The Next Book

The following excerpt is from my next book, tentatively titled Love and a (Horror) Movie. It is the sequel to Fear and Laundry and takes place two months after the end of that book. As such, the excerpt may contain “spoilers.” Just sayin’.

Enjoy!

[Chapter One]

“C’mon, Nic,” grumbled Jake, “quit stalling.”

“I’m not.”

“Really. You’ve been messing with my hair for the last five minutes.”

I’d been combing my fingers through his straight, rust-colored hair, trying to tame it a little. At first he’d cooperated, bending his head to let me, but now he straightened his neck and tried to move out of my range.

“Yeah, and it’s still a mess,” I informed him, reaching up to continue combing.

“Nothing new there,” he countered, dodging me again.

That was true enough. In all the years I’d known him, Jake had never seemed to care too much about the way his hair looked. When it’d been shorter, it’d tended to stick up; now that he’d been growing it out, it just tended to get tangled.

“And it’s never seemed to bother you before,” he added with a crooked smile.

Also true. I always thought he looked great, no matter what. I’d really only been messing with it now because I was nervous and, like he’d said, trying to stall. But it was clear the clock had run out. Time to face the music. I smiled weakly at him, ran my fingers through his hair one last time, and let my hand drop into my lap.

“Satisfied?” He asked, tossing his head back. His bangs immediately slipped back down over his eye.

“For now,” I acceded.

“Good. Now can we get down to business, or what?”

We were sitting on a folded blanket in the back of his van. He’d left his keys in the ignition and the interior lights on so we could see one another. I studied him in the dim glow from the overhead bulb. He scooted closer and looked back at me in this sort of expectant way that made my heart jump.

“I don’t know,” I said, kneading one hand with the other. “Maybe we ought to just wait.”

“Why?”
                I shrugged and shook my head. “I don’t know. Just ‘cause.”

“What’s wrong? You scared or something?”

“No.”

He ran his hand along my arm. “You’re trembling.”

“It’s cold in here. Can’t you turn on the engine? So we can run the heat?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up.” He put his arm around me. I felt myself stiffen. He narrowed his eyes, nudged me gently. “You sure you’re not scared? You look kinda pale.”

“I’m not scared,” I insisted. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I guess this just isn’t quite what I was expecting.”

“I said I wanted to give you something before the show, didn’t I?” We were parked behind the club where Jake’s band, Good Television, was scheduled to go on stage soon.

“Yeah, I know, but…this is what you meant?”

“Yeah.” He took his arm from around me, rubbed his jaw. “Why? What’d you think I meant?”

“Never mind,” I murmured.

He paused and we sat in silence for a second. Then he reached for my hand. When I hid it under my leg, his expression darkened. I could tell he was losing patience with me. “C’mon,” he said. “It’s not like it’s going to bite.”

“I just think it’s a little soon for this,” I admitted.

His forehead creased in confusion. “What’re you talking about? Too soon for what?”

“For that!”

He looked where I pointed - at the small, hinged box resting on his palm. He ran the tip of his finger over its rounded, dark velvet top. “But you don’t even know what’s in here.”

He was right, I didn’t; but I could take a pretty good guess. I mean, what else could possibly be in a box that looked like that? It had to be jewelry, right? But it was the wrong shape and size to hold a bracelet. And Jake didn’t really strike me as the type to give earrings or a pin. So…that meant it was probably a ring.

I plucked anxiously at the blanket beneath me, warily eyeing the box. “What is it?”

“I already told you. Just a little anniversary present. Nothing big.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t even know we were doing presents,” I said, my voice squeaking. “I thought we’d agreed to just go see Evil Dead II tomorrow night to celebrate? I mean, it’s only a two-month anniversary!”

He curled his fingers up around the box, cradling it defensively. He lifted his chin. “So you’re saying you don’t want my present?” When I didn’t answer, he tilted the box from side to side. “Going once, going twice.” I still didn’t say anything. He sighed and leaned back, moving as if to slip the box into his jeans pocket.

Just before it disappeared, I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait. Can’t you just tell me what’s inside?”
                “No.” His lips twisted into a little scowl, but his eyes seemed to laugh at me. “What fun would that be?”

I let my hand slip off his arm and sat back, dropping my shoulders.

He chuckled softly at my defeated posture. “Seriously, what’re you so afraid of? It’s not like it’s a ring or anything.” I looked up at him. My relieved expression must’ve given me away because he got serious, swallowed, and said, “Oh. Is that really what you thought-?”

“No.’Course not.” I reached over and plucked the box from his fingers. I thumbed the lid back and stared inside. Jake bent his leg. He rested his elbow on his knee and watched me, waiting for my reaction. I frowned. “What is it?” I asked again, because even with the box open, I still didn’t quite understand what he’d given me. As I’d expected, there was a velvet pillow inside, with a furrow in the center where a piece of jewelry would normally be nestled. But instead of earrings or whatever, there was just what looked like a slip of plastic wedged deeply inside.

“Well, take it out,” he prompted.

I used my fingernails to pick at the plastic chip. It was really lodged in there and only came halfway out. Still, I could see what it was.

“Oh. A guitar pick,” I said. Jake played lead guitar in Good Television, so this sort of made sense.

Sort of.

I smiled uncertainly at him. “Um, thanks, Jake.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head softly. “Take it all the way out, Nic.”

Frowning, I turned my attention back to the box, digging harder at the pick. When it finally popped free, I saw there was a chain attached to it. It was all wrapped up in a little ball, jamming the pick snugly in the box. “A necklace?” I said, unwinding the chain from beneath the small square of velvet.

“See? Told you it wasn’t anything big. Although the chain is genuine sterling silver,” he deadpanned.

I set the box aside and held the necklace up, letting it dangle from my shaking fingers. I cupped the pick in my hand and took a good look at it. It was black, and undeniably from Jake’s personal supply. It even looked a little scuffed, like it’d been used.

“That’s, uh, one of the picks I used at Lynch’s final show,” he said. “The night we got together,” he added. As if I needed to be reminded. It was probably only the best night of my life so far.

My chin trembled. “You kept this?”

“There were two of them,” he shrugged. “Other one’s in my wallet. Took this one to a jeweler; got him to drill a hole in it and put a ring on it for me so I could thread it on the chain for you. You like it?”

I squeezed the guitar pick in my fist. “Jake,” I breathed, “It’s…I love it. Thank you so much.”

He nodded like that’s just what he’d expected me to say. “Check out the back,” he directed, pointing.

I turned the pick over. There was a J, a V and an M stamped in silver block letters on the other side.

“Since, you know, both our last names start with an M. Hey, are you crying?”

“No,” I said, blinking. “Would you help me with this?” My hand shook as I held the necklace out to him. He obliged, sweeping my hair out of his way first. When he’d fastened the clasp, he brushed his lips against my neck. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and his scruffy cheek grazed my skin, raising goose bumps.

“I know we hadn’t talked about presents,” he said softly. “I just wanted to…”

I turned and interrupted him with a kiss. He was more than ready to return it. He put his arms firmly around me and lay back, pulling me down onto the blanket with him.

“Thank you,” I said, touching his face as we lay side by side.

“Sure,” he whispered. Then he rolled over on top of me. I closed my eyes and buried my fingers in his hair again, tightening my grip and sighing as his lips found my earlobe.

***

Jake and I kissed and kissed until I lost track of how long we might’ve been at it. He’d just slipped his hand inside my shirt when someone knocked on the back of the van. He momentarily stilled, lifting his head only briefly before reburying it against my neck.

“Aren’t you going to go see who it is?” I murmured.

He shook his head and his stubble grazed me again, making me shiver. “Screw that.” His voice was muffled. “Whoever it is, they can wait.”

“Mmm,” I moaned as his hand found its intended target.

My pulse picked up just as there was another series of quicker, more insistent knocks on the van, followed by a funny little tapping. “Jake! C’mon, man, open up!” I recognized the voice calling through the door. It was Jake’s housemate and bassist, Caleb Mendez. I glanced at my watch. With almost an hour to go before the band needed to hit the stage, I guessed Caleb wouldn’t be interrupting us unless he needed Jake for something important. When I mentioned this, Jake froze again. Then he sighed and rolled off me. He lay on his back and glared at the ceiling.

“Sorry about this, Nic,” he said glumly.

“It’s okay,” I said and sat up next to him. “Just comes with the territory, I guess.”

His forehead wrinkled. “What territory?”

“You know. Dating a rock star.”

His mouth lifted at one corner. “Oh, right.” Good Television was local and unsigned. But in our smallish hometown of Carreen, Texas, Jake was something of a minor celebrity. The way people reacted to him when we were out in public sometimes, he may as well have been Elvis. Guys were always trying to shake his hand and talk to him. Girls were always following him around, trying to hang all over him. Not that I could blame any of them. While he might not have been exactly outgoing, Jake was so pleasant to anyone that approached him, it was hard not to like him. And although his blue-gray eyes looked perpetually tired, and his nose was arguably too big, he had the cutest lips on Earth. And the most adorable crooked grin. And the sexiest deep voice.

And he looked really, really good without his shirt on.

“What?” He asked, touching my arm, “What’re you looking at?” He chuckled and I realized I’d been staring at him, probably with little red hearts flashing in my eyes.

“Nothing,” I said, blushing.

The van doors rattled with the force of Caleb’s pounding on them. Jake ran his hand over his face and groaned. I scratched his chest playfully, feeling his lean muscles through his rumpled t-shirt.

“Go see what he wants before he has a conniption,” I prompted as he sat up. “And don’t look so gloomy,” I added, “We can just pick up where we left off next time.”

“Next time?” His mouth drew down. “When’s that gonna be?”

“Well I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow? After the movie?”

“Your mom’s never going to let you stay out that late.”

“It’s the weekend.”

“Still. You’re probably pushing it already, just by asking to go to a midnight show.”

“It won’t hurt to ask her,” I said, fingering the chain at my throat. “She likes you. She’ll probably say yes.” I started to move away from him but he caught me around the waist and pulled me close.

“Hey wait a second. Just so we’re clear. Where’d you say we were picking up nexttime?” He walked his fingers inside my shirt and picked at the center of my bra. “Here?”

A thrill ran through me. I bit my lip. “We’ll see,” I said, “If you’re good.”

He pulled back, feigning confusion. “Aren’t I always?”

“Yeah,” I had to admit with another smile, “You always are.”

“JAKE!” Caleb sounded on the verge of panic.

Jake let go of me, scrambled over to the back of the van while I straightened my clothes and mussed up hair. “Would you hold your horses? I’m here.” He threw open the doors, flooding the back of the van with fluorescent lamplight from the parking lot.

“Sorry, man,” I heard Caleb say. “Sorry, Veronica.” I turned, squinting against the harsh light, and saw him standing out there next to Good Television’s latest drummer, Keith Lutz.

Jake crouched on his heels at the edge of the van. His t-shirt rode up, revealing an inch of smooth, pale skin just above the waistband of his jeans. “What the hell, man?” he demanded of Caleb.

“I told him,” Keith hit his drum sticks along the bumper, tapping out the same little rhythm I’d heard before. “I told him when the van was rocking, not to bother knocking. I mean, everyone knows you just don’t do that. They print it on bumper stickers and everything. Hi Veronica.” He craned his neck to peer at me. “Looking good.”

Jake thumped him in the sternum. “Hey. Eyes up here. Someone wanna tell me what the hell’s going on?”

Caleb’s massive bicep flexed as he plucked anxiously at his short, dark curls. “Sorry,” he repeated, “But [band name] just flaked. We’ve been bumped up a slot. We’re on next. In, like,” he looked at his watch, “ten minutes. We managed to get everything set up in a hurry, but…”

“Taylor’s totally freaking out anyway,” finished Keith, rubbing the sore spot on his chest. “He made us come find you.”

Jake pivoted on his heels and looked apologetically at me.

I’d already gathered my denim jacket and his flannel shirt from where they’d been tossed in a pile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll lock up for you.” I held his shirt out to him. He took it, mumbling his gratitude, and jumped down from the van. He pulled the flannel on and made as if to leave with the other guys. Then he glanced back up at me and stopped. “Go on,” he said to them. “I’ll be right there.” When they’d walked away, he hooked a thumb in his belt-loop and held his other hand close to his chest, beckoning me with two fingers. “C’mere,” he said.

I put on my jacket and crawled toward him, closing the distance between us. He stared at the guitar pick strung around my neck before bringing his eyes back up to meet mine.

“Something wrong?” I asked, straightening his collar. He looked pretty serious.

“No,” he said softly, “Everything’s pretty much perfect if you ask me.” Then he leaned in, cupped my face with both hands and pressed his lips to mine again.

***

Jake was currently, technically, in two bands, but Good Television was the only one that seemed to be going anywhere. The other project didn’t have a name and hadn’t even made it out of the singer’s parents’ basement yet. Good Television – or Good TV, as they were starting to be called around town – on the other hand, usually played at least one or two shows a week. I went to as many of them as I could, unless I was too busy or it was someplace you had to be eighteen to get into.

The place the guys were playing tonight, The Black Box, was just a big, square, black cinder-block building (hence the name) in the seedier part of downtown Carreen. Not nearly as interesting or fun as Lynch’s had been, but then again I guessed no place ever would be. Part rock club, part sandwich shop, part café, and even part Laundromat, Lynch’s had been unique and irreplaceable. Still, the Black Box was a decent enough spot. I mean, it wasn’t the nicest place I’d ever seen Jake play, but it also wasn’t the worst. At least it was all-ages.

The club’s back door stood wide open. I’d almost reached it when the “Good Television [hearts] You” button pinned to my backpack popped loose and clattered to the pavement. Caleb’s girlfriend, Rylie Garcia, and I’d spent a whole afternoon in her kitchen pressing dozens of those little buttons on her button-making machine, and then another few hours handing them out at the band’s last show. This was the only one I’d kept for myself. I crouched to retrieve it and saw the button’s clasp was bent. I tried to straighten it, but only managed to stab myself with the pin. I cursed and stuck my thumb in my mouth, using my other hand to zip the button into a backpack pocket. When I straightened back up, I found Keith Lutz standing in front of me, tapping his drum sticks against his thigh.

“Hey Veronica,” he said. “Hurt yourself?”

“Oh, hey, Keith. Nah, I’m fine.”

“Lemme see.” He reached his hand out, palm up. His skin wasn’t the greatest and his hair always looked a little dirty. His light brown eyes tilted slightly down at the corners, giving him a perpetually sad look. He was Jake’s age – almost twenty – but his freckles and those puppy-dog eyes made him look closer to mine.

I smiled but slipped my hand in my pocket. “Thanks. But it’s really fine.” I moved around him and hurried toward the club again. A bald bouncer in a bowling shirt perched on a bar stool by the door. “I should be on the list,” I told him. “Veronica Montez?”

He scanned the clipboard in his lap. When he found my name, he extracted a ballpoint pen from his pocket and crossed a line through it, waving me inside without a word. Keith followed right behind me.

The Black Box was really packed. We’d only taken a few steps before getting trapped in the crowd. I stood on my toes and looked around the dim club for Jake but didn’t see him. After our bonus kissing round back at the van, I’d finally convinced him to go inside ahead of me and join his friends.

“So, uh, you drum, too, right?” Keith asked me.

I dropped back onto my heels. “Huh?”

“I thought you and Jake were in a band together.” He held up his drumsticks, waggling them back and forth. “What was the name of it again?”

“Oh, no, that…that was just…It was called Impressionable Youth. It was nothing.”

He frowned. “But isn’t it how you and Jake met?”

“Oh, no, I’ve known Jake for years. I’m best friends with his sister.”

Keith’s eyes lit up. “Lia?”

I nodded, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Man, is she cute,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

I smiled. “Well I’d tell you to go for it but she’s seeing someone else now.”

The light went out of his eyes. He shook his head mournfully. “She’d never give me the time of day. So what happened to you guys’ band?”
                I shrugged. “We broke up.”

He looked at me, obviously expecting more details.

“We really only got together to play the Lynch’s benefit,” I supplied. “You know, when it was going out of business? So then, when we didn’t raise enough money and it went under, we just kinda, you know, broke up.”

“Do you miss it?”

“What? Playing drums? Not really. Think I’ll just stick to writing about shows for The Slate.” I laughed. “I’m marginally better at that.”

“The Slate?”

“The Blank Slate,” I corrected myself, “Lia’s zine.”

“Oh, right. Well listen, I need to shop for some new drum stuff soon. You ought to come along with me.” He pressed the tip of one drum stick lightly against my sleeve. “Share your expertise.”

“Very funny,” I said.

“Why’s it funny?”

“I’m no expert. I only played drums for, like, five minutes. And I just used whatever equipment people loaned me.”

“Well, you could come along anyway,” he said. “Keep me company?”

“I’d just be in the way.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

 The crowd still wasn’t moving. The space behind us had filled in with more people. Someone behind me got impatient and squeezed by, pushing me into Keith. What little chest I had, got squashed up against his and for a second we were face to face.

“Sorry,” I murmured, backing away as quickly and as much as I could.

“Don’t be,” he said. “You just made my night.”

I felt the blood rush to my face.

Keith was so embarrassing. He was always saying stuff like that to me. And to Rylie, and to just about any other girl who happened to be around. I had to marvel at his audacity. Caleb may’ve been completely ripped, but he was pretty easygoing. Keith probably didn’t have much to fear from him. One word from me, though, and Jake would likely have put Keith in the hospital. Keith had to have known that, but didn’t seem to care. I hadn’t been able to figure out if he was fearless or compulsive or just a little dumb.

“You smell great, by the way.” He gazed at me intently.

“Thanks.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked away from him.

A big, beefy guy in combat boots stood in front of me. I tried to make out the tattoo just visible beneath his buzz-cut. It kind of looked like a butterfly.

“So, uh, how’s living with Taylor?” I asked. Jake had told me Keith was basically homeless at the moment, crashing with Good TV’s singer after having been thrown out of his parents’ place “again.” Jake had known Keith forever and told me it’d always been that way with him, that he’d always had a “sort of tough time getting his shit together.”

“Pretty cool,” he shrugged, picking a piece of lint off his shirt and letting it flutter to the floor. “Better than putting up with my dad’s bullshit.”

The beefy guy backed up and stepped on my foot without even noticing. Lightning shot up my leg. I gasped and tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. It was so hot in the club. Sweat dripped down the side of my face. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, felt my breath start to catch in my throat.

“You okay?” Keith asked me.

“Fine. Just, um, feeling a little claustrophobic I guess.”

He tucked the drum sticks under his arm and held his hand out to me. “Come on,” he said when I just stared at it, “You want to stay here, all smushed up, or you want me to get you out of here?”

The guy stepped on me again, making me see stars. “Let’s go,” I wheezed, and put my hand in Keith’s.

His face lit up at the contact. His fingers closed readily around mine. “Excuse us,” he said to the people in front of us. They resisted, mumbling curses and calling us names, but Keith ignored them and elbowed his way through the crowd, pulling me right along with him. “Better?” he asked when we’d broken free of the pack.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Really. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I could think of a few ways,” he murmured.

I glanced up at him.

He hadn’t let go of my hand. He squeezed it and ran his thumb softly over my knuckles. His palm felt cool and slightly calloused against mine.

“Cut it out,” I laughed, slipping my hand out of his. I used it to pinch the front of my t-shirt, moving it back and forth to fan myself.

“Or what?” he said.

“Or I’ll…”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

I gripped my backpack strap. “I’ll…have to swing this bag at you.”

“You’d never,” he said, smiling. “You’re way too sweet.”

“That’s what you think,” I said, but smiled back.

He leaned closer. “You really do smell amazing.”

I shook my head and thought of Jake, knowing now would probably be a good time to mention his name. “That’s, uh, probably just Jake’s aftershave you can smell on me,” I said, reaching.

Keith quickly caught the lie. “Aftershave?” he snorted. “He’s hardly touched a razor in months, thanks to you.”

“Hey, don’t knock the beard. It’s hot,” I informed him.

“It really isn’t,” he said. “I don’t get why you’re so keen on it. It must be murder on your skin when you guys make out.” He ran his eyes down my neck and into the collar of my shirt.

“Not at all,” I scoffed, trying to will my skin temperature back down to normal. “You should’ve seen us out back just now. He was all over me and I loved every minute.”

I seemed to have finally said something disturbing enough to deter Keith. He pulled back and looked at me with wounded eyes. He stuck his lower lip out a teensy bit. “What’re you trying to do to me here, Veronica? I’m already jealous of the guy. You don’t have to go rubbing it in with visuals.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m just trying to help you out.”

“By torturing me?”

“By reminding you I’ve got a boyfriend. An ornery one.”

He snorted again, dismissively. “Yeah. And?”

“And…he’s standing right behind you,” I warned.

***

Jake tapped Keith on the shoulder.

Keith turned around slowly, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. He scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, man. Veronica and I were just talking about you. Have I told you how much I like your new beard?”

“Hey, nothing,” said Jake, his teeth barely parting. “What’ve I told you? Stay away from her.” He peered around Keith to check on me. “You alright?”

“Totally fine,” I said.

He elbowed Keith aside to get to me, making him stumble and drop his drumsticks. Keith caught himself against a nearby table. The people sitting at it snatched up their drinks and protested as Jake put his arm around my shoulders and steered me aside.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said as he led me away. “I’ve told you I can handle Keith.”

“I know,” he said. “But you shouldn’t have to. What was he saying to you, anyway?”

“Nothing. He was just…being himself.”

“Just what I was afraid of,” grumbled Jake.

He walked me through the crowd to a tall table near the stage, where Rylie perched on a stool beside Taylor’s boyfriend, Shane Forillo. Jake pulled a third stool out for me.

“Hey Veronica.” Rylie flashed me her dimples. She had a round face and straight hair. Her thick brown bangs sat flat against her forehead, ending right where her owlish eyeglasses began. As I sat down, she pulled the straw partway out of her drink with a French-manicured hand and stabbed it back down into the ice.

“Hi,” I said, hoisting my bag onto the table. “Hi, Shane.”

Shane smiled weakly. The Black Box’s close, too-warm environment seemed to have gotten to him, too. Sweat shone on his forehead. His light brown curls clung damply to his temples. He was ripping a disposable drink coaster to shreds and paperboard confetti littered the table in front of him. 

“Want anything to drink?” Jake asked me.

“Diet Coke?” I said.

“I’ll have one sent over.” He kissed my temple before taking off again.

I watched him disappear and then reached into my backpack for my notebook, pencil and mini Maglite. I wasn’t only here as a supportive girlfriend, after all. I was also on official zine business. Lia’d assigned me to write up the show for the Slate. She was supposed to have been here with me tonight but had cancelled to help her boyfriend, Jonathan, with his film-making project. He was making a horror short for some contest he planned to enter. He’d recruited Lia to star in it, as well as to help him with everything from costumes to lighting. The whole thing was taking up what little time she had left after school and singing with her current band, The Grubby Mitts. She was so busy, I felt like I hadn’t seen much of her at all over the past couple of weeks.

“Crap,” I said after I’d reached into the bag again.

“What’s the matter?” Rylie picked up my Maglite and played with it, clicking it on and off, on and off. I’d had to buy the flashlight when I was hired on as an usher at the Maribel Movie Palace. I figured I may as well put it to good use in my music journalist capacity, too. It was almost impossible to take notes once the house lights went down.

“I forgot Lia’s Nikon,” I said.

Rylie held the flashlight beam under her chin. Her glasses cast a shadow across her forehead, making her look like she had a unibrow. “Her what?”

“Her camera.” I pictured the Nikon sitting on my desk at home. “She couldn’t be here and she asked me to take pictures…Oh, God,” I dropped my face into my hand and made a frustrated sound, imagining Lia’s reaction when I told her I hadn’t gotten any shots.

Rylie seemed uninterested in my predicament. She turned off the flashlight and rolled it back over to me. “What was Keith saying to you just now?” she asked, looking over my shoulder at him. I turned and saw him talking to one of the girls whose table he’d almost upended.

“Oh. Nothing.”

Rylie seemed skeptical. “The other day at the guys’ rehearsal he told me he was glad I always wore such tight jeans because I had an amazing butt.”

I laughed, although I knew I probably shouldn’t. Shane snickered and Rylie glared at both of us.

“Yeah, ha, ha,” she said. “Sexual harassment is so hilarious.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, struggling to stifle my smile. “It’s just…I think he says stuff like that sometimes because he just doesn’t know any better. You know?”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’re just as bad as Caleb, making excuses for him.” She sipped her drink.  “At least Jake will stand up for me. After that jeans comment, he seemed about ready to bust Keith’s jaw for him.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because Jake’s a stand-up guy,” agreed Shane. He’d finished shredding the coaster. He rolled a discarded scrap against the table with his index finger, circling it into a ball. “Cute necklace,” he said, pointing at my throat. “Is it new?”

“Huh?” I brought my hand to my collar and found Jake’s guitar pick. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

Rylie sucked in a breath. “What is this?” She hooked her finger in the necklace and lifted it for a better look. “Is this from Jake?”

“Yeah.” I leaned toward her. “He gave it to me just now. For our two-month anniversary.”

“Did he make this for you?”

“Sort of.” I was about to explain the pick’s significance to her when I was distracted by someone standing nearby. It was this tattoo-sleeved, glasses-wearing redhead I knew Jake used to date, and who I was pretty sure still had a thing for him. She’d turned up at his last show, too, and watched him hungrily from the sidelines. Right then she was milling around right in front of the stage. She shifted her weight from one boot to the other, looking bored while the guy and girl she was with tried to include her in a conversation.

Rylie was still inspecting my necklace. I poked her arm. “Hey. That girl.” I pointed surreptitiously at the redhead. “Her name’s Annabel, right?” 

“Hm?” Rylie let the guitar pick drop. She turned, adjusting her glasses. She squinted for a second and then nodded with recognition. “Abigail,” she corrected me. “Abigail Baker.”

“What do you know about her?” I tried to sound casual - completely unlike a jealous girlfriend.

Rylie momentarily pouted in concentration. “She’s friends with Caleb. From high school. Or junior high, maybe, I’m not sure. But I know they played in at least one band together.” She paused, sipping her drink. “You should ask Jake about her. They used to go out, you know.”

I tried to keep my face neutral. “Yeah, I thought I remembered that.”

I watched Abigail a while longer. She was short, thin, and big-breasted, and had a habit of pushing her glasses up every few seconds whether they needed it or not. She wore a tiny plaid skirt and a white tank top and when she turned to the side, a lacy edge of black bra peeked out through an armhole. I looked away from her to find Shane’s dark eyes on me. He looked like he might say something, but just then the houselights went down, a spotlight came up, and Taylor appeared in it, making his way to the microphone.

“Hey,” he said, cupping his nail-polished hand above his eyes and peering into the crowd. He was shirtless, showing off the giant gryphon tattoo centered between his nipple rings. He was tall and wiry like Jake, but a lot paler than him. He had clear blue eyes and beneath his beat-up trucker hat, his longish, bleached blonde hair was practically white. He looked like a punk-rock ghost. “We’re Good Television and believe-you-me, we are eager, eager, EAGER to play for you fine people,” he called. The audience whistled and cheered. “But, uh…anybody seen our drummer?” He squinted out into the crowd again. “Oh, there you are Keith. What the hell are you doing? Leave that nice girl alone and get your ass up here.”

***

“Did you make sure to at least mention the rest of the band this time?” Rylie asked. Forty-five minutes had passed and Good Television was right in the middle of their most popular song, [song title]. Taylor lay flat on his back, suspending the microphone above his face. The veins stood out in his neck as he writhed on stage, alternately screaming and singing his way through the tune. I knew the set was almost done. After this there’d only be the radically sped-up, punkish cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” the guys had been closing every gig with lately.

The band was playing so loudly I hadn’t heard a word Rylie said. I took my left ear plug out and leaned closer to her. “What?!” I shouted.

She yelled her question at me again. I stuck my tongue out at her. She laughed and turned back to the stage.

Across from me, Shane was facing the stage, too. He was also holding up my flashlight, ostensibly shining it over my pad of paper so I could see to jot down notes for my Slate article. But his distracted aim was way off. I reached out and steadied his hand, redirecting the light’s beam so it illuminated the last few lines I’d scribbled. They were all about Jake. I frowned, thinking Rylie might have a point. I’d mistakenly told her Lia’d claimed the last article I’d written about Good TV had focused too much on Jake. Lia had scolded me for it and told me to next time please write at least a line or two reflecting more than just my “sick obsession” with her brother “and his instrument.”

I’d honestly been trying to pay attention to everyone else in the band tonight. It wasn’t my fault Jake was such a great guitar player and showman. Or that he happened to look amazing all drenched in sweat, his t-shirt clinging to his chest while he crouched on the stage, holding the guitar between his legs. Or that his arms looked so sexy while he played, his biceps flexing and the veins standing out in his forearms while his fingers scaled nimbly up and down the fret board…

“Okay, Veronica. Get a hold of yourself.” I said it out loud to myself but of course the music was so loud no one heard me. I shook my head to clear it and wrote a few lines about Caleb.

There you go, Lia, I thought. Chew on that!

A small roar went up from the crowd. I looked up just as Keith thundered through the last bit of the song, rolling his drum sticks faster and faster and then finally ending with a massive clang of his cymbals. He climbed onto his drum stool and chucked a stick into the crowd. I steadied Shane’s hand, which had strayed again, and wrote a quick note to myself, to remember to include this detail in the article later. Then I reached for my second Diet Coke refill.

If I’d have taken another second or two to sip from my soda, I’d have missed what happened next. As it was, I lowered the glass and looked over just in time to see Jake toss two guitar picks into the crowd, one right after the other. I didn’t see where the first one ended up because it flew too far from the stage lights and was swallowed by the dark.

But the second one sailed right into Abigail Baker’s cleavage.

It landed on her sweaty chest and started to slide down into her tank top. She fished it out from between her boobs right before it could disappear completely and held it up, giving Jake this obnoxiously flirtatious grin. She pushed her glasses up her nose. He smiled in her direction – though I couldn’t tell for sure if they’d made eye contact - just as the group launched into their final song.

***