by the number of couples groping and grinding—to fuck.
My music’s always been for me, first and foremost. As a kid, it was a way for me to escape my shitty life. I could shut myself in a room, a closet, a shed, and play.
I soaked up everything I could from the internet, music class at school, hundreds of albums I borrowed and stole. Later, I got a chance to play as part of a community outreach program with Wicked. Real instruments, real musicians, real everything.
That changed my life. I realized music could be not only my escape but my salvation, my future…
And the pieces started clicking into place.
It’s why I’m so hellbent on being a session musician after graduation. I want security, reliability, to know that I never have to depend on another person who’ll let me down.
Tonight, I’ve resigned myself to another hour of playing covers with Brandon’s band for a numb crowd.
At least until a whisper drags down my spine and makes me look up, tossing my hair out of my face.
Annie Jamieson is hovering by the window.
In a room full of drunks, those clear amber eyes are a beacon, a reminder of everything beyond these four walls.
A group of girls standing in front of her moves, and I fucking miss a chord.
She’s wearing a black dress that should be illegal, but it’s not only the clothes, but the fire in her eyes, the straightness in her spine, that makes her look like a college freshman, not a high school junior.
You came, I mouth, sure she won’t be able to read my lips.
But she lifts a shoulder, her mouth curving. Don’t get too excited, she mouths back.
Mistakes love company. They travel in packs, like the shallow girls that prowl the halls at Oakwood.
My first was inviting her here, so while I’m at it, I throw in a second for good measure.
I play for her, adding some extra flourishes, a solo that has Brandon’s jaw on the floor.
“Name one other place you can become a god by falling on your knees.”
I’m not a god but a demon, my hands flying over the strings as I finish, holding the last note for extra reverb, a little vintage flair that would’ve made Hendrix grin.
But when I look up, I have to search for her.
I finally spot her in the corner, talking to a built, clean-cut guy.
My good mood dies.
Fuck no. I didn’t bring her here to get hit on by some keg-standing bro.
Half my mind’s on them through the rest of our songs, and at the end of our set, I shove my guitar into its case.
Before I can push through the crowd, Trisha’s at my arm. “Didn’t realize you were babysitting tonight,” she says, cutting a glance toward the corner.
“It’s not like that.” But I crane my neck, trying to keep my eyes on Annie.
Trisha slides a stack of bills into my pocket. “Maybe you should take some of that judgment you like to level at the world and turn it back on yourself.”
I brush past her to where Annie’s standing next to Frat Boy.
Sure enough, he’s grinning at her like she’s sex and chocolate all wrapped up in a single package.
Annie’s gaze lights on me, and her smile dims a few watts at whatever’s on my face. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I slide a hand around Annie’s waist, brushing her hip with my fingers as I bend toward her ear. “We’re going.”
Frat Boy’s face falls, and I memorize the moment he realizes she’s not his.
Still, the regret in Annie’s voice as she says goodbye annoys me all the way out the front door and down the steps.
“Why were you being a dick to that guy?” she demands once we’re on the sidewalk. Drunk people stumble past us, laughing and carefree.
“Because he was working to get in your pants.”
She cocks her head. “Then he didn’t need to work so hard. I’m wearing a skirt.”
I’m seconds from ripping into her with some uptight tirade about college guys only wanting one thing, but my phone rings before I can.
The number has me stopping in my tracks. I let it ring, and when the phone goes silent, the world suddenly feels too still.
“It’s your dad, isn’t it?” Her voice fills the night air around us.
I haven’t talk about it with anyone because if I don’t say it out loud, it doesn’t matter so much.
“No,” I hear myself say. “He was my father but not anymore.”
I rub a hand over my jaw, the stubble I didn’t have