When Emily pulls away, he asks, “Who’s this?”
“This is Liz, my oldest sister.”
Oldest sister. Thanks, Em. Other terms that might have been equally embarrassing: Spinster. Cat lady. Nerd. Former medical professional. All true to varying degrees.
“Hug Fozzie. He said he has something to give you?” Austin shrugs.
“Awww yeah!” She practically tackles the tall, lanky, bleached-blond standing a bit behind Austin.
Crap. I guess it’s my turn to say something. My hands shake as I try to think of something without Emily there as a buffer.
“It was a phenomenal show. You guys have really great, um, energy,” I stammer, attempting to find the words to sound cool and hip, like I go to shows all the time. I don’t know what else to say, but I’m not ready to walk away yet.
“Thank you,” he says, as he swipes the hoodie from his head. “That means—”
“That last song really moved me. I almost cried,” I gush without giving him a chance to finish speaking.
Our eyes lock for a moment before Austin drops his gaze to my chest. At first, I thought there was something behind our intense connection, but the appraisal makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment. He only wants one thing—and that thing is not my compliments on a silly song. That’s what I get for romanticizing the situation instead of being my logical self.
“Can you, um, sign my ticket?” I reach into the pocket of my dress and pull out a limp piece of paper. I’m mortified when I realize it’s damp from sweat. Before I can pull back, he plucks it out of my hand.
His smile falters for a split second as he holds the ticket, then he turns around and grabs a piece of paper from the table behind him. “How about I sign this for you? It’s almost as good.”
I’m so embarrassed, I want to crawl under their merchandise table, and I’m pretty sure Austin wants me to do the same. He’s just too kind to say anything.
He finishes writing on the paper, but before he hands it over, he wraps his arms around me. The move surprises me, but I’m not upset by it. He’s hugged almost every person that’s come through the line, so I figure it’s just what he does. The sense of warmth and safety I feel in his strong arms is unexplainable.
He starts to pull away, then pauses, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “You have the most gorgeous, intense eyes.”
My heart speeds up and a shiver rushes through my body. Nothing about this man is as I expected him to be. It’s a refreshing surprise. “Thank you.”
He runs a hand through the long patch of hair on top of his head. It keeps flopping over the short sides. “You threw me off tonight.”
Embarrassed, I try to take a step back. “Really? How—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
He shakes his head. “No sorries. It was brilliant. It felt like you could see into my soul. Haven’t felt anything like that in a long time.”
Good lord! What is this man doing to me? Everything he says sparks new flames in me.
When he releases me, Austin hands me the paper and says, “You gonna hang out for a minute? I’d like to talk more, but we have a few more people to meet.” He nods behind me.
I glance over my shoulder, where the line stretches back to the bathrooms, which are located behind the stage, on the opposite end of the room.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” I lift my hand to slip the loose strands of hair behind my ears, but Austin’s fingers get there before mine and he completes the task. A jolt of lust zings through my veins when his fingertips brush across my cheek and upper ear. His touch feels natural. Comfortable. Which makes me think the two drinks I’ve had tonight have already put me over the edge. I smile shyly while gazing at him through thick eyelashes.
I begin to walk away, dazed by the interaction.
“Hey!” Austin calls.
I turn around immediately, though he could be talking to someone else completely.
“Stay close.”
“But—” He’ll be back there all night with a line that long.
Austin must recognize my puzzled expression, because he says, “We don’t sell merch or sign while Intermission is playing so I’ll only be a few more minutes. We can catch their set together if that’s cool?”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah.” I nod like I understand anything about how this part of a show runs. I’ve never met a band before. I usually just listen to the music and leave.
My initial thought was to find Emily again, but now I’m unsure of exactly where I should go. It seems unnatural to hang out by myself near the merch table, so I step away from the line of people waiting to meet Austin and his bandmates, and lean against a railing.
I feel this odd, unexplainable connection to him. It’s ridiculous to even think about. I’m sure a hundred girls in this venue would say they feel the same kind of connection. It’s that innate charisma some performers have. But I can’t get over the eerily familiar feeling when Austin reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear—almost intimate—like he’d done it before. Which is odd, because no one has ever done that—other than my mother when I was a kid.
“What’s that?” Emily pops up behind me. She cranes her neck to get a better gaze at the paper I’m clutching. “You got a signed set list? Rock on, girl! I should take you to more shows.” She pauses for a minute, then plucks the paper from my hands and holds it close to her face. “Is that a phone number?”
Startled at the question, I yank the paper back. Since asking Austin for his autograph was only an attempt to steer the conversation away from my awkwardness, I hadn’t even looked to see what he’d written. “No. That’s ridic—”
Yet there it is. A seven-digit number starting with 704—Charlotte’s main area code.
“Austin gave you his digits. Damn, Liz! What the hell did you do? Offer to give him head after the show?”
“Emily! Geez.” Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m aware that it’s her crude way of teasing, but she knows I don’t appreciate jokes like that.
“I’m kidding.”
“I know.” I pause before folding the paper and tucking it into my dress pocket. “Hey Em!”
“Yeah?”
“Can we not tell Maddie about this?”
“No worries, babe. Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”
And I knew it would be, because Maddie and Emily aren’t close at all. I have no clue how Emily even got her to come out with us tonight. They are in very different social circles, as evidenced by the way Maddie ditched us as soon as the first set ended. She’s not a brat, but she likes to feel comfortable when she’s out. And she hasn’t felt comfortable around Emily in years.
Hell, Em’s circle isn’t mine either. Then again, I don’t really have one of those. I’d been busy for years, working my way through med school and the first three years of a five-year rotation in my surgical residency. Partying has never been a part of my life.
“How’re you doing? Depression lifted now that you pulled the number of a hot rock god?” Em asks, throwing in a wink.
“It doesn’t really work that way.”
Her smile drops. “I know, Liz. I’m just trying to cheer you up. You’ve been in such a rough place since the accident.”
Her comment surprises me; I didn’t think Emily noticed anything about me or how I felt. I don’t want to sound like I think my sister is an insensitive jerk so I keep my mouth shut. Sisters by blood, but not necessarily by choice. I could always picture Em hopping on a bus to New York or LA and never looking back. I know she loves us, but I also know how hard she’s worked to distance herself from our family. I doubt any of her friends know anything about her background.
“Tonight definitely cheered me up.” I press my shoulder against hers. “Thanks for asking me to hang out. I needed this.”
“I know, Lou,” she says, using the shortened form of Lizzie Lou, my childhood nickname. “Now let’s go to the bar,” Em says, taking my hand and tugging.
My feet stay firmly in place. “I can’t.”
<
br /> “What does that mean?”
“Austin asked me to stay close.” I glance at him quickly. He’s beaming as a girl hands him something. Wrinkles crinkle at the sides of his eyes as a large open-mouth smile radiates from under his facial hair. His smile lights up the room.
“Are you a fucking black lab named Bella? You’re not gonna sit and stay because a guy tells you to. Walk with me.”
I never thought of it that way. I thought it was interest and lust. Is this a test of how much of a doormat I can be? Seeing how far he can push me? Do girls usually sit and stay at his command? Usually, I consider myself a strong, independent woman; now I feel like an idiot falling for the first person.
“I don’t play relationship games, Em. If I like someone I let them know.”
“It’s not a game,” she says sliding herself between two people at the bar. “It’s self-respect and it shows you value yourself and your time. You’re not the kind of girl who obeys a man’s every command. What would you have said to John Stallings, MD, if he had told you to sit and stay?”
I laugh—which is exactly what I would have done to John. He didn’t like being laughed at, which is funny because he always introduced himself as “John Stallings, MD” no matter what situation he was in—and that alone was enough to bust a gut. I guess he was extremely proud of his title. “I would have walked away to find you or Emily.”
John Stallings, MD was my only long-term relationship. I’m not convinced our time together even qualifies as a relationship. We dated for two years while I was in med school and he was a resident at Columbia. Neither of us had time for each other, but he was the son of one of Mama’s sorority sisters who was married to a hedge-fund manager—so, of course, we were the perfect match in our mothers’ eyes.
But we all know perfect is an illusion. Perfect is subjective. Perfect changes from person to person. Imperfection is perfect.
Emily hands the bartender cash and grabs our drinks. She passes one to me. “Exactly. Don’t change who you are for Austin. A hundred girls in here would drop to their knees and suck him off if he asked. Don’t be that girl.”
“I’m not that girl,” I say without a shred of humor.
“I know you’re not that girl. I just meant don’t change who you are to be what you think someone else wants you to be. Be your strong self, Liz.”
“I understand what you’re saying, and I appreciate the reminder. There wasn’t a power struggle. I know what those are, Em, believe me. This was regular old conversation. He said he wanted a chance to talk more,” I say, looking over my shoulder as we retreat from the crowded bar. “And watch the next band with me.”
“Well, look at you, you unassuming vixen! You just pulled the most elusive bachelor in the Charlotte music scene.”
“Pulled what? What does that mean?”
“Caught him, lured him in, became the object of his attention,” she explains. “Austin is, like, really introverted. He’s friendly and cool, but he keeps to himself. Fozzie says he’s a hopeless romantic, emphasis on the hopeless part.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s picky, I guess. He’s not about sleeping around or fucking a groupie in every city, ya know? Which isn’t that odd for a normal human being, I suppose. Fozzie just likes that life.”
My heart goes out to Emily. She and Fozzie have been friends for as long as I can remember. I’d always assumed they were a couple, but that’s another example of all the things I don’t know about Emily’s life.
“I still have to check out the trampoline man you did for him,” I say, changing the subject back to the tattoo she mentioned earlier. I don’t want to hear about Austin’s love life. Especially if it’s just secondhand gossip.
Plus, it’s none of my business since he’s the equivalent of a celebrity crush, if anything.
“Oh yeah!” Emily’s eyes light up.
As much as she tries to stay away from our family, she still has that spark of excitement when we ask about her work. No matter how cool or disconnected she tries to act, she wants validation. Who doesn’t?
“Fozzie!” Emily grabs me by the arm and pushes through the line to the drummer of Drowned World. “Show Liz trampoline man!”
Fozzie grins for a photo with fans, then steps aside. He holds up his hand, palm facing me. Near the outer edge, underneath his pinky, is a tiny stick figure above an oval with four legs. When he bends his hand up and down ever so slightly, the crease makes it look like the figure is jumping on a tiny trampoline.
I burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh! That’s great!” And it is. It’s hilarious and clever. I’m almost jealous. I don’t have any tattoos, but something like that wouldn’t be so bad.
Suddenly I want a random tattoo that has zero meaning to me. What am I thinking?
“Told you it was my best work,” Emily teases.
“I don’t agree with that statement, but it’s definitely clever.”
“It’s a metaphor for life,” Fozzie says.
Emily and I both cock our heads and stare at him, silently asking him to explain.
“Life is just a bunch of ups and downs. One day you’re so high you think you’re flying, but even when you fall back down, you know it’ll be okay. If you don’t have a foundation you trust to help you bounce back up from the lows, you’re gonna splat.”
I stare at him for a moment, then I turn slowly to look at Emily. Her eyes are wide in awe. “I did not expect something like that to come out of your mouth,” she says. Then she jumps into his arms and plants her lips on his.
It’s rude to judge the intellect of a person I barely know, but I sure as heck didn’t expect such a thoughtful answer, either. He’s got a point. I’ve been high. This current low has me wondering if I even have a foundation.
Excusing myself, I cut through the line and almost bump into a petite, middle-aged woman wearing a black Drowned World T-shirt and skinny jeans. She’s watching the band interact with fans, with a huge smile, which makes me wonder if she’s waiting for kids to go through the line.
“Great show, wasn’t it?” I ask.
“Oh absolutely! They were magnificent. I’ll never get tired of seeing them live.”
Oh, so maybe she’s a fan. No wonder the happiness radiates from her. Silly of me to think age has anything to do with loving music.
“I believe that. This was my first time and I already want to see another show.”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunities. They’ve got big things coming up. I’m just so proud of them. They’ve worked so hard for this moment.”
“How long have you been a fan?”
“I’ve been the lead singer’s biggest fan for twenty-seven years.” She smiles and leans closer as if informing me of a secret. “He’s my son.”
“Oh! Oh my gosh! That’s awesome.” I place a hand on her forearm. “I imagine you must be so proud.”
“This is the dream he’s worked for his entire life. There’re no words to explain how happy I am for him.”
The excitement she has for her son’s career and accomplishments is beautiful. Though, it makes me feel a bit blue. I don’t remember my parents ever getting that excited over anything I’ve ever done. Supportive, yes. But it’s almost as if every time I reach the next level, it’s expected, rather than something to celebrate. Even before the high wears off, there’s the question, “What’s next?”
“Sounds like you instilled some great work ethic in him,” I say. My parents always love to hear people compliment their parenting, so I figure she probably likes it, too.
“The talent came from his father, but that drive to succeed is all his own. The only thing I tried to do was tell him it’s okay to pursue his passion rather than settle for something he hated doing. Who am I to tell someone what type of life he should lead?”
Austin has the best mom ever. The only thing I’ve ever known is people telling me what kind of life I should lead. What kind of career I should have. What kind of people I should be friends
with and date. I’m not saying I don’t have free will, but I was raised with other people’s expectations of how I should be.
I swallow back emotion. “That’s brilliant parenting. More people should be that accepting.”
“It’s unconditional love, sweetheart. You’ll understand someday.” She pats my hand. “Excuse me, but my brother and nephew are about to leave and I’m going to see if I can scoot them in to see Austin right quick.”
When she’s far enough away, I release a breath. Okay, that was creepy—I had my hand on the poor woman’s arm the entire conversation. Good thing it was quick. She’s probably going to tell Austin about the creepy fan. As if I haven’t been awkward enough around him.
He’s just a human. A hot, popular, lusted-after, musician—but still a human. Time to get my head on straight. Because if Emily’s observations are correct, and I am the object of his attention, I don’t want to waste the opportunity. Our connection is too strong—even if it’s purely physical.
* * *
“Thanks for waiting,” I hear at the same time I feel a warm hand on the small of my back. Austin leads me toward the bar. “What are you drinking?”
“Gin and tonic.”
He nods, then leans over and orders a gin and tonic and Jack and Coke from the bartender, then turns his attention back to me.
“What do you do, Liz?” he asks as we wait for our drinks.
It’s so casual, like regular conversation. Which is totally normal any other time, but it surprises me because he just stepped off the stage less than thirty minutes ago, before taking photos and signing autographs for a winding line of adoring fans. I expected questions about himself or the show.
“I’m in my residency. Surgical,” I add. “To be a surgeon.”
“That’s rad.”
“Well, I love it, but I don’t know how rad it is.” I pause, the word “rad” sticks in my throat. I’ve never used it before. “Playing music in front of hundreds of screaming fans seems a whole lot rad-der.” I finish, feeling like an absolute idiot.
If Austin thinks I’m a complete tool, he doesn’t show it. He takes our drinks off the bar and hands me one. “Guess we’re both pretty fucking phenomenal, eh, babe?”
OPEN YOUR HEART: Material Girls 1 Page 3