“What?!” she squeals.
I let a grin spread across my face. My plan might just work after all.
I go full-Brando throughout the concert, introducing Haley to the band before they go on stage, pulling rank to get us through the line, barely waiting for drinks, commandeering the seats with the best view, and all the while focusing completely on her, making her feel like the center of attention.
“If I didn’t know any better,” she says, as I hand her another beer, “I’d think you were trying to turn this into a date.”
I laugh. “This is way too tame to be a date, don’t you think?”
“And I’m way too drunk for this to be a business meeting,” she replies. “What happened to the guy who wanted to talk about how much he liked my music?”
“He’s having a good time getting to know the girl who made the music he liked.”
She nods, and I see her tough exterior crack just a bit. I clink my bottle against hers and swig.
It happens slowly, piece by piece, but it happens. The sarcasm and the ice melting away, the smiles getting bigger and longer. We dance throughout the whole thing, alcohol and drums infusing our bodies, the breaks between songs feeling like torture because we don’t wanna stop. I hear her laugh for the first time and like it, long and melodic – a singer’s laugh.
“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time!” she screams over the music.
“I haven’t seen anyone have this much fun in a long time either!” I reply.
When the final crescendo melts into the crowd’s cheers and applause, I watch her scream along with them, a mixture of climaxing happiness and disappointment that it’s over written all over her face.
“That was amazing,” she says, her voice husky from all the yelling.
She grabs at her hair woozily, a satisfied grin on her face. I watch her bask in the afterglow of the high. Before I know what’s happening, we lock eyes, and Haley falls into me, holding tight to my biceps. Suddenly we’re kissing. It’s not lust, not affection, not desire. Her kiss is soft, innocent, deep. Just a girl moved by the music, drunk on alcohol and life. A girl whose inhibitions have been blown away by chords and dancing. A girl who feels like the whole world is there for her to just grab. And I’m here to oblige.
Then she pulls away, smiling drunkenly. Her wide, round eyes look up at me with tenderness and trust. For the first time I see the fragile hopes and fears that she’s buried under the wiseass remarks and attitude. I feel the pangs of guilt start to clutch at my chest. Maybe I’m going too far. Maybe this whole bet was a bad idea. Maybe the only way this could end is badly.
For a moment I lose myself in those eyes, out of my depth, swimming frantically to find my way back, to remember why I’m doing this, to remember what’s at stake, to remember how much I want Lexi back.
Then Haley presses her lips against mine again and I realize that it’s too late. I’m already in too deep.
Chapter 4
Haley
“Why the hell not?” I say with a smile when Brando asks me if I wanna go back to his place. If I was just a little more sober, I’d probably find a lot of reasons not to. I’d be able to think up a lame excuse and go running back to my shitty apartment, quit while I’m ahead. Maybe I’d be better at convincing myself I’m not impossibly attracted to him, and better at keeping the question of how good he must be in bed out of my mind.
But then again, it’s not like I make that many great decisions when I’m sober either.
We step outside and he hails a taxi within seconds in the effortlessly powerful way he does everything, as if the whole world is just laid out for him, and all he has to do is pass through it. “What about your car?” I ask.
“I’ll grab it tomorrow. Not really into the whole DUI thing,” he shrugs.
Sexy as fuck and responsible to boot? I must be dreaming. He holds open the door for me and I let myself smile back at him. It’s infectious, that style of his. The way he seems to have it all figured out. If you spend enough time around it, you can almost start believing that life is really that easy. That’s probably just the alcohol talking, but I’m in the mood to listen to it.
“I can’t believe I actually had a good time,” I say, as I get in the cab.
“You know what,” Brando says, looking at me, “I’m kinda surprised you had a good time myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he shrugs his shoulders, “you’re a bit of a hard-ass.”
“I am not!”
“Yeah, you kind of are.”
“There’s still time for me to decide to go home, you know,” I tease, half-serious.
“See what I mean?”
I laugh and slap his shoulder, then turn to gaze out at the multi-colored lights of LA speeding by.
“Anyway, there’s not much going on for me at home either,” I admit.
“Oh yeah?”