Crash (Band Nerd Book 3)

by Danica Avet

  Sweet lord, please don’t let them kill him.

  Levi

  The dude is a serious dick. And not just because he was talking shit about tattoos and tattoo artists. And also not because he’s with Jolene who looks hot as fuck in her little red dress, that gold hair done up in some kind of bun thing that makes me want to pull the pins out, or that she’s wearing lipstick to match, and he gets to go home with her. I swear that isn’t it. No, somehow when we made our escape before the violence boiled all over Lena’s Christmas dinner, I got stuck with the shithead.

  Sipping my beer, I shoot Cube—the traitor—a glare he pretends not to see, ducking behind Tight. Bastards. We were all standing together when we got out here, but those motherfuckers drifted off, leaving me with Josef the Jackass. They’re all talking about interesting shit, like Tight’s potential to go pro. I’d much rather be listening to that, even though the thought of my best friend moving away really bothers me. Despite how happy I am about his success.

  I mean, I’m not gonna cry about it or anything. It just… Bothers me. I guess seeing someone else realize their dreams, moving on and all that illustrates how unprepared I am for my future. But in all honesty, it’s just knowing that with the NFL Combine, the meetings with his agent, potential teams, and Tight trying to finish his classes to graduate means I won’t see much of him at all this semester.

  Still, that depressing shit would be better to listen and think about than the dickface I’m stuck with.

  The guy’s so stuck on himself, it’s a wonder he even knows Jolene exists. We’ve been out here all of ten minutes and so far, I know he’s in his third year at Sauvage, has come close to winning several art awards, plans to enter the Austin Dubois Art Competition in the spring, and back home, he’s considered quite the playboy. Like I could give a fuck.

  Other than Jolene’s fantastic dress and the way it hugs her tight body, the only good thing about the entire night is that she has to see auditioning for the ensemble is a hell of a lot better than staying with this dickwad. She has to. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’m going to do. She’s been dodging her regular hangouts to avoid me.

  Okay, maybe I came on a little strong, but that’s just how important her auditioning is. To me and to the ensemble. I found out that Pierce, our veteran trumpet player, isn’t joining us this semester. His wife is expecting their first kid and he doesn’t want to miss out on a single moment of her pregnancy. I get it, but damn. He’s good. Not as good as Jolene, but he’s good. And if Jolene doesn’t try out, we’ll have Princess—another good horn player—and most likely Terry and Bryce who are both assholes.

  So yeah, we need Jolene. And I’m going to make sure we get her.

  “I try explaining to her, ‘It is plein air, not plainer’, but she does not get it,” Josef’s saying in that irritating accent of his. I know he can’t help it, although maybe if he didn’t fuckin’ talk so much, it wouldn’t bother me. “But I am not with her for her art appreciation, yes?”

  That snaps me out of my inner ramblings and my brain focuses on him with hyper awareness. “What?”

  The little shit shrugs, taking another sip of his wine. Yeah, he brought his own because apparently Beau “Savage” Sauvage III wouldn’t have an excellent selection of wines. Pretty sure the dude’s family owns a vineyard in California, but whatever. Just shows how much of a fucker Josef is.

  “Jolene,” he says, his lips curling around her name and giving it a foreign flair. “She does not understand art, has no culture, yes? I could do better, I know. But she is good in bed and I happen to love blondes.” He smiles, those ferret-like eyes smirking at me. “They’re so dumb. Especially American blondes.”

  Mother. Fucker. I open my mouth. Not sure what I was going to say, but I’m sure it was awful because I don’t remember the last time I was this pissed off. Maybe as a toddler? I’m not one of those guys who expends a lot of energy on emotion. I fuck, I play drums. That’s how I express myself. I don’t do tirades and rants, shouting and bellowing. I don’t fight. What’s the fucking point?

  But right here, right now, I’m imagining my fist shoved so far down the fucker’s throat that he’ll never speak again. Which is right about when it gets worse.

  “Josef?”

  We both spin around to see Jolene standing right fucking behind us. Her gaze darting between me and her scumbag boyfriend, anger and hurt warring in her expression before it smooths out. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, the way she locks her emotions away leaving behind a beautiful mask.

  “Lena wants to pass around gifts,” she says instead of addressing the big issue here. Her smile is bright, gorgeous, and so fake I almost expect her face to crack. “Why don’t we go inside?”

  “Of course, bogárkám,” Josef says smoothly, as though he hadn’t just insulted his girlfriend. He steps forward, sliding his arm around her waist in a move that has me—once again—fighting the urge to punch him. “Let us go see what Mikulás brought you, yes?”

  Why isn’t she screaming at him? Or shooting daggers with her fucking eyes? Not a single girl I know would ever stand for someone calling them dumb, or saying they could do better than them. Yet Jolene doesn’t say anything, but she does glare at me before turning and walking back into the house with the asshole.

  I stand there completely flabbergasted. I’m a player. I know and accept this about myself, but I don’t treat the girls I fuck with anything but respect. Yeah, I’m sure others don’t see it that way, but I don’t degrade them, talk down to them, or do anything to deliberately hurt their feelings. I’m fucking friends with most of them, friends who’ve scratched each other’s itches and moved on, but still friends.

  Trailing behind the others reentering the house, I come abreast of Rien. “Fuckin’ hate that little shit,” the big ass biker dude grunts.

  “He’s a dick,” Root agrees from behind us.

  I glance into the room where everyone’s starting to gather and watch as Josef sends Jolene back to the kitchen with his empty wineglass, probably wanting a refill. “Yeah, he is.”

  And I can’t believe he’s the reason Jolene’s not going to audition for the ensemble. Unless someone gives her a shove.

  Jolene

  My hands are shaking so much I almost spill wine all over Beau’s counter instead of in Josef’s glass. I force myself to calm, but all I keep hearing is Josef’s scathing tone and words. All I keep seeing is the way they both turned to look at me. Did Crash agree with him? Does he think I’m just some blonde bimbo who’s only good for sex? The same way every other guy’s ever seen me? Including my current boyfriend.

  The ache in my chest intensifies and I grasp the edge of the counter to breathe through it. If it weren’t for the many years of pageants I have under my belt, I probably would’ve started crying in front of God and everyone out there. But thanks to Mama’s ambition in thinking I’d somehow land a modeling or acting contract, I’m good at pretending and spectacular at hiding my true feelings.

  I blow out a hard breath, struggling to pull myself together. I don’t know what to do.

  On one hand, I’m madder than a wet hen. How could Josef say that about me? Especially to Crash. I’m embarrassed too. I’ve tried so hard to leave behind the person I was in Colby County, tried to show my new friends and acquaintances that I’m not just some floozy from the trailer park. To have my boyfriend tell what amounts to a complete stranger that I’m good in bed and that I’m stupid, leaves me heartbroken and furious. The angry, resentful part of me urges me to storm into the other room and give him a piece of my mind, then break up with him.

  But on the other hand, I sort of deserve it, don’t I? Sure, I didn’t let him in my pants right away like my other boyfriends. We took our courtship very slowly because I didn’t want to mess this up and we’ve been together for months. But I’m still trailer trash even though I’ve tried to run as far and fast as I could from it. I’m still a Pickering and it’s as though we have this flashing sign floatin
g above our heads that says, ‘Use me, abuse me, and I’ll keep coming back for more’. Because even though Josef embarrassed me in front of Crash—one of the last people I would want to know anything about me—I don’t think I can break up with him because he’s tipsy from too much wine and unhappy to be here. That’s why he’s acting this way. And that just isn’t enough to break up with someone you love.

  No. Absolutely not.

  Regulating my breathing, I open my eyes and finish pouring his glass of wine. I’ll be fine. Relationships have bumps, that’s all this is.

  “He shouldn’t be talkin’ about you that way,” a familiar voice growls behind me.

  I don’t turn around although I can’t stop my spine from stiffening. Of course Crash is going to bring it up. He just can’t stay out of my business and he doesn’t give up. I count to ten and pray for patience.

  But then he goes and ruins my attempts to commune with a higher power by opening his mouth. Again.

  “Please fucking tell me he isn’t the reason you’re not auditioning,” he continues, his voice coming closer.

  Oh no, he didn’t.

  Spinning around to face him, it’s as though all the anger toward Josef for his comments, for the snide remarks from my peers back home, and my own self-hatred bubbles to the surface. Crash is staring at me as though he actually cares, as though I matter when I know that isn’t true. He just wants to use me like everyone else.

  “It’s none of your business,” I hiss at him, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “Nothing about me or Josef is your business, so why don’t you find someone else to irritate?”

  “Tell me you don’t give a shit about ensemble and I’ll leave you alone,” he shoots back, getting right in my space.

  Other than that one time in the practice room, I’ve never been so close to Crash before and I swear I can feel the heat of his body reaching for me. That and his scent which isn’t the eye-burning body spray most college guys use. No, he smells like mints and cedar, with a hint of smoke. It’s a warm, comforting smell, like curling up in front of a fire with a mug of peppermint tea on a cold winter’s night.

  I shake my head because no. Just no. He’s not going to hypnotize me like he does all the other girls. I know him. I know what he does and I’ll never be one of his many conquests.

  So I look him in the eye and lie. “I don’t care about the ensemble.”

  But I do. Oh, I do so much it’s almost a physical ache. I still play “St. James Infirmary”; only in my dorm room though, letting the tears stream down my face, my heartbreak private. Of course I make sure to play when Kimber takes off for wherever angry girls go because the one time I tried to practice in our room back in August, she had a dying duck fit and I never did it again. Until Crash forced me to go into seclusion.

  Do I let any of that of show on my face though? No.

  He knows though. How, I have no clue, but his face tightens and he leans closer until our noses almost touch. “Liar,” he whispers. The little shiver that goes down my spine from his proximity? Just anger. “You need music like you need to breathe and you’re giving it up for some dickwad who doesn’t even appreciate it or you.”

  My heart thunders and the blood rushes through my veins. Even my breathing picks up. And while I want to continue saying it’s all from anger at his presumptions, I know it’s more than that. I know the tingling down below has nothing to do with outrage and everything to do with desire. For him. For the playboy who won’t leave me alone.

  “So what if I am giving it up for him, for the boy I love? Why do you even care?” Then a sudden thought occurs and I feel my entire body tighten. “I’m a band chick, so it isn’t like you’re gonna get in my pants.”

  This close to him, I can see those dark as night eyes of his grow impossibly darker as his pupils expand. My heart’s pounding so hard I feel like I might have a heart attack. Our faces are bare inches apart. I’ve seen desire on the faces of enough boys to know when one wants me. And I see it in his eyes. I feel it in the way the space between us grows thicker, hotter.

  His gaze flicks down to my mouth, my lips swelling a little as my own arousal betrays me. He’s going to kiss me. I should take a huge step away from the temptation of Crash, but I don’t. I can’t. I’m all caught up in his gravitational pull just like all those other poor girls he’s had sex with and even with my brain screaming at me that this is wrong, I don’t move. My lips part as I try to take in more air, breathing Crash’s scent in, filling my senses with him.

  Then he straightens, breaking the tension with an easy smile that instantly sets my teeth on edge. “I don’t need to manipulate my way into a girl’s panties, Peaches. Besides, like you just said, I don’t fuck band chicks,” he drawls in that Cajun accent that I shouldn’t like but do. Although his words are a slap in the face and I feel myself blushing. “And I care about music. I care about making sure the ensemble is the best it’ll ever be. I thought you’d be a perfect addition to our family, but we don’t need prissy little girls who think a guy treating them like shit is a good relationship.” His gaze rakes over me. “Audition or don’t, it doesn’t matter. In fact, since you’re so fucking worried about that asshat, you should drop out of band altogether. Then we’ll see about me getting in your pants.”

  With one of those smirks that makes me want to strangle him, he saunters out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my fury. Yes, fury. He has no right to judge me or my relationship with Josef. No right to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing. And he doesn’t know anything about me, about what I risk losing because he’s probably gone through life flashing that grin to get whatever he wants.

  But my anger isn’t just directed at Crash. It’s directed at myself because he’s right. As much as I hate to admit it—even to myself, I’m being a coward. Josef never asked me to give up ensemble completely. Never even hinted at it. I decided against trying out because I’m scared. It isn’t just the thought of losing Josef that’s held me back. It’s my deepest fear that if I do try out, they’ll turn me down. Yes, I’m confident in my abilities, but what if they aren’t looking for someone with my musical style? Or what if they don’t really like girls in the ensemble? Or even more terrifying, they’ll think I’m not good enough, that I’ll never be good enough.

  Not for Jazz Ensemble. Not for Josef. Not for anything.

  Yet even with that fear gnawing at my belly, I know one thing. I’m going to audition. I probably won’t make it, but at least I’ll have proven to myself—not Crash because who cares what he thinks about me?—that I’m not a coward. I’ll prove I’m not the same Jolene Pickering I used to be. And Crash can just kiss my go-to-hell.

  “Hey, you okay in here?” Lena asks softly, showing up in the doorway. Her face is furrowed with concern for me.

  Pushing down all the anger and self-doubt, I smile at her. “Of course,” I say a little too warmly because she doesn’t look as though she believes me. “I was just tryin’ to figure out if I should open another bottle of wine for Josef or not.”

  That doesn’t ease my friend’s concern. If anything, she looks more worried. “Is everything okay, you know, with him?” she asks hesitantly, as though unsure if she should broach the subject or not.

  I laugh, careful to keep it from sounding shrill and hysterical. Bottle it up, lock it away, and keep smiling, Jolene Harlee Pickering. “Of course! We’re very happy, Lena,” I say with a crown-worthy smile that I know shows off my dimples. “He’s just a little tipsy.” I flap my hand with an eye roll. “We’re perfectly fine, don’t you worry.”

  She nibbles on her lip, shuffling her feet. “Are you sure? You’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?”

  Oh. I love her. Reaching out, I hug her. Now, Lena’s taller than all of us girls, but she brings out my maternal instincts. Probably because she’s the sweetest thing ever. Which is why I wouldn’t dare share my personal problems with her. Not after the stuff she’s been through lately. I mean, my mama isn’t the best rol
e model, but at least she didn’t try to help my stepfather kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder.

  Yes, that happened. And now the poor girl’s mama’s sittin’ in jail, weaning off drugs, and her stepdad’s looking at a very long prison sentence. So burden Lena with my silliness? Never.

  “I would tell you if anything was wrong,” I lie to her with another squeeze of my arms. “Don’t you worry about me, Lena. You just be happy with that fine Viking you got out there.”

  Her soft giggle eases some of the pain in my heart. “He so doesn’t get why we all call him that.”

  For the first time since dinner, I find my real smile. “He’ll find out when he sees what Becca picked out for y’all’s Halloween costumes.”

  Lena freezes against me and pulls away with wide eyes. “Oh god, what did she pick out? Wait, Halloween? But we just had Christmas!”

  Laughing, I grab Josef’s glass of wine. “She says she wants to be prepared for next year. So y’all be ready.”

  I wink at her dumbfounded and terrified expression before stepping out of the kitchen. The moment with Lena helped to center me, making it easy to feign a breezy smile and lightheartedness I don’t feel as I rejoin the group. I even manage to meet Crash’s judgmental look without flinching.

  The rest of the evening passes without any more close contact with him and Josef must’ve had a little too much to drink because he didn’t say anything arrogant or insulting. Of course, I make sure that doesn’t change by loading him in my jalopy by eight-thirty and wishing my friends good night. No need to try my luck with Josef, or Crash.

  Despite my original plans to sleep at Josef’s apartment, I drop him off and make my way to campus. Sauvage has been quiet during winter break, the familiar hustle and bustle of students and staff moving around, muted. But I kind of like the quiet, enjoy seeing what the grounds look like without all the people crowding the sidewalks and benches. Because it helps me to see—really see how far I’ve come in just a year.