by Eli Lang
Nick shrugged. “I’ll go back in a while. I wanted to hear what you all were doing, though. I haven’t gotten much of a chance.”
“Oh.” There was something I was feeling, some tightness or discomfort I couldn’t quite name.
But Nicky could, apparently. His smile softened, went gentle and kind, and he reached out so he could touch the side of his hand to mine on the couch cushion. “Also, I wanted to see you again. And I didn’t want to go searching through back rooms to find you.”
“Oh.” The word sounded completely different this time.
“Yeah. Um.” He glanced up at me, then back to Ava and Tuck. “I really liked that, yesterday.” His gaze was still fixed firmly straight ahead.
There were a thousand things I could say to that. Maybe more. Complicated things and things that would define this, and things that probably needed to be said. But there was only one real, simple truth. “Me too.”
His smile, which had faded away as he spoke, bloomed big and bold and bright on his face again. He turned to catch my eye. “Oh, good.” Then the expression slipped. “But I don’t . . . I didn’t mean to bring all the . . . relationship stuff back up, Quinn. I’m sorry.”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure whether that was a relief or a huge disappointment.
He patted his hands on his knee, fingers moving in time to the beat Ava was playing. He added a little frill with his palm, and she played a quick fill at the same time. I knew it was only about timing, and measures, and the natural counts and lengths in music, how that got ingrained into a musician. But there was something about it, some synchronicity, that seemed like magic.
“Anyway,” he said softly. “I’m . . .” He sighed. “I’m glad we have this chance to . . . We used to be friends, I think? And I want . . . I hope maybe we can be that again?”
I nodded, absorbing that. That made sense. That was a place . . . to start from. To maybe end the awkwardness between us. “Maybe we could go out to dinner tonight? Just us?” I asked, suddenly. He blinked, surprised, but I felt almost the same. I hadn’t been planning to ask. It had just popped out. I didn’t want to take it back, though.
“To talk,” I said. “I think we should probably talk. And maybe . . .” I let the rest of the sentence trail off.
He glanced at me, then quickly away. He was picking at the hem of his shorts now, his fingers tugging at a loose thread, and he was staring at his hand, carefully not meeting my eyes. There was a bright blush, high on his cheekbones. It didn’t look like embarrassment. It looked like nerves.
“I’m not . . . I know I was the one who started the kiss, but . . .” Nicky said, letting his words trail off.
I shook my head. “Can we just . . . see what happens? Go out to dinner, as friends, and see?” I couldn’t lie and say I didn’t want another kiss like that, or maybe more. But I wasn’t sure what I wanted. And I didn’t think Nicky knew what he wanted, either. “I’d like to see if we could maybe figure things out. As friends. You and me.” I said it gently. I didn’t like seeing him nervous. I didn’t want to be the cause of that, not ever.
He nodded slowly, then harder. “Yeah, okay. I mean, yes, I’d like to.”
Of course, it ended up being me who was stressed that evening when I went to get ready for my . . . what? Date? We were just two guys going for dinner. But it seemed almost like a date. It felt like it was important.
And I could still picture the blush on his face, the nervous twitch of his fingers, his focus anywhere but on me when I asked and he decided how to answer.
And I could still feel him in my arms, that refreshed memory, something I’d never thought I would get to have again. There was something between us, still, whether either of us was sure what it was yet or not.
So maybe we actually were going on a date. Maybe we weren’t. It almost didn’t matter. I was going to be tense either way, and either way, I wanted to look good. Wear the right thing. Whatever that was.
This was a harder challenge than I’d imagined, though. It wasn’t like I’d brought any nice clothes with me to a recording studio, knowing we were going to be hanging out and catching quick meals after long days. T-shirts and shorts and jeans and a couple of hoodies in case it got cold. That was basically always my wardrobe, and it had never occurred to me that I might need something else. Not for this trip, at least.
Ava wandered into my room and sat on my bed, her phone in her hand. I was standing in the bathroom and could see her reflection in the mirror.
“This isn’t your room,” I said, half-gentle, half-exasperated.
She raised her head and glanced, pointedly, around the room, at the mess Tuck and I had already managed to make in a few short days. I hadn’t exactly helped by strewing my clothes everywhere while trying to figure out what to wear. “I’m well aware,” she said, a slight dry edge to her voice.
“Tuck isn’t here either.”
Her eyebrows crept upward. “I see that.”
I dropped my hands to the counter and took a deep breath, then turned around to face her. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” I was being a jerk. The nerves were getting to me, and she was being kind enough not to say anything too harsh. “Why are you here?”
She slipped her phone into her pocket, crossed her legs in front of her, and leaned forward. “Tuck said you were in here freaking out. And that you probably needed a girl’s help.” She held up a hand. “I’m not going to get into how sexist that is. I already told Tuck. He knows better than to say something like that again.”
I eyed her up and down. She was wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a faded logo emblazoned on the front, and jeans that had holes not only in the knees, but up the backs of her thighs. “I’m not sure you were what he meant by that, either.”
She laughed, tipping her head back. “No, probably not. Probably he’s hoping I’ll call Cara and she can assist you over the phone.” Then her expression went more serious, and she lowered her voice, so I knew she wasn’t joking anymore. “What’s the matter, Quinn?”
I sighed, and plopped down on the other bed. I dropped my hands between my knees. “I asked Nick out. To dinner.” I flicked my gaze to hers, then looked away. “And I was trying to find something decent to wear. I’m all . . .” I sighed and shrugged. “I didn’t even notice Tuck come in. I didn’t see him. I’m . . .” This time I gestured at the clothes.
Ava leaned forward a little bit more, and reached out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. It was too long—not like I’d let it grow out because I liked it that way, but like I’d forgotten to get it cut. It was long enough to have a slight curl, and pieces were tickling my chin and getting in my eyes. Her touch was gentle, pushing the strands back, smoothing out the places I’d ruffled up with my fingers.
“Why do you need something nice to wear to go out with Nicky?” She pulled her hand away and sat back.
I opened my mouth, closed it, tried again. “I think it’s a date.”
She smiled, softer than before. “I saw Nick earlier. He was, like, floating a fucking foot above the ground. It’s a date. Or he thinks it is. Or he’s hoping for something from it.” She narrowed her eyes. “How can you not know if it’s a date if you’re the one who asked? Do you want it to be a date?”
I hesitated. I didn’t know how to answer either of those questions. I shrugged instead. “I don’t know. But I do know I want to look good for him.”
She blinked, almost comically. The she raked her eyes over me, and I tried to tell what she was seeing. I wasn’t hideous. I wasn’t vain, but I was pretty sure I was decent looking. My mother had always called me handsome. I hadn’t ever been able to tell whether that was because she was my mom or not. She hadn’t ever called Eric that, but Eric had been . . . beautiful. I wasn’t beautiful. I was rough where he’d been fine. I was unpolished where he had shone. We had the same coloring—his hair had been darker than my brown, but our skin had been the same shade, our eyes had been the same dark green. Different builds, though. I was broad and
what some people might have called sturdy or cuddly, and he’d been lithe and wiry. I was scruffy. We’d both had gauges in our ears, but they’d been completely different on him. Maybe because he’d put on makeup to go with them. Maybe because I was hiding mine behind my hair now.
“You always look good,” Ava said, bringing me out of my reveries.
“You’re attracted to girls.”
“I’m bi, you jackass.” But I could tell she knew I was arguing just to be a dick, and her tone wasn’t as angry as it probably should be. “Don’t fucking deflect me because you’re nervous. Besides, I’m not blind, even if I’m not attracted to you. Which I’m not. But not because you’re a man.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Thanks, I think?”
She nodded and gave me a smile, more reassuring than teasing, and it made all the places where I’d been holding in my uneasiness come undone.
I slumped. “I am nervous.”
“Why? This is Nicky. You practically lived with him when we were on tour. You’ve been out together lots of times.”
“Yeah, but . . .” I dragged my hand over my face. “That was all . . . before.” I didn’t know how to explain any of it, so I decided not to try. “And . . . I like him. I think I like him a lot.” And I didn’t know what I wanted out of this, or what would happen. I didn’t want to say that, though.
She rocked forward again, but not enough to touch me. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she didn’t make a move toward it. “That seems like a good thing?”
“Just . . .” I wasn’t the guy who talked about his feelings. I was the guy everyone else came to, to talk about theirs. I was the guy who listened, and who fixed where I could or offered a shoulder or held someone’s hand. I got people what they needed; I fed them; I made them comfortable; I took care of them. That was how I liked it. That was how I worked best.
“This—” I held my hand out and gestured, trying to take in the studio and everything that went with it “—is a lot more than I expected.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “What is? Nicky? I know you didn’t know he’d be here, but—”
“No,” I said, cutting her off. “Not Nick. This. Being here, watching you guys record, it’s like . . .” I swallowed hard. “I keep being reminded of my brother. And I keep wondering what if. I had that all so under control. I was okay. But now . . . I keep wondering what if.”
“Oh.”
“That.” I pointed at her. “That sound is exactly why I didn’t want to tell anyone.”
She stuck her tongue out at me. “What sound? Give me a break. You didn’t want to tell anyone because you love bottling up your emotions too much. Don’t pin this on me.”
And that easily, she took all the air out from under me. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
“So what you’re saying is that a superhot guy agreed to go out with you, but you got tangled in the past and now your brain is giving you a shit-ton of stuff to worry about.”
Well. That was certainly succinct. “Yes.”
She smiled again, but this time, it wasn’t joking, or teasing, or cajoling, or even very happy. It looked . . . bitter and sad and like maybe she was lost.
“I know about that.” She held up a hand. “I’m not saying we’re the same, or what we’ve been through is the same, because it isn’t. But I know about letting the past drag you down. I know about feeling smothered by it. Wishing it was different. Wishing you’d changed it. I get that, at least.”
I nodded. I wanted to . . . ask her things. Ask her exactly how she knew about that, what had changed for her. What had made her feel that way. Ask how she handled it. Ask her what I should do. Ask for help, or guidance, or maybe a hug, because I really was that confused. But I still couldn’t make myself do any of that.
“Let me ask you, Quinn—what do you want out of this?”
“Out of . . . what?”
“Out of tonight. This maybe-date with Nick.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I’d tried to imagine it in progress, but it was mostly fuzz, with wine, and maybe kissing. Or maybe absolutely no kissing. Maybe only talking, like I had said, because kissing was wonderful, but it was scary too. I wasn’t sure I could come back from kissing. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to figure out how to tackle what came after kissing, all those things and emotions and ties, either. So, nothing set in stone, nothing I was really hoping for, or nothing I’d let myself hope for. Anything too real seemed like too much, too fast, too frightening.
She lifted her shoulders in an easy, lazy shrug. “So,” she said, stretching out the word, “just let it happen. This is supposed to be fun. We’re here to have fun. Well.” She frowned slightly. “I’m working. And . . .” She made a noise that sounded like a grumble at the same time. Her eyes went wide to emphasize her next words. “It’s a lot of fucking work. God, I always forget how draining this is. But.” She caught my gaze and held it. “You’re basically on vacation. We’re here. This place is amazing. We’re in the heart of everything. We can go to the beach. We get to listen to amazing music, and talk music in the nerdiest way possible, and hang out with people who love music.” She started to sound a little dreamy before she snapped her focus back to me. “Go out tonight. Have a really good time. Get kissed. That’s all you have to do. That’s all it has to be, for right now. Only now.”
I nodded. God, she was right. I didn’t have to think about after dinner, or even during dinner. I didn’t have to wonder what I’d do about what came after kissing, if anything. All I had to do was now. I hadn’t had to voice a single one of my questions to her, but she’d somehow managed to answer them anyway.
“I still don’t know what to wear.” I pointed at the shirt I’d dropped on the floor when she’d come in.
She flicked her fingers, there and there and there, pointing at stuff around the room. “The blue T-shirt with the V-neck. The color’s good against your skin. Cleanest, tightest jeans you have. Show off your ass. And put on a jacket. It’ll make you look classier, and it’ll be cooler once the sun goes down, anyway. I doubt Nicky has any clothes dressier than you do, so that’ll work fine. Do you know where you’re going?” I shook my head, and she sighed. “I’ll google it. Somewhere not too fancy. But nice.”
I blinked. “I don’t have a jacket. Just hoodies.”
“Micah has one. Ask him.”
I nodded and stood up to gather the clothes she’d pointed at, holding up my only pair of decent jeans for her inspection. She was kind enough not to make a face at how worn they were. I laid them and the T-shirt on the bed, and started to head down the hall to ask Micah if I could borrow this jacket Ava seemed to think he had. But before I left the room, I turned back to her.
“Thank you.”
She shrugged again. “No problem.”
“Are you going to answer your text or whatever?” I gestured at her pocket, where I’d heard her phone buzzing before.
She smiled, softer, a more private, turned-inward expression. “In a minute. You get my attention for a little while longer.”
I stepped back into the room, and bent down, cupping her face, and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Escaping Indigo was a pretty touchy-feely band, with each other. They were always leaning on each other or holding hands or kissing cheeks. Even Micah had picked up on that, probably because he was the type of person who liked to be touched a lot, and that closeness worked for him. I hadn’t ever really joined in on that, though, because it wasn’t me. But if anyone deserved it, at any time, it was Ava, now.
She patted my hand, grinned up at me, and watched me until I left the room.
That evening, Nicky and I followed the directions Ava had given me to the restaurant where she’d made a reservation for us. It was perfect. It was a tiny Italian place on a corner, windows strung with white fairy lights and fake ivy, looking out on the street and the foot traffic. It was a hole-in-the-wall, and not pretentious—half the people in the place were sitting at the bar, dressed in jeans and sneakers lik
e we were. But the scents coming from inside, stronger when we stepped through the doorway, were amazing. Spicy and sweet and rich. We got a table right at the window, looking out onto all the people passing by in their fashionable-yet-casual clothes. Beyond that, the sunset: pink and blue and gold as the sun sank over a beach we couldn’t quite see. It was like being on stage, but it was private at the same time. A strange counterpoint.
I was worried that maybe Nick would want to start right into a conversation about where we stood and what we were doing together, and I wasn’t really ready for that. Or, on the other hand, I was worried we’d try to make small talk, and find we didn’t have anything to talk about anymore, a year down the road from when we’d first met. But it wasn’t like that at all, in either way. Nick asked something, and the conversation went from there. It was light, but not inane, and never boring. We could still talk about music, and Nick was good at letting one topic slide into another, so by the time we’d eaten and were getting ready for dessert, we’d discussed a dozen different things, shared memories, laughed, and it had never been too strained or awkward. I’d forgotten that about him, probably because he used this semi-superpower in such a background way. But I’d always been comfortable with him. I’d always felt at ease. It was one of the things I liked best about him.
We ordered dessert, because why not, and when it came, the waiter had brought extra spoons so we could share each one if we wanted to. And there was something about the gesture, about the way my dessert looked on the table, all delicate and pretty, spun sugar and chocolate curls, that snapped me back from the comfortable place I’d been and into the panic I’d started earlier when I was trying to decide what to wear. There was something about ordering dessert that made this feel like . . . a real date.
Nicky looked up at me, spoon in his hand, eyes wide, and I could see the same thing creeping over him. He blushed, like he had when I’d asked him to come to dinner. “Quinn . . .”
God, how was he so sweet? How had I ever gotten this close to someone who blushed like that, and was so earnest, and said my name in a way that was . . . hopeful and kind and nervous, all at once?