Here's to Yesterday

by Teagan Hunter

  Maura laughs and moves on. “Sure. What will you guys have? Beer, cheese fries, and wings?”

  “Yeah,” we say at the same time.

  She taps the table twice and backs away.

  As she walks away, Hudson drops his easygoing grin and stares at me. Hard. Like he’s searching for something.

  I shift around nervously under his scrutiny. “Fuckin’ what, dude?”

  “Trying to figure out what the hell happened to your face.”

  Oh, yeah. My black eye. I almost forgot about it again.

  “Tanner,” I mumble.

  “Details. I mean Rae said you got hit, but I want the details. And then I want you to let me know when it is I get to punch Tanner back.”

  I laugh because I know Hudson has been dying to punch Tanner for years, since they hate one another. Tanner hates that Hudson and I are more like brothers than he and I ever will be. And Hudson hates Tanner because, well, Tanner’s a fucking asswipe ninety-nine percent of the time.

  “I love that nothing is private in this group,” I mock.

  “Right? Keeps shit interesting,” he says, like I meant what I said.

  “Anyway, I took Maura to her shitty parents’ shitty dinner last night. Tanner decided to show up, and then he punched me.”

  “Because he knows you love his girl.”

  If it were anyone else sitting across from me, I’d probably puff my chest and deny my feelings because men don’t talk about their feelings or something like that. I’d play it off and move on. But it’s Hudson, and he’s the last person I’d ever do that shit with.

  “Basically.”

  “And you didn’t hit him back because…” Hudson trails off.

  “Because I was knocked flat on my ass? Dude has been hitting the weights or something,” I say, running my fingers lightly over my swollen face.

  It takes Hudson a moment to respond to my smart-ass comment, and when he does, it’s not what I’m expecting to hear.

  “You know it’s okay, right? You loving her is okay. It’s also okay that she loves you.”

  My eyebrows crease and my lips screw up in confusion. “But how? How is any of that okay?”

  Hudson shrugs. “Because love is shit, Tuck. It’s absolute shit. When love hits, it doesn’t fucking care where you are in life. It doesn’t give a shit if you’re in a relationship with someone else or not. Love just knows it needs to be felt, acknowledged. Love just wants to be. And that’s okay. You need to let it. No matter what.”

  I stare blankly at him, still not getting it.

  He huffs. “Remember when I met Rae? I was trying to move into my own place and juggle Joey and the shop and everything else. I wasn’t ready for a relationship. But I got one. Love made me its bitch, and I’m so fucking thankful for it. I needed it. I needed her. Looking back on it, I think she came at the best time. And remember how much she didn’t want children? The other night Joey asked about maybe having a baby in the house someday, and Rae didn’t freak out. She didn’t fucking freak out.”

  He pauses, smiling like the sun just rose for the first time in days.

  “Love is a goddamn miracle worker,” he continues. “And your worst nightmare. But in the end, it’s inevitable, because the instant that little Cupid fucker finds you, you’re done for. It’s not going to be faultless, but it will be yours. So take it for what it is.”

  I nod, understanding him a bit more now. Love doesn’t care. It only wants to happen, and what’s happening with Maura and me can end up being good for both of us. I can’t help the way I feel any more than she can. We need to roll with it and move forward. Everything will fall into place if it’s meant to be.

  “Thanks, man. I have a feeling I may need a few more of these pep talks.”

  “Oh my God. I get into one relationship and suddenly I’m that guy,” he jokes.

  I toss a sugar packet at him. “Shut up, asshat.”

  A runner comes by and drops our beers off real quick. I don’t have time to think about where the hell Maura is before Hudson is back to badgering me.

  “Now tell me about Wednesday.”

  “For the love of—how fast do these two girls relay info to one another?”

  “Fast, man. I’m positive I caught Rae texting Maura when we had make-up sex one time. During it.”

  My mouth drops open in shock. “Seriously?”

  Hudson busts out laughing. “No, you numbnuts. But really, it’s like within hours of the info coming out.”

  I whistle low. “Damn.”

  “Yep,” he says. “So. Wednesday.”

  With a slight cringe, I tell him, “Got an introduction meeting. I’m nervous, but I’m sure it’ll all work out.”

  “You gonna get your lips off my ass and leave this time?”

  I blanch because…what? How does he know?

  Hudson gives a small chuckle. “What? You think I don’t know you stuck around to help me clean up my shit life? I know. And I love and hate you all at the same time for it. But now it’s time for you to move on. Or else, fucker.”

  I can’t help but laugh at the “or else” part. I meet his stare and say, “I see you.”

  “I see you, too.”

  “You sure you don’t mind if I take off?” Hudson asks.

  Rae called to tell him Joey was out for the night, and well, when your eight-year-old kid is asleep for the night, you fuckin’ take advantage of it.

  “Nah. Have fun,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

  He narrows his eyes. “Want that other eye to match?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “It’s cute that you think that, Tuck,” he says, clapping me on the back as he throws down cash and heads toward the door.

  I shake my head as my best friend goes off to get him a little action.

  After about another ten minutes of sitting around and not seeing Maura, I figure it’s time to head out before I start looking desperate. Or more desperate. Whatever.

  As I’m about to push open the final door, a small voice speaks up from beside me.

  “Did you think you could sneak off without saying goodbye?”

  “I was hoping not to.” I grin and then press my luck for the night. “Think I could maybe snag a goodbye kiss?”

  She takes a moment before answering. “Only because we’re kissing friends.”

  That’s all it takes. I spin toward Maura and grasp her small face between my hands, tilting it up toward mine. A soft moan leaves her lips as I crash mine to hers. They’re so soft, like satin, and they taste like heaven. There’s no other way to describe how much I love kissing her. It’s euphoric and mesmerizing and addictive. Everything.

  Kissing her is everything.

  A touch to the lips is all it takes, and then our tongues are meeting in a slow, sensual duel. All we do is hold on to one another and kiss. No groping or pulling at one another’s clothes. Nothing. Simply kissing.

  But that doesn’t mean I don’t want more, because I do. I don’t want to get too carried away, since we are technically still in her place of work, and she is still on the clock. I think.

  “Wow,” she says breathlessly as I pull back from the kiss.

  “You off already?”

  She shrugs. “Do you want me to be off?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love that that’s a question, but yes, I am off.”

  My heart leaps into my throat, and my mouth goes dry, because I’m suddenly nervous. Do I ask her to stay the night again? Is that moving too fast? Friends stay over at each other’s houses, right? Maybe as middle schoolers, you idiot. Maybe I should ask her to come hang out. Is that creepy? Too high school? Why am I thinking about this so much?

  “I can tell you’re struggling. Yes, Tuck. I’d love to hang out with you.”

  I expel a relieved breath. “Cool.”

  Cool? Are you fucking thirteen again, jackass?

  She gives me a teasing smile and says, “Cool.”

  I step back and hold my hand out
to her. She takes it, and all those nerves I was feeling evaporate immediately because being with her does that.

  Everything with Maura is invariably right.

  To say I’m edgy would be an understatement.

  I’m sweating like a damn football player during two-a-days, and my stomach feels like I ate week-old Chinese food. If I feel all this by sitting in the waiting area for a pre-meeting, I have no idea what I’m going to feel like if I start signing papers.

  I’m sitting at a fucking record label, about to have a meeting with an actual representative. Holy. Shit.

  I take in the swanky lobby. It’s large and made up of nothing but windows on one wall. The furniture is modern and sleek, and there are trendy-looking canvases strategically nailed to the wall. And there’s the obligatory overly cheerful receptionist who’s now offered us something to drink three times.

  Maura reaches her small hand over and presses down on my jiggling leg. “Stop it,” she says softly in that sweet voice of hers. “You’re starting to make me nervous.”

  “You can’t be nervous,” I whine. “You’re my manager. Managers don’t get nervous.”

  “You ready to start paying me yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well then I guess I don’t have to act like a manager yet,” she declares.

  I sit forward and pull my wallet out. Grabbing the first bill I can find, I toss it onto her lap. “There’s your first payment. Now stop being nervous. Managers don’t get nervous.”

  The beautiful blonde girl next to me lets out a happy, boisterous laugh, causing the receptionist to jump at the sudden sound.

  “You’re something else,” she mumbles under her breath.

  She may claim she’s nervous, but she doesn’t look it in the least. She’s wearing tight white pants, a white top, and one of those blazer things you always see the girls in fashion magazines wearing these days. Other than them, she’s the only one I know who can pull off the outfit she’s got going on. Maura’s classy and sexy and smart. All in one.

  It’s been three days since Maura and Tanner broke up. It’s been three days since we had our come-to-Jesus talk and decided that we’re in limbo with our relationship, and that’s where we’re going to stay until we can both do something for ourselves for once. As far as I know, Maura hasn’t talked with Tanner. And I know that I sure as hell haven’t. Not that we talked much before, but still, not a single peep out of him.

  From what I can tell, she’s taking the break-up fairly well. And since lying isn’t my thing, I have to admit that it makes me damn happy she isn’t wallowing around. I feel like this gives me a chance a lot faster than I expected one. We’ve spent the last three days playing it cool. We’ve talked and texted and hung out.

  And we’ve kissed. Oh God have we kissed. And I’ve loved every moment of it.

  I know this seems silly and juvenile, but as much as I love kissing Maura, I want more. Not only physically—I’m not a jackass—but emotionally. I want to know she’s mine, and I want her to know I’m hers. Because let’s be honest here; while I do think we both need to do something for ourselves for a change, I don’t think a relationship between us should depend on it. At least not for me. But maybe it does for her, so we’re gonna do it.

  No, not do it. Shit. Now I’m thinking it. And Maura. Doing it with Maura. Fuck! Stop it, Fucker!

  “Mr. Bentley, Ms. Doughers, Mr. Darren will see you now,” the red-haired receptionist says, coming around her desk and saving me from getting a woody before my meeting. “This way.”

  I give Maura an apprehensive glance as we stand up. She reaches over and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. Her simple act does wonders to alleviate the weight pressing down on my chest.

  Happy Receptionist Lady, whose name I can’t remember, walks us about four feet to the ginormous wooden doors. We go through another set of doors and then come to a stop in front of yet another large pair of doors. Our guide taps lightly on the door three times, and we hear a faint answer.

  I steal one last glance at Maura as the doors are pushed open. She’s watching me, telling me with her eyes it’s all going to be okay.

  With her by my side, I believe it will be.

  Darren’s office is huge. Like way too fucking big for what he does. Much like the waiting area, it’s filled with windows, but this time they take up three walls instead of one. And everything seems expensive. The leather chairs, the desk, the gigantic bookcases. All of it. As nice as it all is, none of it matches. It makes the place appear cheap.

  “Thanks, Heather.” Ah, Heather. That was it.

  Darren gets up and extends his hand toward us. I shake it. “Tucker, great to see you again. Ah, and Ms. Doughers, a pleasure,” he says, his eyes bouncing from Maura’s face to her chest.

  I suddenly want to punch this asshole.

  But my girl can take care of herself, because as she shakes Darren’s hand, she presses her fingernail into his wrist hard enough for him to wince. “Hi,” she says curtly.

  Darren gets the message and steps away, focusing all his attention on me.

  “Please, have a seat.” He waves toward the leather chairs as he walks back around his desk. “I’m gonna be straight with you here, Tucker. We want you. We think you have tremendous promise and want to work with you. Your sound is raw and unique, and I think we could sell your whole image. You’ve got the tortured singer-songwriter thing going on, and the ladies are going to eat it up.”

  I catch Maura shift around out of the corner of my eye at the mention of other women. I automatically want to turn toward her and reassure her, but for now she’s supposed to be my manager, not my…whatever she is.

  “Here’s the thing, Mr. Darren,” I start.

  “Just Daren,” he interrupts.

  I exchange a humor-filled glance with Maura because I’m not one hundred percent sure if he wants me to call him “Daren” as in his first name or “Darren” as in his last name. I guess it doesn’t matter since they both sound the same.

  “Daren,” I amend. “I want to record. I want to play music for a living. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember. But what I don’t want is the ‘hot guy’ routine. I want to sell the music, not myself.”

  “Oh, of course, of course,” he backpedals. “That’s what we want. We want to focus on the music. I mean photoshoots, music videos, interviews and meeting with fans are all inevitable…”

  I press my lips into a firm line. “Sure,” I say tersely.

  It’s not that I didn’t know those were all part of the music industry, but Daren’s making it seem like they are the music industry. I’m starting to get this icky feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Ms. Doughers, you’re his manager. How does this all sound so far?”

  Maura peeks over at me and then back at Daren. “Music is the focus. That’s what we want. That’s all we want.”

  “Great. Glad we agree there,” Daren says in a voice that rings with false cheer. “How about we take a tour, huh? You can see what the building has to offer, maybe get a feel for the place.”

  We follow him back toward the main office. We step into the elevator, and Daren starts giving the spiel. Maura, doing a damn fine job of acting like my manager, starts asking all kinds of questions. I honestly only listen to part of it—something about in-house studios and shit—because I don’t like this. I thought it would feel different, but so far it all feels…fake. I was hoping I’d have this big moment like in the movies. You know, that one where the lonely street musician walks into the fancy record label, falls in love with everything and everyone, and then becomes a giant rock star.

  But I guess I always forget about the scene toward the end where he realizes he’s not doing the right thing, where it dawns on him that he’s too good for those record label people.

  I have a feeling that this may be a case of the latter.

  The elevator dings, and I shuffle my feet along to follow Daren down a darkened hallway. There are several rooms with
multi-colored doors, where I assume all the magic happens. I want to peer inside them, see for my own eyes what style of music is being made, but I refrain.

  Daren turns toward us when we stop at a door near the end of the hallway. “I’m going to make sure we won’t be interrupting anything. One moment.”

  And then he disappears.

  “Well?” Maura asks when the door shuts.

  I lean up against the wall, and she does the same across from me. I stare at my feet, unsure how to answer her without sounding like a complete dumbass.

  “Tuck?” she prods when I don’t answer.

  Shrugging, I look back up and stare at the wall next to her beautiful, blonde head, so I don’t have to stare her in the eyes when I admit defeat. “It’s not feeling good.”

  She lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank God,” she mutters. Pushing off the wall, she walks the few steps over to me and lowers her voice. “I thought I was the only one not feeling it. I don’t think you fit in here.”

  “I’ve been trying to wrack my brain and figure out what exactly it was that wasn’t feeling right, but that’s it. It doesn’t feel like me or my style. It feels…”

  “Fake,” she supplies.

  The door clicks, and we straighten up as Daren pops his head back out. “You ready?”

  Maura and I exchange a glance. She tips her head forward, letting me be the first to make the move. I hesitate, not sure if I want to continue. Finally, I take a step toward the open door because my curiosity doesn’t know when to quit.

  No one acknowledges us as we step into a small dark space filled with soundboards, desk chairs, guitars, and people. Through the huge glass (or is that plastic?) window is Jackson Jones, the singer-songwriter who’s currently topping the charts and making girls lose their panties all over the world. I look over at Maura to gauge her reaction to him. She’s watching him like he’s a normal guy and not a huge rock star. Thank God. Then again, he is dressed similarly to me in an unbuttoned black dress shirt, jeans, and boots. I know for a fact his stage appearance is a lot different.

  He’s hunched over an acoustic guitar, appearing to be into the song, but when he slowly leans back up, opening up his eyes, I can see it. They’re empty. He doesn’t feel the lyrics. He’s not pouring his heart and soul into it. It’s not something that can be easily spotted by fans or people outside the music, but to me it’s so obvious. And all it does is raise my already too-high red flags.