by McCoy, Katie
That was one of the things I liked about Juliet—she never took shit from Liam or any of the guys, even when they started showing their protective streak around her. I wished I could be more direct with them when it came to my personal life. Wished there were some things that I didn’t have to keep secret.
“The place looks great,” Mike was saying, his hand still resting on my hip. “You really know how to throw a party.”
I flushed with the praise, once again wishing that I felt something stronger than friendship for Mike. He really should have been the perfect guy for me. What was my problem?
As if I had summoned him, Dante walked into the bar.
My pulse skipped a beat.
Because he looked good. Really, really good.
Like always, he was dressed in black, but this time he was wearing a suit. Not the fancy, stiff, expensive-looking suit he had been wearing at the poker game—though he had looked good then too. No, he was wearing a simple black suit with a crisp white shirt—that was unbuttoned at the top, showing me that indent in his throat. The same throat that had so captivated me the last time I’d seen him.
He moved through the crowd with ease—he was the kind of person that people immediately stepped aside for. The kind of person that people noticed. Especially women.
I watched as every single female head swiveled in Dante’s direction. Not that I could blame him. He looked sexy AF. Everything—from his dark-as-sin suit to the languid way he moved, taking each step as if in slow motion. Or maybe that’s just how it felt to me.
From across the room, his gaze caught mine. I couldn’t help the heat that rose in my cheeks as I stared at him. For a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the room. Without thinking about it, I took a step towards him, drawn to him like a magnet. But before I could take another step, he looked away, focusing his attention on the gorgeous, leggy blonde that had approached him.
He smiled at her.
Smiled. At her.
The asshole never smiled. And he certainly rarely smiled at me, but he was smiling at some girl he didn’t even know. How could he kiss me the way that he had and smile at some stranger like that?
I felt my hands curl into fists, which surprised me. I was not a violent person, but I felt the strong and undeniable urge to fling myself at that poor, clueless blonde girl and start a girl fight to end all girl fights. Which was stupid. It wasn’t her fault that Dante was smiling at her. And why wouldn’t he? She was gorgeous.
Carefully uncurling my hands, I tried to turn my attention back to Mike, who was still standing next to me, being his usual nice, polite self.
Then I heard it.
A soft, low laugh. It seemed to cut through the noise of the crowd, getting me right in my chest. In my heart. Dante was laughing. At something the blonde had said.
If he rarely smiled, then a laugh was even more out of the ordinary.
But clearly, he was interested in this girl and pouring on all the charm in her presence. Was she his date? Or had she really just come out of the crowd and caught his attention? I wasn’t sure what option would make me feel better. Because both felt pretty crappy. And then I felt crappy for feeling crappy.
Because I had a date.
Forcing myself to look away from Dante, I turned my attention back to Mike.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Almost midnight,” he said with a grin. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” I asked, completely forgetting myself.
Luckily the question was drowned out by the sound of the entire bar beginning the countdown to midnight.
“Five! Four!”
I didn’t want to, but I looked over at Dante. Or the space where Dante had been. The blonde was still there, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
“Three! Two!”
I stood on my tiptoes, still looking for him. It was pointless. He was gone.
“One! Happy New Year!”
The whole bar erupted in cheers as “Auld Lang Syne” began playing. Before I knew what was happening, Mike had swept me into his arms and planted a gentle kiss on my lips. I held onto him, waiting to feel something—waiting to feel a fraction of what I had felt with Dante—but there was nothing.
As much as I hated to admit it to myself, there was only one person I was interested in kissing tonight. And he had left without speaking to me.
My feelings—or lack thereof—must have been pretty clear, because when we parted, Mike had a thoughtful look on his face.
“You’re miles away, aren’t you?” he asked.
I sighed. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not you.”
He held up a hand. “It’s OK,” he told me with a smile. “I like you a lot, but if the chemistry’s not there, then it’s not there. And it’s not there, is it?”
I shook my head, feeling guilty. Why couldn’t I be attracted to Mike?
“Is there someone else?” he asked.
I paused, not sure what to say to that. Was I that transparent?
“Forget it,” he said with a smile. “If there is, I don’t want to know. Gotta protect my ego somehow.”
“You’re a great guy,” I tried, but he just shook his head, still grinning.
“Oh, I know,” he joked before holding out his hand. “Friends?”
I took it, relieved. “Friends,” I agreed eagerly.
Mike put his arm around me and gave me a friendly squeeze.
“Whoever this guy is,” he said quietly, “he’s one lucky bastard.”
I held back a laugh. If Dante was anything, it was a bastard. Lucky? Well, only time would tell.
5
Hayley
Days into the new year, I was still pissed at Dante. How could he kiss me and continue to ignore me? It was just rude. Just plain rude.
But I was determined not to let him ruin this year the way he had ruined the holiday season. If he wanted to stay away, that was his prerogative. I had stuff to do. Stuff that didn’t involve him. Stuff that didn’t involve any of the guys.
And I was en route to said stuff when Emerson called.
“Where are you?” he asked, his voice quiet and a little frantic.
“Out,” I responded, being vague on purpose. “Why?”
“I need you to come to dinner with Alex and me,” he said. “At Mom and Dad’s.”
The panic in his voice now made sense. Though things had gotten better between Emerson and my parents—it helped that they were big fans of Alex—dinners could still be tense, with the possibility that my father might mention business, which would certainly trigger a fight between him and Emerson.
My brother had taken to using me as a buffer—or human shield—for these dinners, but he’d have to do without me tonight.
“I can’t help you,” I said. “I’m busy.”
“Busy with what?” he demanded.
“I have my own life, Emerson,” I reminded him, annoyed that he seemed to think I was at his beck and call. “And I’m busy.”
He let out a long-suffering sigh. “OK,” he said. “I guess we’ll survive without you.”
“You’ll be fine,” I reassured him. “Just don’t let Dad’s comments get to you.”
“I don’t,” he argued, though it was patently a lie.
I hung up after wishing him luck, doing my best not to feel guilty. It wasn’t the missing dinner part that had me feeling that way—it was the lying. Because I could have told him where I was going, but I didn’t want to.
The Lyft pulled up to a warehouse just outside of the Loop. Nervous energy coursing through me, I grabbed my bag and reminded myself that I wanted to be here. That I was excited to be here.
Squaring my shoulders, I headed inside where the rest of the band was setting up.
The band I hadn’t told anyone about. The band that I was the leader singer for.
It was still pretty new—only a month or so into practice—but I hadn’t told anyone about it. As far as my family and friends knew, I
was spending my free time the way I had always spent my free time—planning events or volunteering for charities, or kicking back in front of Real Housewives episodes.
No one had any idea that I was in a band. They probably had no idea that I could sing.
And that’s what made this special: it was just for me.
“Hayley!” The band greeted me—Maddie was setting up her drum set, while Freddie was tuning his bass. “How was your holiday?”
“You know, family, fun, the usual,” I replied, leaving out the part where I was driven mad with jealous lust for a guy who doesn’t care that I’m alive. “You guys?”
“Dylan made turducken,” Kara said.
“Tur-what?” I laughed.
“It’s a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey,” Dylan announced proudly.
“And we’ll be eating it for the rest of the month,” Kara added.
I laughed. Kara and Dylan had founded the band and were together. Dylan played guitar while Kara wrote most of the songs and played keyboard. All of them were around my age, and had been nothing but kind and encouraging ever since I came to the first audition.
I knew I couldn’t have been the best singer that they saw that day, but something about me—about us—just clicked, and we all seemed to know immediately that I could be a good fit for the band. Apparently, my mom was right—when it was right, you just knew. Too bad I wasn’t having the same revelations in my romantic life.
Unbidden, Dante and that goddamn kiss popped back into my mind. That had been pretty fricking right in the moment.
But that wasn’t a thought I was prepared to entertain, even for a moment. So I pushed it away and headed over to Kara, who handed me sheet music.
“A new song I’d like to try,” she said.
I scanned it quickly, humming along as I read the music. It was a kickass tune, with a great beat and an awesome hook. Already, I was ready to try it out.
“Looks great,” I told Kara, who flushed with pride.
“I think it could be a great closing number for the showcase,” she said.
The band, which Freddie had named “Purple Sunday” for reasons still unknown to me, was set to play its very first gig in a couple of weeks as part of a local showcase.
“Are you sure we’ll be ready by that point?” I asked, the thought of performing in front of a crowd making me incredibly nervous.
Just auditioning for the band had been a major leap of faith—when I did it, I hadn’t really considered the possibility that I would get the gig, and when I did, I was faced with the reality of actually having to perform in front of strangers.
I was still having a hard time performing in front of my bandmates.
But I took the sheet music and went to the microphone, still humming through the tune. It was under my breath, but I didn’t realize the mic was on when I approached, so my humming cut through the sound of tuning instruments and chatter. Immediately everyone stopped.
“Oh, I love that,” Kara said, coming over to me.
“Huh?” I was confused, staring down at the music in my hands.
“The humming,” she said. “I was never really sure how to start the song, but I love that! We can start with just you and Dylan on guitar—a few chords of the opening of the song before everyone else joins in and you start singing.”
Everyone was nodding eagerly, and I felt a rush of adrenaline pump through me. I had never been part of a collaborative experience like this before.
“Let’s give it a shot,” she said, heading to the keyboard.
Dylan picked up the guitar and nodded at me. I began humming along with his playing, and after a few chords, the rest of the band joined in. The music swelled around me and I gave into it, completely, pouring my heart and soul into the song.
I messed up a few times, but so did everyone—it was the first time with the song, after all—but when we were finished, all of us were a little bit breathless.
“Wow,” Freddie finally said. “I think Purple Sunday has just found its sound.”
The rest of the rehearsal was fairly standard, but the thrill of that moment, of those few minutes of perfect synchronicity, stayed with me. I was still buzzing with excitement when I left the rehearsal space and headed to Rascals. Because the last thing I wanted right now was to go back to my quiet apartment by myself. I wanted to take on the world.
I was also kind of hungry.
When I got there, I found that Emerson and Alex had decided to stop by for a nightcap after their dinner with my parents.
“How did it go?” I asked Alex, settling down on to the barstool next to her.
“It was fine,” she said with a smile. “Emerson usually gets worked up over nothing.”
“Over nothing?” he asked, mock outrage all over his face. “They are always on their best behavior around you, and don’t forget it,” he said, pointing to Alex.
“Maybe they just like me better than you,” she teased.
“I’m sure that’s true,” he agreed eagerly before turning his attention to me. “You, on the other hand, should have been there?”
“I’m not available to be your meat shield anymore,” I told him, still buzzing from the excitement of the rehearsal.
Emerson’s eyebrows rose. “Meat shield?”
“You know what I mean,” I laughed. “You can handle Mom and Dad without me once in a while. I don’t need to be your buffer.”
“It’s not that I need you to be my buffer,” Emerson corrected. “It’s that I want you to be my buffer.”
“Well, I’m not interested anymore,” I said firmly. “I have a life.”
“So you say,” Emerson leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. “Speaking of which, where were you?”
“Having a life,” I said, not ready to confess my true location.
I knew that Emerson would be proud of me if I told him what I was doing, but I also liked having something that he couldn’t meddle with. Liked having a secret.
The door opened, and I turned to find Dante walking into the bar. For a moment, I could have sworn that his steps faltered for a moment when he saw me, but if that was the case, he recovered quickly, and headed towards the bar.
“Where have you been?” Emerson asked.
“Around,” Dante said as a response.
Emerson threw his hands up in the air. “What is it with everyone today?” He pointed at Dante. “I ask you where you’ve been after disappearing for weeks and all you have to say is ‘around’?”
Dante shrugged before pulling up a stool and taking a seat. At the other end of the bar. He then made the point to pull out a folder, open it and focus all his attention on it. Like none of us were there.
If it bothered Emerson and Alex, they didn’t say anything. Instead, they seemed to realize that getting information out of Dante was akin to getting blood from a stone, so they instead turned their attention on the easier target: me.
But I wasn’t going be easy to crack this time. I had kept the band a secret for weeks now, I wasn’t going to spill until I was ready.
“And you,” Emerson pointed at me. “You’re ‘having a life’ instead of coming to dinner to protect me from our parents.”
“Is ‘having a life’ a euphemism for having a secret boyfriend?” Alex asked, leaning closer to me.
“No!” I said, but I said it too loudly and too quickly.
Dante didn’t even look up, but I could see his shoulders tense. At least, I thought I did. His movements were so subtle that I second-guessed them the moment they passed. Still, I was pretty sure the thought of me having a secret boyfriend had caused some sort of reaction.
Interesting. Very interesting.
“You have a secret boyfriend?” Alex asked, eyes wide.
“What about Mike?” Emerson wanted to know.
“We broke up.”
I saw Emerson and Alex exchange a look.
“You do have a secret boyfriend, then!” Alex said triumphantly.
>
“Uh . . .” I said, lowering my gaze to the bar, but not before shooting another quick glance in Dante’s direction.
How would he react to the information that I wasn’t dating Mike anymore? But his expression gave nothing away, as he stared straight ahead. Continuing to ignore me. I hated being ignored.
“What’s his name?” Emerson demanded.
I blinked at my brother, my attention pulled away from Dante.
“Your secret boyfriend,” he clarified.
Alex hit him on the arm. “The whole point of a secret boyfriend is that he’s secret.”
I nodded, eager to continue avoiding the real question of where I had been that afternoon. And if the thought of me having a secret boyfriend made Dante jealous, well, that was just a bonus.
But from where I was standing, Dante continued to have no visible reaction, sitting at the bar, reading through some paperwork he had brought. Then I looked at his hands. They seemed to be holding onto that sheet of paper a little more tightly than was necessary.
A little thrill shot through me. Was my fake secret boyfriend making Dante jealous?
“I’m pretty sure Hayley would tell me if she had a secret boyfriend,” Emerson was saying to Alex, who rolled her eyes.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the last person Hayley would tell if she had a secret boyfriend,” she countered.
Emerson looked hurt. “Why? I’m her brother.”
“I’m also standing right here,” I reminded them. “And if—IF—Hayley had a secret boyfriend, she wouldn’t be telling either of you.”
This time Alex was the one who looked hurt.
“Not even me?” she asked. “I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
I gave her a disbelieving look. “You tell my brother everything,” I reminded her.
“This is so unfair,” Alex said with a pout.
I patted her hand. “I’m sorry,” I said, smiling.
Because I was, a little. All these new, confusing feelings about Dante had been swirling in my mind since the kiss, and I wished I had someone to confide in. But if I told Alex, it would eventually get back to Emerson, and that would be a whole big mess.