“You finally got here!” Dean’s voice echoes over the music from somewhere. He steps around from behind us, his face aglow from the flashing spotlights. “Eden? I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Found her when I was looking for Dawson,” Jake explains, and I watch as Dean’s expression falters and they exchange a knowing look.
“At Declan’s party?”
“Yeah,” Jake says, and he tilts his face up to the stage, laughing as though I’m not even present. “She had no idea.”
The song finishes, the small crowd cheering and applauding before the singer gestures them to be silent. He steps forward to the microphone, clutching it in his hands before pacing the stage with it. “Thanks for coming out tonight, guys. You’re all fucking awesome. All of you. Even that middle-aged virgin at the back who’s only here for the free beer. You’re great, man. You’re fucking great.” He breathes a heavy laugh into the microphone, gazing at his audience as they throw in some chuckles.
“You’re better off here,” Dean whispers to me, his eyes fixed on the stage. “I love this band.”
“Alright, before we move on to the next piece of the set,” the singer says, “I gotta remind you all to not give a damn what anyone else thinks. Your life is your life, your music is your music, your choices are your choices, and your vodka is your vodka. Don’t waste your time doing dead-end bullshit. Do shit you wanna do. Go clubbing every night, throw yourself out of a plane, visit Bulgaria. I don’t care. Do shit that makes you feel happy as fuck, because la breve vita! Enjoy the set. Tanto amore.”
The crowd erupts into further applauding and whooping as the drumming starts again, the guitarist and the bassist and the singer all joining in sync.
“Is La Breve Vita Latin or something?” I ask, turning to Dean. He seems more likely than Jake to know the answer.
Dean laughs and shakes his head. “It’s Italian. So am I. Well, half.”
“No way,” I say. I raise my voice to compete with the music. “Did you live in Italy?”
“No, I was born here,” he admits, a small smile on his lips as he glances between the stage and me. “My mom’s Italian. My dad met her while he was on vacation in Naples, and she moved over here. I’ve never actually stepped foot in Italy. Weird.”
“That’s so cool,” I gush, because it is compared with my own parents’ magnificent love story. Mom and Dad ended up at a house party together, drunkenly made out, and then went for hot dogs together the next day. Romantic. “Do you speak Italian?”
“Not much. Just a little,” he tells me sheepishly. He continues to nod his head in time with the music.
I glance at the stage and then back to him again. “So what does La Breve Vita mean then?”
“Life is short.” He grins, his smile so wide that I wonder if it hurts. “That’s why I love them. They stand for living your life to the fullest. And they have kick-ass songs.”
We laugh, but Jake doesn’t. Quite frankly, I forgot he was even here until he clears his throat and steps in front of me. “Eden,” he says, “are you thirsty?”
My eyes fall to the plastic beer cups on the ground, and then I study the dingy bar in the corner, and then I smile. “I’m good.”
The band’s set goes on for over an hour. All three of us enjoy it, but especially Dean, and by the time we’re piling out of the door, I feel like I’ve had a good night. Chilling out at the back of a small gig and listening to indie tunes beats getting drunk at a stoner party. I’m glad I came, and we find ourselves stopping by a small store for tacos before heading back to the parking lot.
“I could give you a ride back, Eden,” Dean says as he stops by his car. There’s only two there, his and Jake’s; the rest are gone by now. “I’m passing Tyler’s place anyway.”
Jake halts to stuff his hands into his pockets, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’ll take her home,” he says firmly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, bro. Watch yourself.”
Dean offers a single nod. “No problem. Catch you guys later.”
As he slides into his car and starts up the engine, Jake and I are left alone in the lot, comfortable in the silence. Although it’s not exactly silent. There’s still the irritating thudding of house music bouncing from the clubs nearby. Dean waves as he drives past and away from us.
“So,” Jake says, and then laughs lightly, “what do you wanna do now? ’Cause I really don’t want to take you home yet.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after midnight.” He stares down at me with his eyes smoldering, his lips parted. Throughout the week that I’ve been here, I’ve grown comfortable around him.
I’ve also noticed how attractive he is.
“So you want me to take you home?” he offers, but it’s an empty suggestion. “Or we can hang out for a little while longer, if you’re up for it.”
I think about how tired I am, which isn’t very, and I think about how mad Dad probably is, which is very. I don’t want to go home quite yet. “Can we keep hanging out? I want to avoid my dad.”