“They’re playing here?” Riley asked, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight.
“It’s not so bad,” I remarked, grimacing.
“Uh, yeah it is,” Vivian exclaimed, her hands covering her mouth. “It’s a dive! Why are they playing in a place like this?”
Okay, they may be overreacting. A little. Because sure Dicky’s Roadside Bar looked like it belonged on Skid Row but it was well known in the indie rock scene for showcasing some of the best bands out there. It was smaller than their gigs had been in the past year, but it was still a big deal to play there.
“This is Dicky’s, guys. It looks scary, but its history in the rock scene is amazing,” Maysie reminded them.
“There’s the bus around the back,” Riley said, pointing to the tour bus parked underneath some trees.
We headed around the side of the bar and found Cole and Garrett walking into the building.
“Baby!” Vivian squealed, running towards them. Cole’s mouth stretched into a beaming smile and picked her up just as she reached him. Vivian’s legs wrapped around his waist and Cole’s hands buried into her thick hair.
“I missed you,” he murmured just before kissing her.
“Here we go,” Riley muttered chuckling. I had to look away from the overt display of affection. I tried to pretend the lump in my throat didn’t exist.
“Hey, you,” Garrett said, pulling on Riley’s belt loops. His eyes were bright as he too wrapped his arms around his girlfriend and kissed her like she was the air he breathed.
Maysie threaded her arm through mine and tugged me towards the back door. “Come on. Let’s leave ’em to it,” she suggested, taking pity on me.
“It’s a lot bigger than it looks outside,” I commented once we were inside. I looked around the dimly lit room and tried not to cringe. It was dingy and on the seedy side. It looked like something you’d find on a road somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
I remembered the shows I went to last year when Generation Rejects played to sold out venues with almost a thousand people in the audience.
I could see Jordan up on the small stage unrolling cords and connecting them to the amps. I tried not to search for him. I attempted to keep my eyes focused on Jordan but it didn’t work. It never worked.
Almost as if by compulsion my eyes zeroed in on Mitch Abrams. He stood off to the side, pulling a string from his well-worn bass. He’d had the instrument since he was a kid and first realized he loved to play. He had told me that his dad, who had once been a musician himself, had picked it out specifically for his son.
My stomach knotted up and I felt a little sick. My palms began to sweat and there was a distinct buzzing in my ears.
“I love you, Gracie. God, I love you so much. Don’t you get that?”
I had been so stupid. How could I have missed the signs he had so obviously been giving me?
How did I ever think it would only ever be just sex?
“I—”
My words cut off as though severed with a knife. I had nothing to say. No way to respond. I couldn’t give him the words back. No matter how much he wanted them. I loved Mitch. He was one of my best friends. But the type of love he was laying at my feet wasn’t the kind that came from friendship.
He wanted so much more than I would ever be able to give him…
He was so incredibly handsome in his boy next-door kind of way. I loved his dark hair and dark eyes and the slight stubble on his chin because he had obviously been too lazy to shave that morning.
His shoulders were broad, his hands large with fingers covered in callouses. I remembered how it felt when he touched me. How I had shivered as he palmed my— Yeah, not going there.
“There’s my girl,” Jordan called out once he saw us. Mitch looked up, a lock of hair falling across his forehead. I tried not to stare as he reached up and brushed it away. Christ, I needed to get a grip. I wasn’t some lovesick schoolgirl. And my life didn’t hinge on whether Mitch Abrams acknowledged me or not.