In the Air (The City #1)

by Serowka, Crystal

  Kingsley responded by laughing. Her outburst answered my question.

  "Samson came to the coffee shop I was at. We talked for awhile."

  "That's nice," she stated, completely uninterested.

  "I'm going to see a band tonight and he may come. It should be fun. Do you want to join?"

  "Go with you on a date? Like, be a third wheel? Absolutely not," Kingsley answered.

  "Not with us. He may or may not come. I was originally going by myself."

  "What's going on with you two?" Kingsley asked suspiciously.

  "Nothing," I lied, "we're dance partners and friends." I might have feelings for him, but it doesn't matter because we're only friends.

  "Don't lie to me, Natalia," she glared at me from her bed.

  "Fine." Geez, how does everyone know when I lie? "The first night here, I wasn't able to sleep, so I went to the rehearsal space to dance. I guess Samson had the same idea. To make a long story short, we almost kissed. Well, we did kiss. Sort of. As soon as his lips left mine, he practically ran out the room." My cheeks began to heat.

  "I knew there was something going on with you two. Do you like him?"

  Now she was interested. I had only known him for a short time, but I thought about him constantly. No, he's my friend. That's it.

  "We're friends," I confirmed. I did like him, but it was too soon to admit that to anyone. Now that any sort of romance was off the table, I didn't allow myself to think of the possibilities. Changing the subject, I said, "Just come out with me. It will be loads of fun."

  She gave me a look like she was actually considering it. "I had plans tonight, but since it's going to be loads of fun, I guess I could cancel." She got out of bed and walked to her closet. "You need to look hot tonight. Take off the damn tights. Time to actually show some bare skin."

  I was happy that Kingsley had agreed to come tonight. I definitely needed a wing-woman and my guess was that she would make a perfect one.

  She held out a super short black dress.

  "You're joking, right? That's not my style at all." My head shook in disapproval.

  Next, she grabbed a hot-pink mini skirt and held it out. Everything this girl owned was either hot pink, leopard print, or leather.

  "I think I'll pass on that one, too."

  She huffed. "Fine. Dress yourself, but remember that guys love to see skin." I considered Kingsley's advice. The thought of Samson thinking I looked good was tempting. I walked to my closet and began rifling through my clothing.

  An hour later, I was dressed in black, high-waisted shorts, a Hall & Oates top that I had cut-up, and my combat boots. I even took Kingsley's advice and skipped the tights.

  I looked over at Kingsley and my jaw dropped. "You're going to get us arrested."

  She was dressed in a red leather mini dress and six-inch, black high-heeled booties. She looked like a prostitute. "I've always said that if you've got it, flaunt it. This body," she ran her hands up and down her waist, "belongs on a poster."

  "I guess we don't ever need to work on your self-confidence," I said as I grabbed my clutch and we headed out the door.

  Tonight, I was probably going to be bailing Kingsley out of jail, but I hoped I would at least get to enjoy some live music first.

  The hours I spent in the cafe with Natalia were the best I had in a long time. Whenever she laughed, she lost all inhibition, and in those moments, she was especially beautiful.

  Not wanting the blissful afternoon to end, I canceled on Aubrey. Things had changed so drastically between us that spending an evening with her and her family would mean I'd be rolling my eyes and checking my watch every five minutes.

  When Aubrey and I started dating in the eighth grade, her father, Benjamin, was ecstatic that she was going out with a boy whose family was just as comparable to them in wealth and status.

  As Aubrey and I got older, Benjamin's opinion of me changed. The more serious I became with dance, the more respect he lost for me. I wasn't a "normal" boy playing "normal" sports. When he heard the news that I'd be attending Juilliard and leaving Connecticut, he'd told me a starving artist didn't deserve to date his daughter. Since then, he's been trying to end our relationship. When I'd bring it up to Aubrey, explaining how her father was trying to break us up, she didn't believe her father would ever do such a thing.

  Taking a deep breath, I dug my phone out and dialed Aubrey's number, preparing myself for the monsoon that was about to ensue.

  "Hello?" Aubrey answered, lively.

  "Hi, Aubs. I've got some bad news." I could feel her chipper mood diminish.

  "Don't even tell me you're canceling on me tonight, Samson. Just don't."

  "I'm canceling on you tonight," I stated. I couldn't stomach the thought of spending the next five hours in a room full of stuffy, rich people who only wanted to discuss how much money they had.

  "You're an asshole. If you really didn't want to come, you should have told me earlier this week. Daddy bought us seats already. Do you realize how bad that makes you look?"

  "Aubrey, your dad hates me. He'll be ecstatic when he finds out that I'm not coming."

  "Stop talking like that. He doesn't hate you–he could never hate the man I love." As they say, ignorance is bliss.

  "Whatever you say. Look, I just have a lot of work to do and I don't have enough time to do it. I need to get going." It made me sick to lie, but I needed to spend more time with Natalia and I had to figure out the reason for that.

  "You're really causing problems for us, Samson." She felt the need to continuously remind me that I was the one screwing everything up.

  Before our problems started, she and I had always been joined at the hip. Besides my dance teacher, Aubrey and my mother were the only people in my life who supported me, but within the last year, something changed. Aubrey's compassion and easy-going attitude were replaced by acidity and coldness. She became closed off and unwilling to support my dreams. Aubrey was all that I'd ever known. I never questioned my relationship until I moved away. I realized that being in New York was exactly what I needed. With the distance between us, I was finally able to see that I deserved better.

  "Aubs, what's happened to you? I barely recognize you anymore."

  "I chose to grow up, Samson. I gave up the juvenile idea of becoming a photographer and decided to actually do something with my life." Her voice began to shake, suggesting she was on the edge of tears. As much as she bashed her old self, I knew deep down, she missed that girl just as much as I did.

  "You used to love that juvenile idea." I recalled a memory of the time that Aubrey and I went to Niagara Falls. We spent three days laughing, and taking pictures of everything in sight. We were blissfully content in each other's company. I was glad we had those pictures to remind us that there used to be good times.

  Aubrey began sniffling into the phone. She was crying and I felt awful for being the one that caused her tears.

  "I wish we could find our way back to how things used to be, Aubrey. I'm trying, but I feel like I'm failing every minute of the day."

  "I have to go. I have to get ready, and explain to my family why you won't be there."

  I could hear the pain in her voice, but I was tired of arguing with her and I knew the battle inside of her was waning. Our love for each other seemed as if it had slammed into a brick wall, ultimately leaving our relationship in shambles.

  "Since I'll still be in town tomorrow morning, we should meet for coffee and discuss our relationship."

  "I think that's a good idea. We need to figure some things out," I said. I looked at my watch and noticed that it was already 8 P.M. Remembering that Natalia said she would be at the venue early, I wrapped up my phone call. "Have fun tonight, Aubrey." I hung up the phone, aware that neither of us said the words 'I love you.' We hadn't exchanged those words in weeks. My relationship was on thin ice and I didn't know if I wanted to save it. Two years ago, I would have done anything to salvage it, but now, I questioned if it was worth it at all.
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  I hurried back to my dorm and my roommate, Myers was sitting at his desk, working on his computer. "Hey, Myers. Crazy seeing you here."

  Since I'd moved in, he'd been like a ghost, disappearing every time I came appeared. Myers' side of the room was bare, with only his bedding and books out on display. Since he was never there, we'd never had a chance to really talk. It was weird rooming with someone I didn't know a thing about aside from his first and last name.

  Myers didn't look like an eighteen year old. This guy looked like he was at least thirty. I was almost positive he somehow cheated the system and lied about his age. The first thing I noticed about him was his beard. In Connecticut, everyone was always clean-shaven. Here in New York, in the course of a block, you'd count at least ten guys with extreme beards. Myers black hair was styled like Fonzie, and he had a ton of tattoos: a huge black and white koi fish on his lower left arm, and his entire right arm was covered in ink. On one calf, he had a ship, and on the other, a lighthouse. I'm sure there were more. As Wren informed me, once you get one, it's hard to stop. The only thing I really knew about Myers was that he was here for music, majoring in the upright bass. If he didn't seem like such a reclusive person, I might have tried to get to know him better. I had a feeling he was just as pissed as I was when finding out it was a requirement to live in the dorms your first year.

  "Yeah, I was just heading out actually. I've got a thing." Myers response was lacking, almost like he was hiding something.

  "I was just getting changed and heading to Mercury Lounge. If you want to come, I'm –"

  He cut me off before I could finish with my invitation. "No, thanks." He grabbed his bag from the ground and walked to the door. "Have a good one," he said, closing the door on his way out.

  I was left wondering what kind of weirdo I was stuck living with. I quickly threw on a pair of jeans, a button up, tie, and a cardigan. I didn't know what type of place I was going to, but I was sure what I had picked to wear was fine. As I walked outside to catch a cab, I realized that I'd be meeting Natalia there alone. This would definitely look like we were on a date. We agreed to be friends. To avoid any confusion, I called Wren to see if he wanted to join me. It seemed like his sort of thing: bar, loud music, riled crowd.

  "Samson, what's going on, dude?"

  A cab pulled up to the curb. I climbed inside and told the driver where to go.

  "I'm heading to Mercury Lounge, actually. Going to check out some band." I forgot the name of the band we were seeing tonight...something about roadkill.

  "You are going to Mercury Lounge? Sam, that doesn't really seem like the type of place you'd go. Are you wearing a tie?" Wren's incredulous tone came through loud and clear. How'd he know I was wearing a tie?

  "Don't worry about what I'm wearing, asshole. Do you want to come or not?"

  "As much as I would love to come and see everyone's reaction to your dapper outfit, I can't."

  "That's right. You've got that gynecologist appointment in the morning," I jabbed.

  "Don't worry. I'll be back in time to see you parading around in class."

  I hung up with Wren, amused. I thought about all of the things I'd learned about Natalia that day. The way she described the hospital visits and the waiting she endured while her father was being treated made me want to hold her in my arms. I wanted nothing more than to be the shoulder that she could cry on. I barely knew her, but my gut instinct was to keep all the bad things from her. Going to that cafe was probably the best decision I'd made in a long time.

  When I hopped out of my cab and stood in front of Mercury Lounge, I realized why Wren asked if I was wearing a tie. Most of the people who stood outside wore band T-shirts and tight fitted jeans. I wore tights on a daily basis: there's no way I'd shove my nuts into something that constricting when I didn't have to. Showing the doorman my fake ID, he studied me and allowed me to pass through. $400 well spent.

  The place was tiny. Bumping a few shoulders on my way in, I headed to the bar. I needed a drink before braving the crowd again to find Natalia. After what felt like an hour, I finally reached the bar and ordered a whiskey. The lights above me looked as if they could fall on my head at any moment, so I stepped a few inches to my left, just in case. I turned my head and noticed the venue in the back, but I wasn't able to see anything past the massive beards. This place was where flannel shirts went to die. It smelled like death and sawdust. I was surrounded by people who were completely different from me. The typical crowd I hung out with preferred high-end clubs, their favorites being Lavo and Simyone. Up to this point, I had lived my life in excess. All I wanted now was to live my life normally. I was tired of classifying someone by what kind of car they drove or which neighborhood they lived in. When I was given a new BMW for my sixteenth birthday, my cool points doubled. It was exhausting having to constantly prove myself, when all I cared about now was being one of the best at Juilliard.

  Draining my drink, I slammed it down on the bar just as the band finished their set. The crowd cheered and began clearing away from the stage. I looked to the front and spotted Natalia. Her beauty lit up the entire room. She looked at me, smiled, and I felt my heart beat like a kick drum. Her sun-kissed blonde hair, which was typically in a ponytail, fell past her shoulders, framing her petite features. Her legs were bare, perfectly pale. As I walked toward Natalia, Kingsley came into view and all of my happiness evaporated.

  I was definitely going to be cock-blocked all night.

  "Happy you could make it. I'm sure this isn't your usual crowd." Looking at Samson, it was obvious. He was wearing a tie, for God's sake! And were his jeans creased? As out of place as Samson seemed, I thought he looked great. The guys I had dated typically wore T-shirts and a flannel button-up. I wonder what Samson wears to bed? Does he keep it casual or is he more of a luxury fabric kind of guy? As fast as the thought, I banned it from my mind. Samson and I both agreed to be friends, nothing more. I chuckled quietly. My head had been in disarray all week and I didn't anticipate it clearing up anytime soon.

  "What's so funny?" He gave me a wary look.

  "Nice outfit." Kingsley appeared at my side, observing Samson's outfit.

  They glared at each other in silence. I was about to ask if they were playing the blinking contest when Kingsley spoke.

  "Let me guess, your interview for a yacht salesman didn't go so well, so you're here drowning your sorrows?"

  I didn't understand how Kingsley could criticize anyone's appearance. In the short time Samson and Kingsley had been in the same room together, I could almost feel the negativity oozing from their bodies. I needed to figure out a way to keep them from ripping each other's throats out. Maybe alcohol would do the trick.

  "You two don't even know one another, so quit with the glaring and let's grab some drinks," I demanded.

  Kingsley turned her gaze to me. "I know his type. They're all the same. Pretty, rich boys who think they can snap their fingers and get whatever they want." She turned to Samson and flicked him off before stomping away to the bar. I was almost positive we wouldn't be seeing her for the rest of the night. Maybe I wouldn't have to control two hot-tempered personalities after all.

  "I'm sorry about her," I gave Samson a tight lipped smile. "She flicks me off all of the time, too." I shrugged my shoulders and beamed up at Samson, hoping to ease the tension. "This will be fun," I declared, trying to convince us both.

  "We'll see." His unconvinced tone came across loud and clear.

  As we made our way to the bar, Samson stopped to take his phone from his pocket. "I need to take this, but I'll meet you over there." He held up his index finger and gave a restrained smile. I wonder who that could be.

  I reached the bar to find Kingsley hanging on the arm of a new guy covered in piercings and tattoos. She must go for a certain type. She was laughing wildly, ignoring the glares thrown her way from the other patrons.

  "Hi!" I chimed, bumping Kingsley's shoulder to get her attention. She gave me a wide-eyed stare and then m
otioned her head toward Tattoo Guy. Picking up on her less than subtle hints, I rolled my eyes and turned away.

  I wasn't sure what Samson liked to drink, but I ordered two beers, hoping he would be okay with that. I walked back toward the stage, staying at the back of the crowd, so that Samson could easily find me whenever he returned.

  Just as the band began, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Samson. Something was bugging him.

  "Is everything okay?" I asked nonchalantly.

  "Yes." He looked down at my hands, and smiled. "Everything is good, now." Taking the beer from my left hand, he lifted it in the air to cheers. "To new friends." His eyes went dark as we tapped our bottles together.

  Friends. Each time Samson said that word, it deflated me. The crooked smile returned on his face as he took a drink. Every time the dimple on his right cheek appeared, my stomach dipped, like I had just jumped out of an airplane. The ironic thing about it was that I had no idea how either situation would work out. The fall could either end in joy or destruction.

  The crowd began cheering as the lead singer belted out the first note. It felt incredible being in New York at a club I'd always wanted to go to, though I would never have pictured being here with Samson. Twenty-four hours ago I would have objected to it, but after allowing myself to be vulnerable with him at the cafe and him not freaking out from my outburst, I realized that he was a good guy.

  When his arm brushed against mine, I looked up at Samson, who was already staring down at me. My heart was racing like I'd just downed twenty Red Bulls. In the darkness of the room, his eyes still shined a brilliant blue. There was something so honest about his eyes, I had promised myself earlier that there wouldn't be a second kiss, but now I wanted nothing more than to reach up on the very tips of my toes and kiss him.

  Roadkill Ghost Choir started playing the first note of their song, "Drifter," and I broke my gaze with Samson to look at the stage. I felt like I was on cloud nine. Music had always been important to me. One of my favorite parts of choreographing a routine was picking out the song. My mom always hated the music I picked. She thought that dancers should only perform to classical music.