Drive(66)

“I’m here, Nate.”

“No,” he said as he stood and walked around his desk then leaned against it. “No, you aren’t.”

I met his eyes head on, though my confidence had wavered drastically since I’d walked through the front door. At that moment, with the beautiful man standing in front of me, practically offering me the world, I was choking. I glanced down at my shoes.

This is your moment.

I met Nate’s stare again. “I’m here.”

He was slow to smile. “Yeah,” he gave me a sexy wink. “Welcome back.”

He brushed past me, and I inhaled a whiff of his cologne.

“JJ,” he called from his office door.

A minute later, a lithe guy who looked a few years older than me popped his head in the door. “Sup?”

“This is Stella Emerson. She’s your new co.”

“Really?” he said as he looked me over. “Can she even get into the shows?”

I crossed my arms. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m covered.”

“Good,” he said as he took a better look at me and walked through the door. He was tall, well groomed, and dressed like he came straight from the prep school suburbs.

“What does JJ stand for?” I asked as we sized each other up.

“Jon Jon.”

Nate barked out a laugh as I glanced at him over my shoulder with a raised brow.

Nate and I shared a conspiratorial smile.

Eat him alive, Stella.

He’s so screwed.

Still, I knew better than to judge a person by their appearance. I’d been enlightened more than I cared to admit, especially in the past few months.

“Now you two kids have fun. I have shit to do,” Nate said as he plugged his earbud back in and started to type. JJ ducked out of the office, and I turned to face him. Thank you didn’t seem like enough, and as usual, whenever I tried to think of something clever, it never came.

“Shut the door,” Nate said with a budding twist of his lips.

I stood there awkwardly until I had no choice but to do his bidding.

“Where can I read you?”

I jumped as the question was barked at my back by none other than my new partner.

“I’m not published yet,” I said boldly. “I’m in the journalism program at UT.”

“You’re a student?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jon Jon,” Nate barked through the door. I bit my lips to hide my smile.

“Really,” JJ said with pure contempt. “Never worked anywhere?”

“No.”

His head dropped. “Intern?”

“No,” I said with a sigh.

JJ raised his brows. He wore too much gel in his caramel brown hair, and way too much body spray. His khaki’s looked ironed. I decided to heed Nate’s advice.

“Let’s go to a show tonight,” I suggested. “Let’s start that way.”

He looked me over skeptically before nodding his head. “Fine, but I’m covering movies.”

“Jon Jon, be nice,” Nate scolded behind the door.

Jon Jon rolled his eyes as I pulled him away from the office door with my offer. “Tonight, you pick the place. Give me your number.” I programmed it into my phone and texted him. “Text me where and what time.”

JJ scrutinized me again and smiled when he got to my shoes. “I’ll text you.”

Half of the staff was staring at me like I needed to be trapped, and I was fine with that because I’d just became a colleague and threat. I held my head high as I walked back to Sierra.

Just as I suspected, it was the music that brought JJ and me together. That night, he took me to a see a band called Score. We spent hours talking over coffee to sober up from the abundance of beers we had. Engaged in conversation, it was the first time I felt like I may be okay since my heart hit the pavement.





Wonderwall

Oasis



One month Later



Some people believe intuition is the sixth sense, a gift from the soul. And while I think that’s true, my theory goes a step further. Having your heart splintered heightens that sense. Because on instinct alone, you’re constantly looking for the pieces.

But theories always have to be proven.

I pushed through the crowd of thousands that September with Oasis singing “Wonderwall” at my back while I choked on the dust that surrounded us. I was dripping with sweat as I pressed on through the sea of swaying bodies, my useless press badge around my neck. There were far too many competitive and recognizable papers covering Austin City Limits, and even those more reputable rags had limited backstage access. But I’d scored a ticket on Speak’s dime, and so had JJ, who I’d lost after the first few hours. We’d already split up the performances we would cover pre-show. We had a game plan and twenty-eight artists to cover in the three-day festival. Lexi and Ben had come the night before, and we’d had a blast, despite the heat and shitty conditions. That night, I was alone, and though the music was worth the amount of dirt I was steadily inhaling, the heat was a different story. Indian summer my ass. It was Texas. Fall lasted a week before freezing set in. It was obvious the heat had no plans of leaving as I dug through the sweaty faces of the mob. Not to mention Hurricane Rita was off the coast and tossing winds toward the festival, turning it into a desert storm. By the second night, I was just fighting to get through the shows and breathe. Exhausted by the struggle. Ten thousand plus people screamed around me as I shoved my way through the unfazed fans lit by stage lights. I was near panic and desperate for space.