Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
AFTER
The club was buzzing today. Atty had told me there was a tournament he had to oversee, and since we’d officially dropped the how-many-times-a-week-we-see-each-other clause, I could visit him whenever I wanted.
And today, he’d actually invited me. So that was a bonus.
As I sat on one of the beach bar’s stools, I spotted him in all his shirtless lifeguard Atty glory.
Those red swim shorts somehow made his body look even better than usual.
He was talking to one of the girls on the team.
For once, they all seemed focused—not openly drooling over their coach. That role was reserved just for me.
His gaze lifted, locking onto mine. A small smile tugged at his lips. I waved and winked, leaning back on my elbows like I hadn’t been counting down the minutes to see him.
“Barkeep!” I called.
Ezra walked toward me with an exaggerated sigh. “What do you want, Rossi?”
“Hi. Club soda with a lime wedge, please.” I flashed him my most dazzling smile.
He huffed and went to get it.
Everything had felt easy since Atty and I decided to have sex. He was more relaxed. I wasn’t being obsessively clingy. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and I could finally call him my boyfriend out loud instead of just in my head.
A glass landed against my elbow, the chill biting at my skin. I flinched.
“There you go,” Ezra said.
“Why are you being extra bratty today?” I asked, squinting at him. “I’ve literally said nothing but hello.”
“You looked too happy.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“Hey.” Atty’s voice made me turn.
“Hey,” I echoed, caught off guard. “I thought you were busy.”
He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, sweet and unexpected.
Sliding onto the stool beside me, he stared with that eager, excited-puppy look on his face.
“What is it?” I asked, laughing.
“I have a confession—kind of. I ambushed you today.” He scratched the side of his nose, sheepishly.
“Ambushed?”
“Yeah. After I saw you play last week, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. There’s a waiter here who’s in a band. He mentioned they were looking for a drummer, but it wasn’t a sure thing. I didn’t ask right away, but then I saw you play…”
“That’s sweet, Atty. But I’m not really a band guy.”
“I know. But I think you should reconsider, because you’re amazing at it, Noah. And I’m not just saying that because I’m easily impressed with anything you do—you really are. Watching you play was like seeing a whole different side of you. I really think it would make you happy.”
How the hell was I supposed to say no to that?
“I’ll talk to him,” I said, already caving.
“Actually…he told the lead singer about you. The guy doesn’t take auditions from just anyone, but he’s curious and wants to meet you. He’s on his way here.”
I blinked. “What?”
“His name’s Paxton Avila. I told Jenny—the hostess—to send him your way when he arrives, okay?”
“Atty—”
“I have to get back, but good luck.” He kissed my cheek again. “You’ll come over after I’m done?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He gave me one last smile and disappeared back into the crowd.
Beside me, Ezra made a sound like a whip cutting through the air.
I arched an eyebrow.
He shrugged. “Just saying.”
“Hi, you’re Noah, right?”
Once again, my attention shifted to the newcomer.
Right off the bat, you could tell he was a singer.
He had that low, raspy register that practically oozed laid-back energy.
Kind of tall—though, to be fair, my standards were skewed thanks to Atty.
Brown hair, brown eyes, tattoos scattered across his arms, neck, and hands.
Nothing too flashy about his outfit—just a black T-shirt and shorts.
He looked a little out of place for a beach club, but somehow perfectly cast as a frontman.
I reached out to shake his hand. “Yeah. Paxton?”
His grip was firm, confident. “Mind if I sit?”
I waved at the seat beside me.
“Can I get you anything?” Ezra asked, hovering nearby.
Paxton paused for a second, his dark eyes on Ezra before he said, “Club soda, thank you.” It was soft, almost shy.
“Coming right up.” Ezra stepped just far enough to fall out of Paxton’s line of sight before throwing me a wide-eyed look.
I tried to shrug as discreetly as possible.
Ezra mouthed hot and gave me two thumbs up. I pressed my lips together to keep myself from laughing.
“So.” I leaned forward slightly. “You’re looking for a drummer?”
“Yeah. Ours plays in another band, too, and lately he’s been leaning more that way. They’re into metal—that’s more his scene.”
“What’s your scene?”
He smiled a little. “That’s exactly what I came to ask you today. Jaden—my cousin—told me your boyfriend said you were into old music, but that could be a variety of things.”
That made me chuckle—and mentally gush over him using the word boyfriend. “80s, 90s rock and/or pop.”
He straightened a little, clearly interested. “Nice. We do our own stuff, but we throw in covers sometimes—mostly 90s. We could definitely make that work.”
My pulse jumped, curiosity pushing the words out. “Yeah? You play guitar?”
He nodded. “Jaden’s on bass, Brice plays rhythm. They both do backing vocals. We’re big on harmony—not just one voice carrying the whole thing.”
“Yeah? I sing too,” I said before I could stop myself. “I mean, kind of. I like to. I don’t know if I’m band-worthy, but if it’s just background, maybe.”
He blinked slowly. “While you drum?”
“I can’t really help myself. And my dad was obsessed with Phil Collins. I bet him once I could do it, too, so I kind of trained myself. But I’ve never actually played with anyone else, so I don’t really know if I’d be any good at it.
“How do you usually play?”
I tapped my ear. “With headphones.”
“That’ll do. If you can stay in sync with a track, you can sync with a band. We’ll have to try and see if it clicks, but I think you’ll catch on.”
“Sounds good. So, like, an audition?”
“Exactly. Just to feel it out. Personality-wise, I think we’re already solid.” His gaze swept over me, thoughtful. “De dónde eres?”
“Born in Buenos Aires. We moved to Seattle when I was nine.”
He nodded, almost like he’d guessed. “Figured. Yeah, Noah—I think you’ll fit right in. We’ve got a small following, nothing major. Check out our socials if you want. We play a club every couple of weeks and fill in gigs where we can. Are you okay on time?”
“Mostly, yeah. If it’s at night, better. I’m still in school—I have a full course load next year.” I thought about Atty and our time together, but actually, this was normal, right? Couples were supposed to have their own thing, their own lives.
“Yeah, we’re mostly nights. We practice twice a week, sometimes squeeze in a weekend session. Our spot’s not far—Jaden’s dad lets us use his garage.”
“That sounds perfect. So, when do you want to try me out?”
“If tomorrow works for you, we’re good. And we’re not weird about guests, either. If you want to bring your boyfriend to practice, go for it. Jaden’s girlfriend never misses one. She studies during rehearsals—full-time student too.”
“Good to know. Thanks.”
He placed his phone on the counter. “Give me your number—I’ll text you all the details.”
I took it and started typing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance at Ezra, who was talking to another guy, carefully pretending not to notice us.
I smiled to myself. “Here you go,” I said, handing the phone back.
He slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks, Noah.” He reached out again for a handshake. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then his gaze flicked to his soda, and back at Ezra.
“Don’t worry about that—I’ve got it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Very. Plus, the barman’s my roommate. Sodas are basically free.”
“Oh.” He drew out the word, casting one last look at Ezra. “Thanks again,” he said with a small smile before walking away.
Ezra returned to clear his glass. “So how’d that go?” he asked, too casual.
I grinned. “He’s hot?” I teased, laughing as Ezra rolled his eyes.
“Well, he is. I can’t help but point out the obvious.”
I kept ribbing him while my chest swelled with something warm and light. I was excited—genuinely excited—and I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened without it being about Atty.
Back at Atty’s apartment, the sun was starting to set.
The open-concept space was small but airy, filled with little signs of him.
Neatly folded laundry on the armrest of the couch, a worn copy of Slaughterhouse-Five on the coffee table, and his favorite hoodie draped over the back of a dining chair.
The air smelled faintly of laundry detergent and whatever citrusy cleaning spray he used religiously on every surface.
I jumped up onto the kitchen counter while he rinsed off the plates in the sink.
The cool marble pressed into the backs of my thighs as I prattled about songs and thought about what I might play tomorrow.
Then I noticed the slight downturn of his lips.
He’d been quieter than usual the whole ride here, but I’d figured he was just listening—taking in all my chatter about the band and everything I’d picked up from my borderline-creepy cyberstalking.
“So they play at a club called La Cueva, the second Saturday of each month. Have you heard of it?”
He hummed, shaking his head.
I bit down on my lip. “Paxton said you could come watch us practice if you wanted.”
Another hum. A small smile, like he was trying for my sake.
“Is something bothering you?”
He finished loading the dishwasher, closed the door, and pressed a couple of buttons. The quiet rush of water filled the background.
“Stuff with my mom,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the counter.
“I thought that was my line,” I teased.
That at least got me a real smile. “We’re not fighting or anything like that. She’s just having problems with the house, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Tell me about it.”