Take Me for Granted (Take Me #1)(2)

Walking out of my bedroom, I turned toward the kitchen to make myself a pot of tea. Some honey lemon chai would make this all a little better.

“Hey, Aribel. I just saw Benjamin leave,” one of my roommates, Shelby, said with a smile. She was standing by the open refrigerator across the room. Her shoulder-length brown hair was up in a ponytail, and wearing Nike running shorts and an oversize T-shirt, she looked like she had just come from class. “You still making him wait?”

“I guess he’ll have to wait a lifetime,” I responded dryly.

“You should just give it up. It’s really not a big deal. Cheyenne is going to make fun of you for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t care what Cheyenne thinks,” I said stubbornly.

Cheyenne might be one of my closest friends, but the girl was a real nuisance when it came to my love life.

“So, for real, why not Benjamin? Doesn’t he fit the list of things you want in a guy?” Shelby leaned her hip against the refrigerator and waited for my reply.

I looked up into her dark brown eyes. “I don’t have a list.”

Shelby snorted. “Well, if you had a list, wouldn’t he fit?”

I shrugged noncommittally. “Sure.”

“Oh my goodness, she agrees with me without arguing. The world has ended as we know it.”

“You’re hilarious, Shelby. You should be a stand-up comedian,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You haven’t answered my question. Sidestepping won’t work on me. Why not Benjamin?”

“Because he broke up with me.”

“What?” Shelby all but shrieked. “When? Just now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry. I was a jerk, and Benjamin just broke up with you.” Shelby rushed forward and enveloped me in a hug.

She was taller than me by a few inches, and her stooping over me made me feel even more uncomfortable than I already was.

Sympathy—my favorite.

I stood there awkwardly as my roommate tried to console me for something I wasn’t even sad about. Yeah, I was disappointed that it hadn’t worked out, but it wasn’t like I was a blubbering mess. Shelby needed to pull herself together.

“I’m fine, Shelby.” I patted her back.

“You’re not fine, Aribel. You always act like you’re fine, but you’re clearly not. Who is fine after her boyfriend breaks up with her? No one.”

“Really. It’s okay.” Please drop it.

“No. You know what? I’m going to call Cheyenne and Gabi. You’re coming with us tonight to the ContraBand show at The League, and we’re going to find you a rebound.”

I fiercely shook my head from side to side. I didn’t need a rebound. More importantly, I wasn’t interested in rebounding off of someone I hadn’t cared that much about. “No way, Shelby. I am not going to a dumb bar to see a dumb band. That is not my thing.”

“That’s exactly why you should go. And ContraBand isn’t a dumb band,” she scolded. “Even if you don’t like the music, you will appreciate their talent.”

“All I know is that you guys drool all over them,” I said.

“That’s because the whole band is smoking hot.”

I rolled my eyes. That was just what I wanted to do—spend my precious sleeping hours at a party with some crappy college band. “Count me out.”

Shelby narrowed her eyes at me and gave me a look that said, Just try to argue with me.

I’d seen that look before. It was never followed by something I would be happy about.

Chapter 3: Grant

We hopped off the small stage at a local Princeton bar, The Ivy League.

“That was a f**king good set!” Vin yelled. He flexed his bulging biceps and set his black guitar down on a stand.

“You’re telling me,” Miller cried, high-fiving him. The bassist was the brains of the operation. He was tall, clean-cut, and put together with short brown hair and a quiet confidence.

McAvoy flipped his drumstick in his hand and nodded. His shaggy blond hair fell into his eyes, and he swished it to the side. His green eyes were perpetually bloodshot from smoking too much weed. He was tall and lanky with an I-could-not-care-less attitude, but he always managed to mellow us out. “Killer. I need a beer.”

“Me, too,” I said, nodding at my bandmates and sticking a pick into the front pocket of my jeans.

“Beer first and then bitches,” Vin said. He clapped me on the back and made his way toward the stage door that exited to the bar.

As soon as the door opened, the screaming began. I smiled and ran a hand back through my dark brown hair. After the music, this was the best part. I lived and breathed the music, but damn, the chicks I would get from doing what I loved didn’t hurt a damn thing.

I followed the rest of the guys out the door, and I was immediately surrounded by a crowd of girls. I had my pick of the litter at this party. I liked when my biggest decision of the night was blonde or brunette. The Princeton crowd was one of the best. As smart as the chicks were, they would all act dumb and turn to putty in my hands.

Even though none of us had actually gone to Princeton, I considered the League our home base. Miller had hooked us up with a semiregular deal. Now that we all lived in the area, we would play shows every other week or so. We’d moved here from the Point Pleasant area after graduation and stayed. I wasn’t even from Jersey, like the other guys. My parents had relocated from Knoxville when I was ten. That was before shit had hit the fan.