by Caisey Quinn
I have no idea how long it lasts but I can tell that she does.
Her glare eases and she gives me a glassy-eyed smile, flashing pearly white veneers. “Right? It really is the best. It’s Lust for Life by Marc Jacobs. So good.” There’s enough of a slur to her words that I’m thankful her buzz is helping me out of a very awkward situation.
“Well it looks gorgeous on you. I’ll have to pick some up next time I’m out,” I say, even though I doubt they carry it at the CVS where I buy what little bit of makeup I wear.
“Here, put some on. It will look killer with that dress.” She digs it out of the clutch she’s just dropped it into and hands it to me.
“Oh. Um, okay. Thanks.” I take it, feeling extremely awkward about using a stranger’s lip gloss but knowing it will be even more awkward if I reject her offer after staring like a creeper. Oh well. You only live once.
I slide on some gloss then return it to her. They leave giggling and discussing which plastic surgeons have done the best jobs on their lips. My attention returns to my reflection and damn. Now I wish I’d never even put the stuff on because it really does make my lips looks fuller.
I use my fingertip to smear toothpaste inside my mouth instead of brushing because I am now in love with this sinfully perfect lip gloss that in a million years I’ll never be able to afford. Rinsing and spitting carefully, I roll my eyes at my own stupidity.
Somewhere in the hazy fog of three Long Island ice teas and the adrenaline rush from my encounter in the ladies’ room, I know that there is an analogy in here someplace. Gavin is kind of like this lip gloss. Even kissing him the other day changed everything. No one will ever kiss me like that again, will be able to affect me the way he did, turning everything from muted blue to a bright, blinding shade of red.
Damn him. And this designer gloss.
I check my phone while I’m walking out of the restroom and see that I now have only eight minutes to make my escape. Just as I look up from the glowing numbers, I narrowly avoid smacking straight into Afton’s chest.
“I was getting worried. You okay?”
It couldn’t have been a more perfect opening if I’d planned it. Though the genuine concern on his face makes me feel like a complete ass for lying to him. Part of me considers just telling him the truth and making him swear on his guitar not to tell my brother. But this isn’t my secret to tell—it’s Gavin’s. And that makes it a precious one that I’ll keep no matter the cost.
“Yeah, um, actually I’m not feeling so hot. Maybe I should’ve taken it easy on the spicy tuna. Would you hate me if I bailed and headed back to my hotel?”
“No, but I’d hate myself if I let you take a cab back alone. I’ll call our guy. He can come pick us up. I’m pretty much done here anyway.”
Well there’s a complication I forgot to plan for.
“Afton . . .” I look into his eyes and try to be as honest as I can without sharing Gavin’s personal business. “I kind of already texted someone to pick me up. I didn’t want to ruin your night.”
“Your brother?” There’s a hopeful tone in his voice and the guilt begins to shove my chin and shoulders back down where they belong. “Because if Dallas is coming, he should come on inside and have a drink first. There are a few people here he should probably talk to. I could introduce him around and—”
“Not Dallas,” I interrupt gently, feeling like the human equivalent of pond scum.
“Ah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “The drummer, then.”
I start to bite my bottom lip, then stop, remembering the gloss that is bliss on my lips.
“Yeah, and he’s probably outside waiting for me as we speak. My brother is out with Mandy Lantram, as he has been pretty much every night. I guess we’re signing with her and I didn’t want to interrupt his night, either.”
Several emotions flicker across Afton’s face too quickly for me to identify before he settles on one.
Concerned.
“Mandy Lantram is a pretty big deal, I suppose.” He clears his throat and steps aside so a few women can get to the ladies’ room entrance. “She’s got quite the reputation around town, and as much of a tool as this is going to make me sound like, I have to tell you something.”
“I’ve heard, actually. A little about her, I mean. Recently.” As in five seconds ago. I’m still clearing the debris from the bombs that were inadvertently dropped on me.
Afton glances around as if she might be nearby. That would be a plot twist I just couldn’t handle at the moment.
“She approached me last year when the band starting getting some attention. Told me I could ditch my bandmates, go solo, and change the face of music, blah, blah, blah.”
That familiar sinking feeling from the ladies’ room assaults my stomach once more. “Let me guess. She loved the band, loved the sound, but loved you the most?”
He nods and now I’m not faking anymore. I actually feel sick. The room tilts and I don’t think it’s from the Long Island ice teas.
“I hope she’s not selling my brother that same song and dance.”
“Think he’d buy it if she did?”
“I hope not.” I shrug. “We’re signing with her as a band, far as I know. So I can’t be sure.”
“Just . . . be careful, Dixie. She’s got real connections so she can make or break you if she wants. If he’s really set on signing with her, then play nice. Otherwise, I’d encourage the three of you to explore your options a bit more. I’ve heard you play; you definitely have options.”
I make a note to talk to my brother about this before any legal agreements are signed. “Thanks for the heads-up. And thanks for bringing me tonight. Believe it or not, I had a good time and I hate that I didn’t get to spend more time actually just hanging out with you.”
“Well I am pretty good company. Some girls even think I’m decent to look at, if you can believe that.” He grins and keeps the pace beside me as I begin making my way toward the exit. “Though I suspect I wasn’t your first choice tonight.”
“Afton . . .”
“Please don’t. Let me keep my dignity since I’m the one who already gave the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ speech.”
A smile tugs at my lips once we’ve reached the door. “Okay then. I’ll try and pick up the pieces and move on. Somehow.”
“It won’t be easy,” he says with a wink.
“Of course not. It will be excruciating and there will be several gallons of ice cream involved.”
I give him a quick one-armed neck hug and a peck on the cheek. A tiny shimmer from my borrowed gloss remains behind as trace evidence.
“Hey, Opening Act?” he calls out as I step past the door he’s holding open for me.
“Yeah?”
“In the future, if you aren’t interested in a guy, do him a favor and don’t wear that dress, okay?”
I nod, embarrassed at how his words make me feel.
I feel . . . pretty. Maybe even sexy. My skin flashes hot everywhere and I know I’m grinning, probably maniacally enough to be scary instead of sexy.
The self-congratulatory smirk I’m wearing fades quickly, though, once I turn toward the street and see no signs of our van anywhere. Extracting my phone from my overstuffed purse, I check the time and nearly cry out. It’s 12:02.
Gavin’s words repeat in my mind.
“I’m leaving at midnight. With you or without you.”
A four-door silver Honda and a late-model white Ford pickup are parked on the curb. But that’s it. Emmylou isn’t anywhere to be seen.
Disappointment gathers in my throat and seeps into my chest. Not only does he probably think I stood him up or that I’m a flighty moron who lost track of time—which, in a way, I guess I am—but now I either have to call a cab and risk Afton seeing and being unnecessarily hurt, or go back inside and tell Afton that Gavin didn’t show and I need a ride.
Once when we were kids, the boys left me behind and went camping.
I’d been upstairs packing my sleeping bag and dreaming of roasting marshmallows by the campfire. When I bounded down the stairs my grandparents sat in the living room wearing matching masks of sympathy.
“Dixie Leigh,” Papa had said softly, “sometimes boys just need time to be boys.”
Nana nodded. “You don’t want to be around when they start acting foolish and passing gas in the tent anyway. Let’s go into the kitchen and see if we can’t have some fun of our own.”
That night my grandparents and I had had an indoor campout. We’d made s’mores over the stove and had a sing-along at the piano. Despite how the boys had broken my heart, and abandoned me, that night had turned out to be one of my most favorite memories.
I had a feeling that this time I wouldn’t remember being left behind quite as fondly.
Chapter 16
JUST AS I’M CONTEMPLATING HITCHHIKING BACK TO THE HOTEL for lack of a better option, a cherry red ’67 Camaro SS with black racing stripes rumbles into the alley where I’m standing. My time dating Jaggerd taught me to recognize a muscle car when I saw one. I step backward as it rolls to a stop beside me. The driver leans over and swings the door open in invitation. Just as I’m about to politely decline this very intriguing yet unexpected offer, I catch a glimpse of a very familiar arm.
The rope is what I see first. It’s detailed and intricate and I know for a fact that it morphs into a serpent farther up his bicep. I’ve fantasized about tracing it with everything from my fingers to my tongue enough times that I could draw it blindfolded in the dark. The sheet music across his knuckles ripples as his hand returns to his side of the vehicle.
“Nice wheels,” I say, sliding onto the black leather bench seat beside him.
“Nice dress,” he says back even though I have yet to see him actually look at me.
Crave is barely out of the rearview before the silence and the tension get to be too much for me. “So . . . you boost this hot rod or what?”
The tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth is the only response I get for several seconds. “Something like that,” he finally says.
“I see. We planning to rob a bank later, too? I’ve only got one change of clothes, but we could grab some disguises at the Quickie Mart unless we’re going to knock it over, too.”
“You brought a change of clothes?”
I laugh and relax back into the seat, enjoying the powerful vibration beneath me. “That would be the part you paid attention to.” I turn my neck so that I’m facing his profile as he shifts gears and merges onto the interstate. My eyes travel the most indulgent route up his ink-sleeved arms and across his chest before they trace the outline of his profile.
“You were late,” he says softly, finally turning his turbulent gaze to mine.
“So were you.”
“That was my second time around the block.” He returns to facing forward and I’m grateful.
Maybe it’s because he waited for me, or because we’re alone in a darkened muscle car that is practically seducing me with its motor, but I am two seconds from telling him to pull over and please, pretty please touch me before I implode.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to be rude and just bail without an explanation.”
I watch his fingers flex on the shiny black steering wheel. “You really don’t have to do this, you know. Seriously. I can handle it. Bikers and all.”
I smile and scoot a little closer to him. Even over the powerful scent of leather and what I’m pretty sure is Armor All, I can smell his cologne, the kind I bought him and I’m in danger of sniffing until either it gets embarrassingly obvious or I pass out.
“I know. I told you, I wanted to come. And I’m here now and we’re on our way so you can give the disclaimer a rest already.” I sigh and resist the urge to lean my head over on his shoulder. “Besides, if I’d have known you were driving this, you wouldn’t have been able to talk me out of it anyway. I have to admit, I am insanely curious about this car and how you got it.”
He slides his hands lower on the wheel. “Borrowed it from a friend who owed me a favor.”
“I didn’t realize you had friends in Austin.”
“She’s not from Austin, just happened to be in town for MusicFest.”
“Ah. Convenient.” She. My stomach clenches and I scoot back to my side of the seat and stare out the window.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have an excellent poker face?”
“No,” I answer shortly without tearing my gaze from the window.
Gavin lets out a low, seductive ripple of laughter. “And they probably never will.”
“You’re hilarious.”
I peek over just in time to catch a glimpse of the dimple in his right cheek. “Her name is Janie Ledford and trust me, she’d be much more interested in you than me. Especially right now.”
“Why right now?” I shift my body so that’s it’s turned completely in his direction.
His eyes dart over to me then back to the road. He clears his throat and I am suddenly very aware of how small the space we currently occupy is.
“I wasn’t being a smartass about that dress. It’s nice . . . Does things for you.”
“I see.” I slip my shoes off, letting them fall gently in the floorboard, and tuck my legs beneath me. “What kinds of things?”
His tongue snakes out and slides enticingly along his lush lower lip. It’s all I can do not to steal a taste of that lower lip myself.
“Things that are going to make this a very long drive.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and I can’t help but smile—he’s right, I have no poker face whatsoever.
“Good to know.” Mentally I’m cataloging everything I own. Gavin likes dresses. I wonder if I can pull off wearing one every day for the rest of my life.
A low rumble that I’m pretty sure isn’t the car interrupts my silent plotting.
“Gav? You hungry?”
He shrugs. “Skipped dinner. Trying to save money since I don’t know how much her bail will be. Chances are I’ll have to pay a bondsman ten percent to get her out and I didn’t want to risk being short.”
His words pull me out of the car and back in time. He was always hungry, always going without.
“Gavin . . .”
“Relax, Bluebird. I’ll survive.”
Before I get caught up in my painful memories of our childhood, I remember that I came prepared. Pulling the chips and granola bar from my bag like rabbits from a magician’s hat, I present them to him.
“Sweet or salty?”
He side-eyes me and sighs. “Salty I guess.”
I open the bag of chips and hand them over. He places the bag between his legs and I force myself not to check out the bulge in his jeans.
Classy, Dixie. Real classy.
“Um, shoot. I didn’t think about something to drink.” I look down to see that there’s a cup holder in the middle console but it’s empty.
“That part I do have covered. There’s a cooler in the back floorboard. Just Mountain Dew and a few bottles of water, feel free to help yourself.”
“You want a soda? Caffeine might be good for the drive.”
“Sure.”
Without thinking, I turn around and lean over the seat, stretching as far as my arm will allow to flip open the white lid of the cooler. My fingers encircle the damp plastic wrapper of his drink and then I reach for a bottle of water for myself.
“Jesus Christ. Sit the hell down! Forget the fucking soda. I’ll get it when we stop.”
The urgency in Gavin’s voice jump-starts my heart and I immediately picture us slamming into an eighteen-wheeler. Whipping my body around and back into my seat, I gape at him wide-eyed when I see that there is no threat of an immediately impending accident.
“What the hell? You scared me to death.”
“Yeah, well. You almost got us killed.” He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“Um, okay. Did I bump the wheel or s
omething?”
He lets out a loud breath and shakes his head. “No. You flashed me your ass in the rearview and I nearly took us off the damn road.”
I fold my lips inward to keep from bursting out laughing. He is clearly upset.
“My ass distracted you?”
“Not half as much as the black lace thong did.”
Oh dear God. I want to curl up and hide. He’s not kidding. I am wearing a black lace thong.
“No need to be embarrassed now. I’ve already seen it. You got some sweatpants or something you could put on?”
“I didn’t know sweatpants would be required road trip attire. I have jeans I can put on if you’re serious.”
“I am dead fucking serious.”
“Ugh. Fine. Here.” I hand over the green bottle containing his beverage and climb over into the backseat, careful not to flash him this time. Much.
“Thank you,” he says through gritted teeth. I don’t know if he means for the drink or for putting pants on, but I can’t resist.
“I’m changing. Don’t peek.” I meet his hazel stare in the rearview and wink. “Or do.”
He shakes his head but even from behind him I can see the telltale dimple showing in his profile. “When did my sweet little Dixie Lark turn into . . .”
“Into what?” I ask, mildly offended that he called me little. Taking my time slipping out of my dress in the backseat, I wait for him to answer.
“Into my worst nightmare.”
A hurt noise pops out of my throat as soon as I get my dress over my head. “Ouch, Gav. That’s kind of harsh.”
“Truth hurts,” he answers quietly before meeting my eyes again. There’s no trace of teasing in them, just blatant honesty. I want to hide my face and turn invisible like the game we played as kids.
The pain swells in my chest until it’s consuming me completely. My bag with my clothes in it is still in the front of the car and I’m afraid my voice will break if I ask him to hand it to me.
I focus on folding my dress into a small neat square, wishing I could do the same with my stupid heart.