Can't Look Away(24)

2013

Jake left Molly’s apartment at quarter of six, just as she was heading out to meet Nina, Liz, and Everly at Radegast biergarten.

He had to swing by Brooklyn Bowl for sound check, which only took thirty minutes. Then, he headed back to his place to shower and shave. He threw on a fresh pair of jeans and a white T-shirt with a picture of Bob Dylan smoking a joint on the front—one of his favorites to wear during a show. Sam and Hale had already been dressed and ready before sound check. As usual, Jake was the one running behind.

When he arrived back at the venue, his crew was by the bar. There was an open case of Brooklyn Lager—the bartender Damian always let them drink for free when they played the Bowl.

Sam pursed his lips at the sight of Jake, as if to say, Cutting it close.

In response, Jake rolled his eyes, as if to say, Stop always being so anal about timing. We’re not on for an hour.

They could communicate like this, without words. Hale, too. Jake had known the Lanes forever—since he was in diapers—and they were the closest thing he had to brothers.

Hale tossed Jake a beer. Their manager, Jerry, was there, too, and his assistant, Maxine.

“Where’s alt-J?” Jake asked. alt-J was the band they were opening for. Jake was a huge fan and had been excited to play this show for months.

“You just missed them.” Jerry rubbed his dark beard. “They ran across the street to grab a quick bite at Reynard.”

Jake nodded, cracking open the beer and taking a thirsty sip. “I really want to meet those guys.”

“There’s always the after-party,” Maxine said coyly, her eyes landing on Jake. She handed him the bottle of Jack Daniel’s they’d all been passing around.

Jake took a swig, averting his gaze. He and Maxine had hooked up a few times the previous fall, when he and Sisi were on the rocks. On the rocks in Jake’s eyes, at least. Sisi had seemed to think nothing was wrong in their relationship, though he’d tried to tell her several times his feelings had changed. But communication had never been Jake’s strong suit, so perhaps his attempt to slowly and easily let Sisi down—instead of ripping off the Band-Aid—had missed its mark.

He shouldn’t have resorted to cheating—Jake knew this. But sometimes he knew what was right and did the opposite, anyway. He couldn’t articulate the reason behind this behavior, but he knew it wasn’t calculated. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Sisi—not at all. He’d just grown tired of how entitled she was, tired of sitting across from her at restaurants and listening to the rude, snarky way she treated the waitstaff. Sisi worked hard, but she was spoiled, constantly throwing her trust fund in his face like a weapon whenever they argued. Worst of all, she lacked any self-awareness; she was unwilling to acknowledge the parts of herself that had begun to turn Jake off, and he knew she was never going to change.

He’d slept with Maxine only three times. She’d made it easy for him, honestly. She attended every show with Jerry, behind the scenes, ensuring it all ran smoothly. She could be a little desperate, but she was good at her job, and she’ d never failed to make it clear to Jake that she would fuck him, if that’s what he wanted. Maxine was a few years older—late twenties, probably—with jet-black hair and an impish look about her, plus one of the best bodies Jake had ever seen. Curvy hips, tiny waist, perky breasts. She was smoking hot.

Jake never told Sisi he’d cheated. What was the point? Emotionally, he was over their relationship, and he was going to break up with her—he’d just been too swamped with the band to deal with it.

With Maxine, it had been casual; she didn’t seem to want more than sex, which was ideal. When Molly entered the picture in January, Maxine hadn’t acted jealous. She’d only ruffled Jake’s hair one night, after a show, and said, “You sure move through them quickly, Jakey.” She was always calling him Jakey, which he hated.

Jake finished his beer, then two more. The bottle of Jack went around the bar a few more times, dulling the edges the way Jake liked. He felt light and buzzy. When Maxine passed him the whiskey again, Jerry intercepted.

“That’s enough for Danner.” He grabbed the neck of the bottle and took another pull for himself. “You guys are on in twenty. Backstage in ten, Jake.” Jerry wandered off, and Jake realized that he and Maxine were alone at the bar. Well, not alone—people had begun to funnel in for the show—but Sam and Hale had disappeared. Had they gone backstage already?

Jake stood. He felt dizzy, shaky on his feet, and regretted the last couple of whiskey pulls. With those, on top of the Brooklyn Lagers, plus the IPA he’d chugged getting ready at home, Jake was on his way to being drunk.

Maxine moved toward him, lifting her chin so that it brushed his chest. Her bee-stung lips curled into a grin. “Jakey.”

He drew in a breath, shaking his head. “I can’t, Maxine,” he told her. “It’s different with Molly. You know that.”

Maxine placed a hand on the side of his neck, the pads of her fingers gripping his skin. She stepped closer, blinking up at him. Her shirt was tight and low-cut, revealing a generous sliver of cleavage. He hated that he was turned on. It was just biology. It almost made him angry, the physical way his body responded when his heart was somewhere else. Alcohol made the resistance feel even more impossible. Maxine’s pillowy lips brushed his. Jake closed his eyes and let the haze of his mind take over.