Chapter 13
The last two weeks of practice have been awful. Though we tend to ignore each other during Calculus—except the time he looked smugly from my eighty-five and eighty-three quizzes to his ninety-five and ninety-nine quizzes—Romeo and I are at each other’s throats during practice. I used to ignore him. Now I point out his flaws and argue whenever he’s overly critical. And he’s overly critical all the time. It’s gotten to the point that Justin and Sam tell us both to shut up several times each practice.
Tonight when Justin asked me to go out after practice for the thousandth time and Romeo scowled at us, I agreed. After texting Chloe for permission first, of course. The wonderful girl does sit for free.
My agreement, even more than his scowl, had to do with Romeo’s announcement at the beginning of practice. He announced he was tired of looking at my lame ass drums. Sam and Justin had looked uncomfortable when he further explained that my kit sent the message of suck. Musicians are judged by their instruments. And looking at mine said I couldn’t play worth shit.
Though somewhat true—I’ve noticed him and Sam cleaning and shinning up their instruments regularly with folded bandanas—obviously this was a new tactic to get me to quit.
Smiling sweetly, I told him I’d have a new set by next practice. I’m going to look like a total ass if Marcus doesn’t agree to let me use his set. I’m planning on going into the heaviest mode of begging possible. However, Marcus’s deep love for his drum set has me worried.
So after practice, I’m sipping on a beer that Justin bought me. His dimpled smile at the waitress affected her need to see my ID. Apparently, his dimples equate to Jedi mind tricks. We sit in the back of the bar by the pool tables and dart boards. A few feet away, Sam, Romeo, and several girls throw darts. Since Sam introduced the girls to everyone, he must be the one who invited them.
I tear my eyes from a girl, and her plunging neckline, flirting with Romeo and catch him grinning at me. I turn toward Justin. He asked me to come. He’s the one sitting here with me. I force myself to concentrate on him and not what’s going on in front of the dartboards. “So I take it you guys come here a lot after practice.”
Justin leans back and puts his arm on the back of my chair. “Yeah, at least once a week.” He takes a long swing of beer then watches me over the rim. “So how long have you been playing drums?”
Ignoring his sultry gaze, I honestly say, “Eight years. I took piano lessons from six to ten.” Jamie took lessons too but when money got tight, those were one of the first things to go. I pick at the label of my beer. “When I wanted to quit, my mother told me to pick another instrument. She was determined for me to be a well-rounded child. Music was part of the equation.” My mother used to read parent magazines constantly. She used to be the perfect homemaker. I hold in a sigh. “Marcus played drums so that was my instrument of choice. We were very competitive as kids. So she reluctantly found someone to give me lessons.”
He leans closer. “How’d Marcus take it when you were better than him?”
I grin at the memory. “When I beat him out for first chair in band the first week of sixth grade, he didn’t talk to me for two days, which was forever to an eleven year old. But he kicked my ass at skate boarding so things evened out.” I take a sip of beer. “What about you?”
He gives me a questioning look.
“How long have you been singing?”
“With the radio? Forever.” He laughs. “On stage? Only since the middle of freshman year here.”
“Really?” Justin is a pretty damn good singer.
He nods. “I was shocked too when Romeo asked me to join.”
“Why would he ask? Why would you agree?”
Justin shrugs. “We were roommates. He must have heard me singing. Like I said, I was always singing with the radio or my iPod. I’d always been into music. And what eighteen year old wouldn’t like fronting a band? Everyone knew me after our first gig.” He grins. “Especially the girls.”
I ignore the girl comment. “Huh. So you just got in front of microphone and that was that?”
“Ah, no. Romeo had his work cut out for him. After we found Sam and Gary,” I’m assuming Gary is the former drummer, “we didn’t perform for a couple of months. I was the major issue. Romeo was a lot more patient then.”
Patience and Romeo? “I find that hard to believe.”
Justin laughs again and his dimple grooves. “He was. Taught me how to read music, how to breathe right during vocals, about pitch, and even how to frickin’ stand correctly.”
Romeo the super musician.
At my eye roll, he adds, “Hey, I didn’t come to him as fully formed talent. However, I looked as white as you did before my first time on stage. Romeo had to bully me to go out too.”
So Romeo had challenged me on purpose that night. I glance over my shoulder. Showing her how to throw a dart, Romeo’s wrapped around cleavage girl from behind. No wonder April looks jealous most of the time. Her boyfriend is a major player. Ugh. How did the conversation turn to the cheating asshole?
I take a sip of beer and return my attention to Justin. “So the whole tattoo, piercing thing you have going,” I say, gesturing to his eyebrows and arms. “Did that happen before or after you joined the band?”
The waitress comes before he can answer. Justin orders two more beers. I’m not even half done with the first.
Once he’s done flirting with the waitress, Justin points to the tribal design on his left bicep. “This was my first one. Got it in Cancun during spring break senior year of high school. My dad who’s a doctor about flipped. Not over the tattoo, but the thought of some dirty parlor in Mexico,” he says with a smirk.
He continues describing each of his tattoos. When and where he got them before moving on to the ‘stories’ behind his eyebrow and nipple piercings. He even lifts his shirt to show me the ring in his nipple. None of the stories are too deep. I was drunk and decided it was time for some ink. A girl I dated was into nipple piercings. As he talks, I’m getting a complete picture of Justin through his body art. He’s not a bad guy. Maybe a bit of a man whore. But he’s just out to have fun. Carefree and cool seem to be his main life goals. And with his obviously rich father, his aimless lifestyle isn’t too hard to maintain. While Sam and Romeo wear plain t-shirts and regular jeans—except for on stage where Romeo dresses more like his roommate—Justin wears designer t-shirts and expensive ripped denim daily.
If Chloe were here, she’d be whispering hot but major douchebag in my ear.
But really, I can’t be overly judgmental. It’s not like I’m Miss-Wanna-Do-Something Awesome-With-My-Life. My goals of wanting to play drums and simply go to college aren’t exactly lofty. I haven’t even decided on a major or minor yet.
Justin’s describing how he didn’t flinch as the needle hit his nipple when Sam and the girls sit at our table. Romeo’s at the jukebox. The girls’ gazes are cool at me until Sam makes a comment about me drumming. Their eyes grow a bit less icy. Wow. I’m getting sick of this and wonder if they give each other bitch looks. Or because I’m inside the secret, prized circle of band hotties, the looks are reserved for me.
The conversation turns to our upcoming gig while I peel away the rest of my label.
Romeo comes over, flips a chair backwards, and leans his elbows on the back just as the music starts. The girl, Anna I think, on his end leans over showing him her cleavage at a better angle and says something that brings a slight smile to his face. Of course, Romeo’s nice to everyone but me.
When Romeo sings along with the song’s refrain, his gaze pins me to my chair. The song is Dirty Little Secret by the All American Rejects and from the twinkle of his eyes it’s obvious he picked the song to piss me off. And yes, I’m pissed. Fuming actually.
Draining half of my second beer, I angle my chair and scoot closer to Justin. The girl on the other side of him pauses whatever she was saying and gives me a dirty look. I give one back. Justin grins. She starts up again, something about her poetry class, while I pretend to be part of the conversation.
About half an hour later, Romeo announces he’s leaving. Though he claims the reason is studying, his voice is tight. The girls all frown as Sam gets up, but Justin looks to me. “Give me a ride?”
A trip to the dorms is out of my way and I’m positive Justin’s planning on hitting on me, but the recent image of Romeo singing about me being his dirty little secret, has me nodding.
“Justin,” Romeo says from behind his teeth as he leans across the table. “Have you forgotten the agreement?”
Justin meets the hard stare above him. “Relax. I’m just in the mood to party.”
Romeo gives him another stern look before telling the girls, who watch him with wide eyes because they’ve probably never seen his dick side, good night and motioning for Sam to follow him. I’m not sure if he even glances at me. I’m too busy piecing together the agreement, which of course has to be about me.
True to his word, Justin parties. He downs several Tequila shots with the girls. He tries to order me one. I remind him I’m driving. The girls play more music on the jukebox. They dance. Within minutes, they pull Justin out to dance and rub all over him. He tries to pull me out to join the clothed orgy. I decline and sip water. The night goes on in this vicious, boring cycle until the waitress finally announces last call.
Unsurprisingly, one of the girls offers to take Justin home after they down their last shot. Before I can gladly concur, he wraps an arm around me and squeezes my shoulder. “Got my ride right here.”
Lucky me.
The ride to the dorm feels like forever as Justin searches through songs on my iPod and belts lyrics into the night from the open window. Never thought I’d grow sick of his voice, but with every passing street, it grates more on my nerves.
Finally, I pull up to his dorm.
Of course, he doesn’t get out. I don’t turn the engine off. And although my stomach churns— my upcoming rejection is probably not going to go well—I take advantage of the silence and his buzz. “What’s this I hear about an agreement?”
He lays his head back and looks at me through his lashes. “It’s about you.”
“I figured as much. What exactly is it?”
He scoots and leans an elbow on the console between us. “He’d be pissed if I told you.”
Though Justin likes to act the front man, his buzzed up honesty makes it obvious he knows who runs the show. “As if I’d tell him.”
In the dim light from the dashboard, his twisted grin brings out deep dimples. He obviously likes my bitch attitude toward Romeo.
“We’re not supposed to hit on you or anything. That’s why he finally agreed to let you in the band. If anyone seriously hits on you or tries to hook up with you, then you’re out. That was the deal.”
My hands clench the steering wheel but his explanation is pretty close to what I guessed.
He leans closer to me. “But what happens when we can’t resist? What happens when you draw us like a moth to a flame?” He reaches out and runs a finger softly down my cheek. “Like a dying man to heaven?”
If this is the normal shit he spouts, the girls he’s with are either as drunk as him, seriously blinded by his dimple, or really horny. Guess if you were looking for a lay, Justin’s the perfect no strings attached.
I cover the fingers caressing my cheek and pull at his hand. “Oh, I think you can resist me.”
He shakes his head, leans even closer, and looks at me through his lashes again. “I don’t think I can. I’m falling and you’re the parachute that will save me.”
“What?” I shriek before my laughter escapes at the ridiculous image of me bloated wide above him as we fall through the air. His soft sultry expression turns hard as I giggle. It takes me a moment to rein in the laughter. “I’m sorry, but that was the lamest line I’ve ever heard.” Another giggle escapes. “A parachute!” I grasp before going into another round of hilarity.
Justin’s leans against the headrest as I try to control my laughter. “Guess I should go.”
I can only nod. I’m afraid if I try to say anything I’ll burst into giggles again. He slowly gets out of the car and goes to main door of the dorm. While I wait to make sure he gets in, Justin looks over his shoulder. I offer a wave. He waves back before tumbling into the door of his building. Five seconds later, I can’t hold it in any longer, I’m laying my head against the steering wheel and laughing like crazy. Part of my uncontrollable laughter is from trying to hold it in so long, but really a parachute?