TWO NIGHTS AGO, I HAD to vaguely tell my father that I would be dating when Cohen came home. I think that, if had it been any other person, he wouldn’t have accepted it as well as he did. Well, I say, “accepted it,” but I heard him when he stepped in the kitchen to “get a beer” and boom into his phone at who I can only imagine was Cohen’s dad that his son was “going to violate my daughter and that shit better not happen.”
That conversation went a lot better than the flowers and cameras one went. To say that my father lost his shit would be a vast understatement. It took my mom offering him God knows what for him to finally leave. I try to tune them out when she starts whispering in his ear to get her way.
Not something I want to think about.
Nope.
Never.
So here I am, two days later, and I feel like I’m about to climb out of my skin.
Daddy has decided to appoint himself as my personal bodyguard. And if that isn’t enough, the lingering exhaustion I’ve been feeling for weeks has hit an all-time high. Or I guess it would be low. I’ve been falling asleep at work. In the shower. You name it. I was eating dinner, which was cooked by Maddi and delicious, the other night with the girls and fell asleep in my bowl! In. My. Bowl! Who does that?
I’m over it.
At least he agreed to let Chance accompany the girls and me to the Loaded Replay concert tonight in Atlanta. God, I would have killed him if he had shown up. He pulled whatever strings he has and our shit tickets have been swapped out with V.I.P., front-row tickets. Of course, his stipulation was that our group of five—me, Lyn, Lila, Maddi, and Stella—turn into a party of six. Chance was going or we weren’t.
For tonight, Chance will be an honorary chick because I am not missing this show.
Loaded Replay hit the scene huge a few years ago. They’re a mix of old-school classic rock and new-school flare. There isn’t a single band out there currently that has what they have. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that their lead singer is a chick who is smoking hot and she’s backed up by three damn fine men.
Maddi has been in love with their drummer, Jameson Clark, since the first day she saw a picture of him. Tall, built, blond Adonis. He really does look like a rock god. Lead guitarist Weston Davenport, brother of lead singer Wrenlee Davenport, is the fan favorite though. He looks like a rock-n-roll version of Liam Hemsworth, right down to that killer smile. I’ve always thought that their bassist, Luke Madden, was fun to watch. He has that boy-next-door look to him, but his eyes just scream trouble and mischief. Bottom line—you can tell there is something about Loaded Replay that just screams badass.
To say we’re excited would be the understatement of the year.
“Thanks for agreeing to this,” I tell Chance when we load into his Expedition to head over to the arena.
The girls are in the back, going on and on about how they’re going to get the attention of one of the band members. I tune them out and focus on picking at the frayed holes in my jeans.
Where Lyn, Lila, Maddi, and Stella decided to go with their Slut Barbie looks, I kept it simple with skinny jeans, a flowing chiffon shirt, and my favorite knee-high, leather boots. I looked good, but I also looked like I wanted to be comfortable and not pick up potential bed-warming friends.
“Yup,” he rumbles.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
He looks over briefly before returning his attention back to the road. “I don’t think you’ve been around me enough to make that assumption.”
“True. But so far tonight, I’ve said hello and gotten one of those man chin-lift greeting thingies. I asked you how you were and you grunted. I asked if you liked Loaded Replay and I got another grunt, and when you were ready to leave, all you said was, ‘Truck,’ and walked away. So you’re right—I don’t know you that well, but I think I actually can safely make that assumption correctly.”
He looks over again. This time, his stoic face is grinning. “I can see what the attraction is now.”
What an odd thing to say. “Excuse me?”
“I never could understand why Cohen would go on and on about you—no offense—but I get it now. You’ve got some fire under all of that innocence.”
Oh. “Wait. Cohen would go on and on about me?”
“Clueless,” he laughs. “You’re right about one thing: I don’t talk much. But that doesn’t mean I don’t watch. That guy has been watching you for as long as I’ve been around. And I don’t just mean looking at you a few times when you walk in a room—the second that you walk in, his eyes never leave you. Always thought he was crazy, but I get it.”
“Uh, I’m glad?” What am I supposed to say here? Thanks for understanding why he is attracted to me?
He shakes his head and continues to drive with his smirk in place. Such a weird man.