“It’ll be okay.” I’ve got a to-do list a year long, but these days, I’m in college to learn, not to kill myself over graduating with a golden tassel instead of a blue one.
After Andy and I broke up, I turned back with renewed energy to taking care of Granna, to school and the band. By the time Granna died, I was so tired that for the first time since I was sixteen, I couldn’t muster the energy to care what anybody thought of me.
Giving up was such a relief.
I’m happier now, even though it means choking down my parents’ occasional disapproval and avoiding adding people to my life, since they all come with expectations I can’t live up to. Some nights, though, even suffering through one of my mom’s musicals is easier than facing the emptiness of my own home.
Chapter 9: One of the Guys
“Come on, you were a half-beat behind there, again,” Jax groans at Danny.
I wing a drumstick at Jax and it bounces off his elbow, clattering to the garage floor. “Don’t yell at him! You’re going up an octave when you’re supposed to drop it down, so no wonder we can’t follow.”
“Yeah, because if I don’t, there’s no contrast and the whole song sounds flat.” Jax stomps over to snatch a bottle of water off one of the amps in the corner of our practice space.
I groan. As soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I started wondering when Jacob would come over. That pissed me off so much that I threw on the dorkiest shirt in my closet and called my friends over. I have a life, thank you very much, and I’m not about to mope around waiting on some guy. Except now all Jax wants to do is argue.
“We just went over this in my class last week,” I inform him. “If there’s too much contrast in each verse, the song doesn’t have its own signature. It doesn’t hold steady anywhere long enough to distinguish itself in people’s minds.”
Danny ignores us, shrugging out of his bass and walking over to push up the garage door and let in more air.
“Hey, Jera, do you remember the part where I was performing music before you even applied to your snooty little college?”
“Hey, Jax, do you remember the part where you pulled your head out of your ass, because I was right?”
He snorts. “Okay, but for this song, fuck your fancy degree. Our music is all about contrast.”
“If he wants to try it different, we should try it different.” Danny turns around and I squirm on my stool under the look he hits me with. Maybe I am too hard on Jax.
Danny scoops up my lost drumstick on his way back across the garage and tosses it to me. I catch it, twirl it, then sigh. “Fine. Go as high as you want on the next round. I’ll back the drums off a touch so it doesn’t sound so angry and we’ll see how it goes, okay?” Jax nods, and then a second later he can’t hold it back and he grins. I point my drumstick at him. “Don’t even start. If it doesn’t sound brilliant, we’re back to my way, yes?” I wait for Danny to slip into his bass, and then I rip back into the song.
When we finish, Danny grunts. “That shit was way better.”
“Traitor.”
“Don’t be an asshole, Jimi,” he says, cheating by using my nickname, pulled from the acronym of my name. He knows I can’t be mad at him when he calls me that. “You liked it better, too.”
I sigh. “True.” I peek over at Jax, but he’s fingering silent chords on his guitar, not even looking at me. “Jax, did I die and go to heaven, or does being a year older than me make you so mature you don’t even need an ‘I told you so’?”
“Why do you think Bump In The Night waited until two weeks prior to book us?” he asks without raising his head. “I mean, we sent our demo tape in months ago.”
Danny and I swap a look.
“Another band probably cancelled,” Danny says, voicing the thing we’d agreed not to tell Jax unless strictly necessary.
The singer’s fingers slow and then sag against the frets of his guitar.
“Oh, come on,” I burst out. “You’re seriously going to whine about the fact that we weren’t their first choice? It’s a freaking fantastic opportunity, Jax.”
“I know,” he mumbles.
“What are you going to do?” Danny asks. “Turn it down?”
“No. Hey, no.” Jax blows out a breath. “Sorry. It doesn’t bug you, though?”
“It did at first,” I admit, pushing back the nibble of doubt that wants me to stay up all night practicing. I refuse to get neurotic and ruin all the fun of music again. “But watching you angst is helping immensely.”
He narrows his eyes, pulling a gum wrapper out of his pocket and flicking it at me. “You,” he announces, “are not a good person.”
The wrapper bounces off my chin, and I point my drumstick at him. “Who’s the bad person now? Littering is a federal offense in Oregon, Mister Sterling. If you don’t pick that up, Captain Planet’s going to swoop down and give you a spanking, and I have it on good authority that he uses a salmon.”
Danny snorts. “How can something be a federal offense specifically in Oregon, Jera?”
“Since 1937, when we started developing a system of cooperative federalism,” answers a voice from outside the garage door. “Which provides for the individual implementation of federal statutes on a state by state basis, with allowances made for the concurrent enforcement of local amendments to statute.”
I sit up straighter, my eyes following the voice to a form with broad shoulders and fidgeting hands, backlit in the cloudy sunshine filtering through the haze of this morning’s rainstorm.
“Uh, hi.” Jax rakes his dark blond hair back out of his face, frowning. “Were we playing too loud or something?”
“No!” Jacob and I say at the same time, and then the words all fall apart as we start to talk over each other and he pauses, flushing, and gestures for me to go ahead.
“He’s not a neighbor. This is my friend, Jacob.” I clear my throat. It feels weird to call him that but since he’s here, I guess that’s what he is. “This is Jax, and I guess you already met Danny when you came to board up my window.”
Danny straightens from unplugging his bass, nodding at Jacob. “Hey.”
Jacob returns the nod and then takes Jax’s extended hand, shaking it firmly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your rehearsal.” He looks to me. “Should I come back later? You didn’t tell me what time to come over, so...”
“Now is fine.” I shrug and Jacob’s eyes drop to my shirt, which says, “Como se llama?” with a picture of the farm animal on it. Because nothing says “just friends” like bad llama puns.
It takes a second for Jacob to read the caption, and then all his uncertainty cracks apart into a delighted grin. “Nice.”
I bite the inside of my lip to hold back a smile. “You know, if you don’t want people to know you’re a nerd, you may want to avoid using phrases like ‘cooperative federalism’ and laughing at llama puns.”
He scoffs. “Who doesn’t like llama puns?”
My smile escapes into a full-on grin, but then I remember my band is still here, and I didn’t exactly tell them I was expecting company. “What do you think, guys? Are we done or should we take another run at ‘Broken Sidewalk’?”
Jax shrugs. “I only had time for one more song anyway. I’ve got a session booked with a new personal trainer this afternoon. I should head out.”
“Say it a little louder, Jax. I don’t think the Tri Thetas heard you.”
He smirks. “Oh, I don’t know. They tend to listen mighty carefully when I talk.” I groan and he laughs. “We’re going to practice again tomorrow, right? Gonna have to be after five, because I’m running out of personal days at work.”
“Five-thirty it is.”
“Cool.” Jax gives my ponytail a tug that leaves it crooked, and saunters out. I scowl after him, then glance at Jacob. He stuck his hands in his pockets, and the light from the open door highlights the line of his jaw as he checks out all the band’s equipment. He’s every bit as distractingly handsome as he was in the grocery sto
re, except with my drum kit set up around me and music still pulsing through my veins, I don’t get that stomach-dropping feeling of panic, like he might make me forget everything I am.
Danny snaps his bass guitar case shut and turns to me. “Jera, can I talk to you?”
It takes me a second to pull my eyes back to my friend. “Hmm?”
“Alone?” Danny’s hair is blasted up on the right side as if he fisted a hand in it without thinking. Uh-oh. That’s not a good sign.
Jacob shifts his weight.
“I’ll just be a minute.” I give him the side-eye. “Don’t even think about playing with my drums.”
“No, ma’am.” Jacob gives my kit a covetous look. I snap my teeth playfully in his direction and push up off my stool, taking the side door that leads back into my house.
Danny stalks right on my heels all the way to the kitchen, like he’s riled up about something. There’s only one reason he’d have a problem with Jacob, though, and it’s absurd.
“All right, O’Neil.” I turn and prop both hands on the counter behind me. “Is this the part where, out of jealousy, you confess your deep and undying love for me and promise that you know me better and will therefore treat me better than any other man alive?”
Danny pauses on an indrawn breath, lines of confusion crinkling beside his eyes.
I throw my arms around his neck and pucker up. “Oh, just kiss me already!”
He knocks my arms away. “Jesus, Jera, are you drunk?”
Maybe a little bit. On the rock and roll I love and the reminder that I hang out with lots of pretty boys. The novelty of their looks fades after a while, and with friends, I can be myself because we never get to the stage where I’m guaranteed to disappoint. Jacob doesn’t have to be any different from Jax and Danny, and that realization makes me almost giddy.
“Are you?” I turn to dig in my snack drawer for some jerky. It’s all gone, so I settle for peanut M&Ms, popping a blue one in my mouth and crunching noisily. “What was all that dramatic, ‘I must speak with you’ bullshit? Did you just now remember you let him take off with my hammer or something?”
“Hey,” Danny says, his voice sharp and serious.
I freeze, a red M&M halfway to my mouth, and he takes a step closer.
“You didn’t tell me you were dating the guy who broke your window.” Danny drops his voice. “Look, I don’t care if you two had a fight or something. Any guy who would do that just because he was angry is a piece of shit.”
I guffaw so hard the red M&M pops out of my fingers and rolls across the floor to ping off Danny’s shoe.
His shoulders are clenched tight and ready under his shirt, and when I bend to go after the candy, he actually grabs my arm to stop me. “Jera. I’m going to get rid of him. You should wait in here.”
I throw up my hands. “Oh, for the love of—” I give up on the red M&M and tap the bag on my hand, coming up with a mere yellow. I eat it anyway. “He’s the paperboy, Daniel, and it was an accident. Oldest story in the book. We didn’t even know each other when it happened, and we’re not dating. Christ, have you missed the last year and a half of my super-single life or what?” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s a little concerning that both you and Dad thought I would date the sort of guy who breaks windows on purpose. Apparently, I’m so boring you two feel the need to liven up my reality with a little fantasy.”
The lines in his forehead start to ease as he gauges my expression, evidently comforted by whatever he sees there. I twirl the bag of candy closed and drop it back into the drawer.
“Don’t worry, D. He’s just a friend. No bodyguard duties required.” I pat him on the shoulder and then brush past on the way to the front door.
Jacob’s leaning a shoulder against the outside wall next to the garage, a little stiff like he didn’t know where to wait. I leave the door open for Danny, and it slams behind him as he ducks around me, munching on a handful of M&Ms he stole out of my drawer.
“You working late tonight?” I call after him as he detours to grab his bass from the garage.
“Yeah.” He opens his car door and pauses. “You stopping by? We still have a little of the Tahitian black ink...”
“Don’t save any on account of me. I might come over to the shop and study there for a while, though. Text if you want me to bring dinner.”
“’Kay.” Danny takes another look at Jacob before he slides into his car, freshly-minted caveman instincts apparently satisfied for the moment.
I don’t need to bribe him with pizza—he’ll be over it by the time he hits the end of the block. Still, Danny worried is almost as sweet as it is annoying. I’ll probably bring pizza.
His engine turns over and as the car pulls away, I swivel to face Jacob.
“Everything okay?” He glances toward Danny’s taillights.
“Yup. Apparently, I just needed a minute so my friend could interrogate me about whether or not you and I are in a volatile and potentially abusive relationship.”
His brows rise. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered that he thinks you’re with me or offended that he thinks I’m dangerous.”
“Offended seems safer.” I glance away, shoving away the self-conscious tingle his wording coaxed up out of me. “So. Please tell me you brought your record collection, and it’s extensive enough you need help to carry it inside.”
“You could say that.”
I make a show of fanning myself. “You keep teasing me like this and we’re going to have a volatile and potentially abusive relationship.”
Jacob sweeps a hand toward the curb. “See for yourself. I’m curious to find out what effect my record collection has on the definition of our relationship.”
I shoot him a glance that’s half-warning, half-gauging if he really meant that the way it sounded. But he only smiles innocently, not a blush in sight. So help me, I can’t tell if he’s just that sweet and oblivious or if he’s way more sly than I’m giving him credit for.
I turn back to the street, glancing around for his car. It has got to be some incredible restored something-or-other with a 6-mpg, mega-billion-horsepower engine. That’s what mechanics drive, right? Or maybe a hot motorcycle that will be an excuse for public spooning at some point in our future. The car right in front of the house, though, is a junker that might even be older than Danny’s. Most of it is a rust-flaking brown, except for the passenger door, which is robin’s egg blue. I grin as I cross the lawn toward it. I bet that thing is almost as loud as my VW Bug.
I peek in the window, looking for his records. The backseat is littered with snack food wrappers, random tools, and a milk crate full of textbooks, a whirlwind that’s somehow left the side behind the passenger seat completely untouched. That’s weird.
But then Jacob pops the trunk and when I see three big, beautiful boxes of records, I forget about everything else.
Chapter 10: Ice Cream Sundays
Jacob has been here for hours and we haven’t even gone through a tenth of his collection. We’re just lying on our backs on the carpet next to the turntable, the notes of The Beatles’ Norwegian Wood wafting over us like a dream I wish I could have every night. I’m pretty sure this is the most ideal use of a Sunday ever.
Well, at least the best one that doesn’t also involve bacon.
“I’m in love,” I sigh. “Not just with Paul, God bless his bedroom eyes, and not just with John, who I love strictly for his brain, but—”
“As far as I can tell, you’re deeply in lust with Ringo and you can call it whatever else you want, but I know raging hormones when I see them.”
I laugh, my back bowing up off the ground with the force of it, and Jacob shoots me a sidelong glance.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I choke a little on the words, and the irony. “Inside joke. It’s nothing.”
“Wait, shut up, quick, shut up,” Jacob interrupts. “I love this part.” We both hold a respectful silence for the ending and then he lets out a sigh that’s not too far
off from mine. “Okay, yeah. The Beatles are pretty amazing. They are solidly my third favorite band of all time.”
I roll up onto my elbow. “Third? Third? There are about a trillion yuppie women with Pilates-toned triceps who would be happy to tear you limb from limb for a statement like that.”
Jacob opens one eye. “Should I start running now?”
“Depends. Who’s your second favorite band?”
“You ought to know, considering they’re your ringtone.”
“The Black Keys?” I smile. “I guess it’s a good thing you like the ringtone, since my dad has been calling like a jealous girlfriend all morning. Sorry about that, by the way.”
“It’s no big deal.” He sits up and reaches to swap out the record. “You guys must be close, huh?” His tone is almost wistful. Maybe his father’s a dick, and that’s part of the family drama he was dealing with last year.
“Dad’s the manager for my band. He’s having a micromanagement freakout about this show we have coming up. I swear he’s not usually this clingy.”
I roll onto my back, linking my hands over my belly. How does Dad manage to embarrass me even when he’s not even here? It’s like a superpower.
“No fair changing the subject,” I say. “I’m dying to know what band could possibly top The Black Keys and The Beatles.”
“The non-negotiable kind.” Jacob reclaims his spot on the carpet beside me. Just then, “Something” starts to play, and he smiles and shakes his head. “Of course this song would come on right now.”
“Okay, a non-negotiable band that attracts you like no other has before?” I paraphrase the lyrics, and movement flashes in my peripheral vision as he looks over at me.
“Something like that,” he says.
I rub one bare foot over the other, running options through my head. “My previous forecast was Radiohead with a chance of Mumford and Sons, but now I’m thinking...it’s Taylor Swift, isn’t it? I’ll hand it to you. Girl has gorgeous hair.”
A Cruel Kind of Beautiful (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Series Book 1) Page 7