Like Gravity(9)

***

Back at my apartment that night, John Mayer crooned through my speakers as I danced and sang my way around the kitchen, gathering ingredients for dinner. The front door opened and Lexi strolled in, a Starbucks cup in each hand.

“One venti nonfat chai tea latte, as promised,” Lexi said, smiling as she handed me the steaming cup. “Forgive me?”

“Forgiven,” I agreed, happily sipping my chai.

“What’s for dinner?”

“How do you feel about veggie lasagna?”

“Sounds perfect. How’s your head?” she asked, grimacing slightly.

“It’s fine, I took some Advil and I can barely feel it anymore.”

“Great! Because we’re going out tonight,” Lexi announced.

“It’s Monday night. I have two classes tomorrow, Lex; I’m not going out.”

“Pleeeease,” she whined, making puppy-dog eyes, “There’s a band playing at Styx tonight and they’re supposed to be amazing! We have to go.”

“You don’t even like going to see bands, and you definitely don’t like Styx,” I noted, remembering her reaction to the dark, crowded club the first and only time we’d ever gone there. “So who is he?” I inquired casually, between sips of chai.

“Who’s who?” she asked, playing innocent.

“Who is the guy who talked you into going out tonight?” I said, calling her out on her bullshit. I knew I’d hit my mark when her cheeks flamed to match the exact shade of her hair.

“Okay, fine! You got me,” she admitted, not meeting my eyes. “There’s this guy in my American Lit class. He may or may not have mentioned being there tonight.”

“But why do I have to go with you?” I complained.

“Brooklyn Grace Turner! You know I can’t just go alone! You’re my wing-woman. Plus, you don’t want me walking home by myself, do you?” she begged, batting her lashes at me. “I’ll owe you big time!”

“You almost killed me this morning! You already owe me, Lex,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, but you already forgave me for that! Pleeeease come with me, Brooke.” Her baby blue eyes were practically glistening with fake tears.

“Even if I agreed to come – which I haven’t – there’s still the matter of the giant bruise on my forehead.”

“The swelling has completely gone down and I’ll work my magic on your hair and makeup. No one will even notice, once I’m through with you,” she promised.

“Fine,” I muttered, knowing I was only prolonging the inevitable by holding out. Once Lexi made up her mind about something, it was nearly impossible to deter her.

“Yes! You are the absolute best,” she squealed, throwing her arms around my neck. “You won’t regret this, I swear!”

“I know,” I agreed, smiling as a thought occurred to me. “Cause you’re buying every round.”





Chapter Three


Small Packages




“What’s this guy’s name, anyway?” I yelled in Lexi’s ear, trying to be heard over the thumping bass.

The band had yet to make an appearance, and Styx pulsed with the computerized sounds of electronic music. The dance floor was mobbed with bodies, and Lexi and I pushed our way through the crush to the bar. The bartender was swamped, racing back and forth to fill drink orders.

“What did you say?” Lexi shouted back at me, smoothing her red bob and adjusting her cleavage before trying to flag down the bartender. Finally managing to grab his attention, she ordered two vodka-cranberries and slapped a ten down on the bar.

“Keep the change,” she winked at him when he placed the drinks in front of her.

Handing one to me, she led the way toward the front of the dance floor, as close as we could get to the stage. She turned when we reached our destination, holding her drink out to me in salute.

“Cheers, bitch! To sophomore year,” she declared, playfully bumping her cup into mine.

“And to fake IDs,” I agreed, laughing. I sipped my drink, refreshingly cold in the damp heat of the club, and looked up as the stage lights began to blink, signaling the band’s arrival.

“Finally!” Lexi yelled. “Tyler’s the drummer, by the way.”

Ah, so that was her mystery American Lit man’s name – and it explained our ridiculously close proximity to the stage.

I tugged uncomfortably on the short black lace dress I’d let Lexi to talk me into wearing. I had to admit, though, she’d done wonders with my hair and makeup. My long waves were artfully pinned up around my head, with carefully selected tendrils hanging down to frame my face. As for the bruise, Lexi had kept her word and made it disappear beneath layers of expensive foundation and bronzer. The dark shadows beneath my eyes, permanent remnants from my sleepless nights, would only be discernible under intense scrutiny.

The stage lights came up suddenly, illuminating the platform and blinding me temporarily. When my vision cleared, I saw four men silhouetted against the backlit stage. Slowly, the full house lights came up, revealing the band members.

My eyes tracked appreciatively up the lead singer’s body – starting at the black combat boots near eye-level, up past the black denim-clad thighs, and finally settling on the well-sculpted chest filling out a plain black v-neck. An elegant tattoo neatly cuffed one of his biceps and disappeared up under his shirt – a tribal whorl of indiscernible patterns that immediately captured my attention and had me fantasizing about tracing my fingers along the swirling labyrinth of ink.