Drive(5)

“It’s me, but you know that.” Inhaling deep, I force myself to remain steady, though inside I felt the rejection like a million bee stings. He’d taken up two months of my life, a small amount of my devotion, and he wouldn’t be taking anything else. The pain of his indifference morphed into anger as my sister honked obnoxiously from her car. “I guess . . .” I swallowed hard, talking to a small piece of me I’d never get back. “I guess fuck you is in order, Dylan. Take care.” I hung up, let two tears fall, and then wiped them away before I reached the idling car. Once seated in the back, Paige looked me over to assess the damage with knowing eyes as her boyfriend, Neil, backed us away from the curb.

“Still no answer?”

I shook my head before I lifted my shoulders and let them drop. “It’s over.”

Paige frowned. “He’s an asshole.”

I glared at her as I pointed at the back of Neil’s head. I didn’t want to discuss Dylan in front of him. Neil was cool, but he wasn’t the type to talk about feelings, or much else. He was quiet, which was a good thing because Paige was a talker. In fact, you couldn’t shut her up. We had that in common. But she was far too involved in my personal life and had been since I moved in with her. “You’ll bounce back,” she said, undeterred by my death stare due to the invasion of privacy and her overshare of my relationship status. She glanced at Neil. “What? He’s seen you sulking around our apartment for the last week.”

I’d moved in with Paige and her boyfriend to help save my parents money. They couldn’t afford to help me get into a starter apartment while they saved for my tuition. I needed to be rooted and working in Austin by the time I started school that fall, but I’d screwed around after I met Dylan and got little accomplished. Between my back and forth to Dallas to hang with him and running around to see his shows, I’d blown up my car—the one I got my freshman year of high school. Old Black Betty had done her job, but I was in no financial position to get anything new. So, I was stuck in Austin, without a job or a car, and without the boy.

All through high school, I’d been lazy with my studies due to my obsession with going to concerts and fared just under what was required to get into The University of Texas. I’d spent the last two years in junior college, busting my ass to get the prerequisites and the GPA needed to transfer to the school of journalism. But that wasn’t the only reason for my move. Austin was the Live Music Capitol of the World. And between the program at UT and the music scene, it was the perfect place to get my feet wet.

I had big plans for my future.

Plans that hadn’t a damn thing to do with the sex-on-legs lead singer of the band I’d been stalking in Dallas. I had the remaining months of summer to get my head in the game to continue my execution of those plans, but zero issue releasing some of the built-up tension I’d endured during my extended two-year stay at my parents’ house while I got my shit together. What I didn’t need was a six-foot wrench screwing up any of my hard work. And I wouldn’t let him. Chalking it up to a fling, I put Dylan in a box labeled “Oops.” Still, my wretched, misguided heart told me that there could have been something between that front man and me. Sighing, I watched my phone for a text that wasn’t coming and cursed myself for being so damned gullible. Dylan had dazzled me with his pretty-boy looks and seductive voice. He didn’t intimidate me, but I’d been drawn to him, to his presence onstage and off. He was laid back, funny as hell, and took very little seriously.

I assumed I was in that “not serious” category as well. All of his bandmates told me he liked me. I believed them, instead of the source and the words he spoke, which mostly consisted of his plans for his band. And it was just like me to become fascinated by his talent and blinded because of it, since my plans mirrored getting the scoop behind the scenes. I would earn my degree and, hopefully, land a job at a decent enough rag that would afford me the chance to travel the circuit. But my dreams didn’t stop there. I wanted to be an innovator of sorts. Make a unique mark. I would let the music lead me. But I had to be cautious because the music had led me to Dylan. And after a week without him, his silence told me it was a case of infatuation on my part, and a way to pass the time for him.

He talked, and I listened, and then we had sex on his couch. He was only truly engaged with me when I was standing right in front of him, which I didn’t have a chance in hell of doing at that point. I’d made a fool of myself assuming it was anything more and cringed as I thought of my shitty attempt at working at something real between us. The word groupie stomped its way across my brain, shaming me, and I cringed at the idea. Not another drop of my pride was for sale. I refused to be categorized as a damned groupie. I was a writer, despite my recent groupie-like behavior. Oops.

“I’m done with musicians,” I stated to my sister, who carefully watched me from her seat. “I’m done with dating, period. At least for a while. Now is not the time.”

Though I told my parents I was in Austin, I’d been sneaking into Dallas and would stay with Dylan or friends between shows. Now that I was permanently in Austin, I was completely reliant on my sister.

“I need to get a job.”

She ran her hands through her long dark hair and pulled it up in a ponytail as she spoke. My sister and I were well paired in genetics. Both of us had light olive skin due to our half-Latin roots, except she had dark brown eyes, and I had my father’s gray that at times changed color with my T-shirts. Where she was thin, I was a bit thicker, especially around the hips. And while she dressed like she attended prep school, I was all rock ‘n’ roll. But there was no question when we entered a room together that we shared parents. Biting her pink glossed lip, she looked over to Neil and then glanced my way. “Want to try to work with me?”