by RH Tucker
He quirks an eyebrow. I haven’t asked a whole lot about her, simply because what’s there to ask? She’s a girl he hooks up with from time to time, and they seemed to have a good thing going for both of them. At least, that’s what it looked like before right now.
“Actor,” he finally answers. “We met on the set of A Far Cry Home.”
I nod. “Maybe you can take her to the Icon Awards next month to smooth things over. I mean, if you guys are still … whatever.”
He chuckles, but it sounds funny. I know they aren’t technically a couple, and yeah, maybe a date to an award show is a little much for two people who are casually seeing one another. Still, he’s kept her around for a reason. She must mean something to him.
“Yeah … maybe.”
Getting up from the couch, I head to the door. I expect him to follow me out, but when I glance back, he’s staring at his phone. “Hey,” I call out to him. “Come on, man. Bro’s night.”
Working with the band, we’ve been hitting the studio a little more recently. We’re still in the early stages of recording our next record, but it’s all very rough stuff. Some days we brainstorm on rhythms. Other days EJ and I will lay down tracks while Derrik and Jade work on the composition of something they’ve written. Today we’re sitting around the studio as Derrik and Jade argue over the wording of some lyrics.
“I’m telling you, ‘I don’t know why, but the heart falls through,’ sounds so much better,” Derrik complains. Again.
“You’re wrong,” Jade counters. “That doesn’t make sense, Derrik.”
“Yeah, well, neither did ‘running down the road to z,’ and that nabbed us a Grammy Award.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were creating music to earn awards,” Jade snaps.
EJ and I both look at one another, with the exact same lifted eyebrows. Same side of the face and everything. It’s a conversation we’ve both been around numerous times. The complaint leads to bickering, which, in turn, leads to arguing. Both of them are incredibly passionate about creating music, even if Derrik’s comment makes it seem like he loves the adoration. He does—we all do—but I know he’s not in the band to earn the latest awards. He loves creating music like the rest of us.
Still, these arguments always happen.
Derrik rolls his eyes and gets up from the stool he’s sitting on. “Jade, you know that’s not true.”
“‘I don’t know how. Can’t we cross this bridge,’ is so much better,” Jade continues to complain.
“Should we get boxing gloves?” EJ jokes, whispering to me.
We’ve been in the studio for four hours today. This is all standard procedure, so I lean back on the couch, tapping my drumsticks over my knee. EJ sits next to me, but on the floor, reclining against the couch with his guitar. Derrik and Jade sit on stools. I don’t know why, but ever since we first started playing music, this has always been our seating arrangement. Dating all the way back to when we were middle schoolers, dreaming of traveling the world and making music in Derrik and EJ’s garage. Of course, back then, it was a raggedy old couch their dad got for us and a rug along the cement floor. We’ve certainly come a long way since then.
“Derrik, you just switched the previous stanza and—”
“I didn’t change it,” Derrik argues. “That line just sounded better.”
“Fine, but I really think this one sounds better my way.”
“Jade, you think everything sounds better your way.”
“You guys,” I call out to them, waving my sticks. “The whole line sucks.”
Both of their mouths drop, craning their necks to look at me. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so surprised myself. Glancing at EJ, he stares up at me with an incredulous expression. Neither he nor I contribute much on the lyric side of our songs. Sure, we add tidbits here and there, but Derrik and Jade are the songwriters. They’re the ones who feel something when making music. I just love banging my drums.
“EJ, play that riff we were messing around with last week,” I tell him. He continues to stare at me for a moment, surprised as the rest. I motion to him with a hurrying movement, waving my hands. Nodding, he begins playing the music, and instead of tapping my sticks, I start bobbing my head.
“No, slow it down a little.”
I set my sticks down, and my fingers start tapping away, my eyes closing. I begin humming. Well, not really humming, more like … beat boxing. I don’t know, I’ve never written a song before. All I know is we’ve been making music together for years, and these last few days, I’ve had something in my system that doesn’t consist of hitting a snare drum or hi-hats.
“When you walk away, my eyes stay locked; And when you say my name, my mind flies. This is something new, and I don’t know if I should follow through the waves or to stay low …” I keep vocalizing the words, but I don’t have any more. It’s something that’s been stuck in my head for days, and to finally put music to it feels great.
EJ stops playing, and it forces me to look over at him. He’s slack-jawed, and his eyes are wide, staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me. I glance at Derrik and Jade. They both gaze at me with the same expression as him.
“Okay, damn, you guys. I know I don’t sing, but—”
“Maddox …” Jade starts but stops. She’s shaking her head, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
“Dude,” Derrik chimes in. “That was amazing.”
“Where did that come from?” EJ asks.
“I … I don’t know.”
“Not where,” Jade says. Leaning down from her seat, her eyes lock on to mine. “Who did that come from?”
I stare at her, confused for a moment. Both EJ and Derrik’s heads snap to her. I suddenly know what she means. Shaking my head vehemently, I try to cut her line of thinking down. “No. You’re crazy. No one inspired that line, it’s just … it’s something that’s been rattling around. I don’t know how I thought it up.”
“Uh-huh,” Derrik replies with a wide smirk. “I wonder, though. Would a certain elusive hotel heiress be an unknowing muse?”
Grabbing a drumstick, I throw it at him. He dodges just in time for it to crash in the wall behind him. “Bite me. Cece did not inspire that.”
“Oh, the muse has a name,” Jade teases.
“You guys are idiots. That girl controls zero real estate in my brain.”
“Let’s see,” EJ starts up. He taps his finger to his lips, offering a show of thought, but there’s a grin on his face. “She’s shot you down three times—”
“Four,” Derrik corrects, forcing me to grumble.
“Four times. And the last time she did it was after you went and declared your love for her.”
“I still need to meet this Cece. I mean, I’ve seen her online, but if she’s the one who’s finally stolen my brother’s heart—”
“You’re all nut jobs,” I yell at them, and Jade starts giggling. “I didn’t declare my love for her. I was throwing out a line, trying to get her attention.” Jade lifts an expectant eyebrow. “No. No, not trying to get her attention. I was trying to make sure she noticed me.”
“You’re not helping yourself,” Derrik says, laughing.
“Whatever!” I throw my hands in the air and head to the door. “I’m gonna go grab some lunch. And no, I’m not buying you guys anything!”
“But you lost the bet,” Derrik yells as I slam the door.
Leaning against it, I stare up at the spotlights lining the hallway ceiling. There’s no way Cece inspired those lyrics. It’s impossible. I’m not tripping over her and the fact that she’s taken the hard-to-get game to a professional level. She is not my white whale. I’m Maddox freakin’ Barkley, I have no white whales. They’ll see. Next time I see her, I’m getting her number. That way, I can prove I’m not obsessed with her. Because I’m not.
10
Cece
I hate to say this, and I mean it in the nicest way possible, but … Stephanie was right. Winston is a geek.
O
kay, geek might be too strong of a word, but he’s definitely not the industrious business apprentice that I thought he was. On the contrary, he hates that he’s going to school for business and wishes he could do something else but doesn’t know what that could be.
He seemed to have fun at the club, and there’s absolutely no attraction to him in a romantic way, but I don’t think that bothers him. I think he’s just happy to have a friend. Two, actually, though I don’t know that Stephanie would call him a friend yet. That’s why I asked if I could invite him to the restaurant with us as Stephanie records a new video for her channel. She’s taking advantage of it by having Winston film it so I can be in the video, too.
Stephanie made friends with a brand-new executive chef in the Pacific Palisades who just made the “top twenty under twenty” watch list on Hollywood Gossip. Her name’s Rose, and some people in the food industry are calling her a food prodigy. All I know is she made us three appetizers before Stephanie started filming. They’re the most fantastic things I’ve ever tasted.
“Where should we set this up?” Rose asks Stephanie, who adjusts some settings on her camera.
“Right here is good, if that’s okay with you,” Stephanie replies.
Stephanie looks over at Winston with a slight look of trepidation, then her eyes bounce to me. I know she thinks he’s helpless, especially since I explained to her what he told me. I didn’t want to make him sound like a baby who did everything his father told him, but there’s really no good way to say he chased after me because his father told him to.
Still, after Winston’s truth bomb, and hanging out a little longer at the club, I know there’s more to Winston. There has to be. He seems like he wants to figure out what that is. Stephanie, however, is still viewing him as a dweeb.
“I’ll start the camera, and all you have to do is film us, okay?” she tells Winston, but her tone is almost like she’s giving instructions to a three-year-old.
Winston picks up on it. “Oh, man! You mean I get to take pictures like a big boy? Oh golly, this is going to be so cool. Like riding the swings at recess.” It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Winston stand up for himself, and I have to hold back a laugh. Stephanie scowls. “I’ve worked a camera before, Stephanie.”
“Are you sure?” she spits back, curling a lip.
“Steph?” I hiss under my breath.
While she looks over at me with an annoyed expression, I see Rose through the corner of my eye. She’s staring at all of us, completely flabbergasted.
“Whatever,” Stephanie says, flipping her auburn hair. Reaching for the camera, she adjusts a few more settings on it and then examines the screen. I see the small red light on the camera turn on, and she hands it back to Winston. “Film us from just above our ribs. When she talks about the food, point that camera there.”
“Did you want me to zoom in? I can—”
“No, don’t touch any settings,” she snaps. Winston rolls his eyes. “Just film.”
“Sorry,” I mouth to Winston, who shrugs. Stephanie either doesn’t see me or ignores me and stands next to Rose.
“Hey, everyone,” she says, waving at her camera. “Today, we’ve got the inside look at one of Southern California’s hottest chefs on the scene.” Putting a hand to her mouth, she leans closer to the camera like she’s telling the audience a secret. “And she makes a mean Tropical Sunrise if I do say so myself.” Turning back to Rose, she embraces her in a hug. “Rose, thank you so much for letting me come back and record this with you.”
“Of course. Should we get right to it?” Rose asks, even though I know they’ve already gone over what Rose is cooking. “I thought I’d make fajitas with serrano chilies and a green sauce. I hope you like spicy food.”
“Love it,” Stephanie replies, then looks over at me. “Oh, and you guys know my bestie, Cece. She’s making her monthly appearance.”
I give a wave to the camera.
Through the filming, Rose goes over her process. It’s like one of those shows on a cooking channel, where the interviewee describes their ingredients, why they’re using it, and the process of making the food. Rose covers a popular dish the restaurant serves with fajita steaks, and then starts to talk about a dish her restaurant is known for right now, chicken tacos.
As she talks about the spices she uses when marinating the protein, Winston steps closer, filming the food on the prep table. Stephanie looks over at me, confused and a little annoyed since he’s obviously not following her instructions.
I shake off her expression, and as Rose warms up her tortillas over the stove, Winston asks, “How do you make your tortillas so soft? Mine come out a little more tough and brittle. I can’t get the ratios right.”
All three of us stare at him. Stephanie looks upset, but both Rose and I are caught off guard.
“Oh, sorry,” he says, pulling the camera back up to continue filming.
“Winston, you cook?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah. A little bit. Our chef at home cooks for us, but I go down to the kitchen and mess around with stuff he shows me. It’s sort of a hobby.”
“What masa are you using?” Rose asks.
“I’m not sure. I think it’s a generic brand.”
Rose nods in understanding. “Sometimes, the generic brands can do that. We have ours delivered daily, and the bakers make it from scratch. But a great brand is Maseca. Try that.”
“Thanks,” he responds with a smile and continues filming.
Rose finishes the plate, and we all taste the fajitas she made, making “oohs” and “aahs,” relishing in the deliciousness of it. Afterward, we head out to the dining area of the restaurant, deciding to take in lunch.
“Winston, that’s so cool that you cook,” I tell him while we sip on our drinks at the table.
The eating area of the restaurant isn’t terribly upscale. It’s sweet with a soft, pastel green and pink paint scheme, with hanging spotlights. It’s not large either. There is about ten tables total in the area. Rose isn’t making her restaurant super high-class like some other eateries in the area, but she does want it to feel exclusive, which is why she limited the number of tables.
“Yeah, I like it,” Winston replies. “Oh, and feel free to call me Winnie.”
“Winnie?” Stephanie’s eyes narrow. “Like Winnie the Pooh?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I got teased mercilessly growing up when other kids found that out, but it’s what family and close friends call me.”
I smile, glancing over at Stephanie. She’s not as annoyed as earlier, and she seems caught off guard. Or maybe intrigued is a better word. She’s staring at him like he’s a math problem she can’t figure out.
He stares back at us across the table, confused. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” I quickly answer. “You’re just … I’ve been so used to meeting you at those lunches. This new Winston … Winnie is different, that’s all.”
He shrugs. “I guess so.”
My phone chimes, and when I turn it over I see a text message from my mom.
Mama: Where are you, Cece?
“Ohmygod,” I hiss out before slapping my hand across my mouth. “I completely forgot I was supposed to meet up with my mom and brother for lunch today.”
Sliding out of my chair, I look down at both of them. “You guys, I’m so sorry. I have to go. I feel horrible since I drove.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Winston speaks up. “I’ll call my driver.”
“Your driver?” Stephanie gawks at him. “You actually have a driver?”
He glances at her, almost embarrassed. “Uh … Yeah?”
“You sure you don’t mind? Steph, is that okay?”
She eyes him carefully, then looks back at me. “I mean, you can come with me if you want. I’m meeting them over at Luther’s.”
Eyeing Winston yet again, she shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just hang out with Winnie.” She smirks, giving him a side-eye.
Where did
that come from? I ask her with my eyes.
She lifts her shoulders, smiling. Maybe she’s finally seeing him as something more than the geek she keeps calling him.
“Okay, thanks, guys. Again, super sorry. Winston, stop by the club this weekend if you want. I’ll get bottle service for you and your friends or something.”
He laughs. “Okay, sure.”
I hurry out of the restaurant. Luther’s isn’t very far, but I still speed my Lexus through the streets, feeling horrible. My mom is always on the go with her business. When she and my father first got together, she was already a real estate broker, selling multimillion-dollar homes in the San Fernando Valley. Since then, she also runs the property acquisitions department for Mavin International. Between both positions, she’s constantly busy.
Plus, I love my little brother, Sebastian. Since I still live at home, I see him the most out of any of my family and have taken it upon myself to be almost a surrogate mother for him. In no way am I replacing our mother, but I know how busy both she and my father are. I help him with homework, play video games with him, and even attend school functions he has. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.
Skidding to a stop in the parking lot, I earn an eye raise from a few people outside but pay them no mind. Hurrying into the building, I swing the door open and immediately crash into someone’s chest. Two drink cups fall to the ground, sending an explosion of soda bursting up. Hands juggle the paper bags that must house the sandwiches they just bought. As they resume control, I look up to see a confident smirk and piercing green eyes. It’s Maddox.
“You didn’t have to do all that just to get my attention,” he jokes.
I know what just happened and that I crashed into him, but his joke, along with that self-assured grin still in place, immediately forces me to roll my eyes. “Seriously?”
He jerks his head back. “Uh, you ran into me. I get it, though. Trying to fight your urges as long as you have, I’d probably want to jump my own bones, too.”
