From the Jump(63)

“I don’t know who he is,” the girl next to me sighs, “but I know I’m in love with him.”

Her phone is also in the air, homed in on Deiss. And it takes everything in me to resist the urge to inform her that I do know who he is. And it’s beginning to feel like, as inconvenient as it might be, I know exactly how she feels.





CHAPTER 18


Deiss steps off the stage as soon as the song ends, easing through the crowd with the Thunderbird cradled protectively against his chest. I scurry behind him, cringing at the attention he receives on his way out. He shrugs it off, but his back has gone tense again. I can tell by the panic on Mia’s and Booker’s faces that they’ve spotted it, too.

He doesn’t speak until we all get to the top of the stairs. This floor of the store is empty, which strikes me as a mistake. Surely either Booker or Mia should’ve stayed up here to make sure nobody walked out with any of the merchandise.

“So, nobody was watching the door?” Deiss snaps, echoing my thoughts.

“I’ve been up here all night,” Mia says. Her usual belligerence has been replaced by an anxiousness that makes her look near tears. If I thought I’d enjoy seeing her taken down a peg, it’s now clear I was wrong. “I just came down to bring the Thunderbird.”

“If I wanted to play,” Deiss says, “I would’ve brought the Thunderbird down myself.”

“Are you mad?” Booker’s voice goes high with disbelief.

“Let’s see. You just left my store unlocked and unattended, then forced me onstage despite the fact that I’ve been very clear about my lack of desire to perform. So, yes, Booker.” Deiss smiles tightly. “I’m mad.”

“But you never get mad,” Booker says. “You didn’t even get mad when—”

I clear my throat, cutting him off before he can remind Deiss that not only has he ruined an expensive instrument while working, but he was also drunk when it happened. This is not the kind of story anyone should ever remind their boss about, but it’s next-level stupid to do it now.

Booker sputters and holds up his hands as if the only way he’s capable of shutting up is to physically block his words from exiting.

“When what?” Deiss prompts.

The quiet brightness of the upstairs is eerie after the party-like atmosphere downstairs. The stillness highlights our tension.

“You didn’t even get mad,” I say quickly, “when that woman tried to bargain over your Sex Pistols album.”

Deiss squints at me.

“The nerve of that woman!” Booker grabs onto my effort, stomping his foot dramatically against the floor. “There were only twenty-five thousand copies of that album ever made!”

Deiss’s arms cross over his chest.

“We’re sorry!” Mia blurts out, her voice quivering. “We thought it would be a good way to advertise the guitar.”

“She wanted to advertise the guitar,” Booker says. “I just wanted an excuse to go onstage.”

“So, why didn’t you play with the band?” Deiss asks. “Why did you have to volunteer me?”

“All right, here’s the deal. This,” Booker says, sweeping his hand from his hair down across the rest of his body, “is what they call a look. It’s been carefully cultivated to convey that I work in a music store and—here’s the important part—that I work here because I am a man who loves music. It’s a lot less sad than being an unemployed actor who works behind a counter. But it’s just a role I’m playing. Like acting practice, right? I don’t know how to play any instruments. I don’t even particularly like music. I mean, who listens to it, really? Do they not have a TV? Has their internet been cut off?”

“Stop,” I plead, holding up my hands in case it’s true and Booker’s words only can be contained by physical efforts. It’s unnecessary, though, because Deiss surprises us all by letting out a bark of laughter.

“Can your next role be a cleaner?” Deiss asks. “Because I don’t want to stick around until the show’s over.”

“No problem, boss,” Mia says quickly, despite the fact that Deiss was clearly speaking to Booker. “We’ll take care of this.”

“Yes,” Booker says, showing the first signs of wisdom he’s displayed since we got upstairs. “We’re on top of it. You go.”

Deiss nods and backs up, his hand reaching for my arm.

“Will you come with me?” His eyes are strangely vulnerable when they meet mine. “Or do you want to catch the end?”

“Of course I’m coming with you,” I say without hesitation.

My answer makes him smile, and my heart begins to hammer when he slides his fingers through mine.

“You’re going to let her get out of cleaning?” Booker asks.

Deiss’s head snaps toward him, but before he can say anything, Mia beats him to it.

“He’s told you a hundred times that Olivia doesn’t work here!” Her hands fist at her sides. “She’s here because he wants her here, and now they want to leave. So, shut your stupid mouth, get your lazy ass downstairs, and find something to clean!”

Booker tucks tail, fleeing down the stairs.

“I’m really sorry about the ambush,” Mia says to Deiss miserably. “I swear to you it’ll never happen again.”