I ran a hand through my hair as they turned to eye me.
“This is the worst possible thing that could fucking happen.”
Jude’s brow quirked. “What is?”
“Penny called.” I turned to pace in the other direction.
“Wait, that’s bad?” Phil asked.
I sighed. “Penny called to tell me that Rod fucking called her to ask her to go to his show tonight.”
Jude’s mouth popped open. “No shit.”
“No shit,” I echoed.
“Fuck,” he said, running his hand over his lips. “This is bad.”
“I’m so fucked. Fucked. Eight years later, and that asshole is coming back to throw a wrench in everything, and the timing sucks. We haven’t talked, she’s wigging out, and he’s the one person who has the power to ruin everything. Nobody gets under her skin like he does.”
Phil looked confused. “Why the hell would she agree to go?”
“Because,” I huffed, walking back toward the door, “he’s a fucking rock star, and he had her under his thumb for half of high school. Because she’s Penny, and of course she wants to go. But I told her I’m going with her.”
Jude laughed at that. “You told her?”
“Yeah, I fucking told her. You think I’d let her go without me? I mean, at least if I’m there, he can’t get to her. Plus, there’s too much unsaid that needs to be said once and for all.”
“And you think Rod’s concert is the right time? With him up on a stage, licking the microphone in a leather jacket?” Jude asked, shaking his head. “Bro.”
I groaned and paced the room again, hand in my hair. “Fuck. Fuck! What the fuck am I gonna do?”
Phil sighed. “Cross your fingers and pray.”
“Go to Lucky’s and deck Roddy as a show of manhood and territorial superiority,” Jude said helpfully.
I shook my head. “I’ve just got to survive. Show up. And hope to God I don’t lose her for good.”
You Can't Actually Be Serious
My emotions were jumbled up like Scrabble tiles as I worked through my day, trying to keep busy, which wasn’t too hard. From the second I’d hung up the phone with Bodie, I’d had somebody in my chair, affording me plenty of time alone with my thoughts.
The last thing I wanted to do was go to the concert, and somehow I’d gotten roped into it. And Bodie had sounded hard and a little angry on the phone, and when he’d insisted we go to the show, I couldn’t find a way to say no. I needed to see him as much as he’d said he needed to see me, and the prospect of seeing him, talking to him, was too much to argue. That on top of not wanting to make him any angrier.
The conversation had taken a hard left, and I’d found myself agreeing to go to my ex-boyfriend’s rock concert with my current boyfriend-slash-slam-piece who I hadn’t spoken to in days.
Basically, the whole thing was a fucking hot-ass mess.
The sound of Bodie’s voice had made my insides squishy and warm. The thought of seeing him made it hard to breathe. I’d missed him so much that in hindsight, staying away seemed ridiculous and futile. I wanted to be with him; that hadn’t changed. I was still scared; that hadn’t changed either. All that had changed was my resolve to go after what I wanted instead of running away.
The problem was that I didn’t know what to expect, and I dreaded meeting him at Lucky’s.
I should have called it off. I should have told him to just meet me somewhere else, anywhere else. But the afternoon got away from me, and one thing after another went wrong. My last job, a massive back piece, ended up running over. Like, an hour over.
I texted Bodie the first chance I got, but by that point, he was already there. And the second I was finished, I blew out the door and caught a cab with my pulse speeding. I hadn’t even had time to go home and change. I fussed over my clothes — my Misfits tee with the oversize neck, black miniskirt, shredded up tights and combats. And as I touched up my makeup, nerves overwhelmed me, stoked by the anxiety of being late and not knowing what to expect from the night.
When the cab pulled up to the curb in front of Lucky’s, I spotted Bodie leaning against the wall next to the box office, his eyes dark and brows low, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed.
He looked gorgeous.
Gorgeous and pissed.
I paid the cabbie and slipped out of the car into the sweltering heat, trotting across the sidewalk to him as he pushed away from the wall.
I found myself breathless, probably from jogging. Or from Bodie — broody and tense and pumping out testosterone and pheromones at me like tear gas.
“Hey,” I breathed, wishing I could wrap myself around him like a boa constrictor. As much as I’d thought I’d missed him, it was nothing compared to standing there in front of him without permission to touch him. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”