”
“And having sex with Travis tonight, apparently.”
“I never said—”
&nbs
p; “Please, you all but promised him just now.” Now Meg is angry. But it’s like she’s not just angry, there’s something underneath. Worry, maybe. Or worse, disappointment. I feel my cheeks flush with a bit of shame and try to explain myself.
“I like Jamie. A lot, okay? But it’s not like it’s serious yet. I barely know him. And Travis . . . he does something to me, you know?”
“Yeah, I bet I know what he does to you,” Meg says, disgusted.
“Yeah? So? I’m not allowed to flirt or have fun? Just because you think Jamie’s the one your precious goddess sent—”
“He might be!” Meg exclaims, then she lowers her voice so only me and Landon can hear. “But you know Travis isn’t. Just look at him.”
My anger flares. “Being a little judgmental, aren’t we?”
“Please. Do you honestly think you’re the first name he’s put on a special list? You’re probably not even the only one tonight.” Meg nods to the front of the stage, where quite a few beautiful human beings, boys and girls, have gathered, vying for the front row. “Is that what you want to be? Just one in a crowd?”
“Maybe that’s the way it would be, but maybe not,” I say.
Meg’s eyes widen. “Good Goddess, Sam. Please do not be one of those people who think they can change someone else. Especially someone like Travis Blake. He probably doesn’t even know what the word monogamous means.”
I snort. “I can’t believe you, of all people, have the nerve to say that to me.”
“Don’t you dare make this about Michael.”
I grab my hair in frustration. “I know. I can never make anything about Michael, can I?”
Meg ignores me and turns to Landon instead. “You talk some sense into him. I need some fresh air.”
Meg stalks toward the door and I turn toward the stage, which means I don’t have to look at Landon. I feel him next to me, watching me. He shifts uncomfortably, then says, “Low blow, man.”
“Whatever. It’s true.”
“Still,” Landon says. Onstage, someone is testing microphones. “You know she’s right about Travis.”
I want to scream or kick something, but instead I only grit my teeth. “Maybe.”
“Don’t be mad. I’m just confused, that’s all.” Landon’s voice is so calm it makes me feel completely out of control. “I mean, I know you. You’re way too smart to have to be told all the stuff Meg just said. So I guess I just don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“I don’t know how to explain.”
“Try.”
Because he’s Landon, and I can always be honest with Landon, I finally look at him and say, “I got a little freaked out. With Gus.”
Landon says nothing, but makes a circular motion with his hand, signaling for me to go on.
“I stopped him. When we were kissing and it was clear he wanted to keep going, I stopped him. And he called me out about it.”
Landon waves my words away. “Then it was instinct. You knew he wasn’t as into you as you wanted him to be. Which is why I’m so confused that you’re going home with Travis tonight. I mean, you said you didn’t want a hookup.”
“I know,” I admit, somewhat ungraciously. I glance over at the stage. No sign yet that the band is ready, and Travis has disappeared. “But . . . about Gus . . . I don’t know that it was instinct, Landon. I think I was just scared. It was a little overwhelming with you and me.”
I pause while Landon chuckles. “Everything about us was overwhelming, Sam.”
“I know. But . . .” I shrug and Landon nods, and I know he’s picking up what I’m laying down. “I don’t have that kind of fear with Travis, like I did with Gus.”
“Fear that you might get hurt. Fear that it’s all going to get screwed up.”
“Yes.”
“Because you’re not invested with Travis. So it’s easy.”
“Yes, exactly!” I proclaim, relieved. “It’s easy. There’s nothing riding on it. Nothing holding me back. In a way, he feels . . .”
“Safer?” Landon ventures.
I look at him. Over the last few years his face has lost some of the boyishness I liked so much about him when we first met. His round features have sharpened a little, and maybe it’s not that his face has hardened, but it’s not as soft either. He’s more handsome than cute. It fits, because at this moment, he seems light-years more mature than me.
“Safer,” I agree.
Landon crosses his arms over his chest, thinking hard. I can practically see the gears up there turning. “I can see that. By your logic, it would be a lot easier to go home with Travis, as opposed to Gus or even Jamie, have some fun, not worry about what it means in the morning because you already know. But . . .”
“I should have known there was a ‘but.’”
“I think you might miss out on the best part that way.”
There is far more truth and emotion in that statement than I can handle at the moment.
It’s then that the lights suddenly go down and Travis and his band, Liquid, walk out onstage. There’s screaming, even before the first chord, and Travis looks out over the crowd. His eyes lock on mine, holding me hostage until he finally breaks the gaze and looks down at his guitar. After a few beats from a kick drum, his hands go flying, and music spills from his guitar like it had been trapped within, dying to get out.
Their lead singer has a hell of a voice, their bassist is incredible, and their drummer is most likely a prodigy. But I keep my eyes on Travis. He’s the real star. Even though the others put up a valiant fight for attention, there’s something about Travis that pulls. His hair hangs down in his face, obscuring eyes rimmed with liner, a focus so intense on his guitar that I’m actually jealous of the instrument.
I turn to Landon and see that I’m not the only one who feels a pull toward Travis Blake.
“Would you go home with him?” I ask, a delicate question shouted over the noise.
Landon’s eyes never leave Travis, but his mouth forms a smirk. “There’s a lot to be said for safety, sometimes.”
I laugh and go back to watching the band.
Meg returns a few minutes later, arms crossed over her chest and cheeks flushed. Although I’d like to assume it’s from the cold outside, she focuses a lethal stare in my direction, and I know she’s still angry as hell.
“Hey,” I shout to her. “I’m sorry. I was a jerk. You were just being a concerned friend again. Which is awesome.”
She nods. “I’m going to stop it if I keep getting my head bit off.”
Point taken, I nod back and I think and hope that argument is over. For now. She’s staring at Travis now too, and although I can tell she’s trying not to, her body’s moving a bit to the music, her old ballet instincts taking over with graceful swaying even with a guitar wailing and synthesizers throwing down a heavy beat.
“So what did you decide?” she asks.
As soon as the question is out of her mouth, a bleach-blonde waitress saunters up to us in a pair of ripped jeans and a leather vest. Only a leather vest. She looks like she walked out of one of the posters on Travis’s wall. And even though none of us are particularly interested in the female gender, all three of us stare.
“From Travis,” the blonde says with a wink, and leaves a drink with each of us. I look at Meg, who is trying her best not to look scandalized, and then take a sip. I almost choke. It’s like battery acid. I’m not a big drinker but I know enough to recognize that whatever it is, it packs a hell of a punch. But then the crowd erupts and I turn to watch the band again. Travis is on his knees, ripping into a guitar solo that sends electricity through my body. Then he looks up at me through the fringe of his bangs and licks his lips.
My body lights up again. I could swear the whole room senses something between us, and I can’t help but smile triumphantly.
That gorgeous rocker o
n the stage is mine. At least for tonight. And maybe that’s not a bad thing.
“I don’t really have to decide anything right this minute, do I?” I ask my friends. Meg shoots me a look, but Landon’s eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Not right this minute,” he says, then he taps on my glass. “I’m not sure this will help, though. At least not in a good way.”
I look into the clouded purple contents of the drink Travis sent to me like it’s a crystal ball with all the answers. I see nothing about my future in its depths. I wave it in front of Meg’s face. “Can you read vodka swirls? Or is it only tea leaves?”
Meg gives me a slight knock on the side of my head. “Think with your brain, Sam. Think about Jamie and your list. You don’t need tea leaves to hear what the Goddess is saying to you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe She’s telling me to go for it.”
I give Meg and Landon a wicked smile, down my drink, and signal to the waitress for another.
I’ve had three of those purple drinks by the time Liquid is done with their set, and I wouldn’t call myself trashed, per se, not in the strictest sense of the word. More like euphorically intoxicated.
Landon and I dance nonstop, and Meg joins in when she’s not taking our cups away or chasing waitresses off. Apparently Travis told them to keep the drinks coming, and Meg has taken it upon herself to ration the alcohol. I’m assuming so we don’t embarrass ourselves. Or more importantly, her.
When the show’s over, the place goes dark for a full minute and the crowd begs and screams for more. But in the blackness, I feel strong, lean arms around me and I know the audience isn’t going to get an encore. Travis has saved the encore for me.
He’s kissing me as the lights come back up, and when he pulls away, Landon and Meg are staring, jaws dropped.