2. Maureen
Chapter two
FIVE YEARS AGO
Maureen
T he holiday season never truly began until I heard “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses. Memories of the record ticking and popping every December on my mom’s vinyl player had made a lasting impression. It didn’t matter if it happened randomly in the car or standing in line at the grocery store. Once that song came over the speakers, the time of merry and bright had begun.
That’s why I was stoked to hear the new wave classic as I got my hand stamped and walked through the grimy entryway into Musicbox’s main room the Sunday after Thanksgiving.
The first band wasn’t due on stage yet. I approved of the venue unapologetically playing Christmas tunes for the less-than-receptive crowd, as well as decorating for the season. A pink plastic tree stood prominently in one corner. Felt dollar store stockings hung behind the bar. A few audience members directed aggrieved looks at the speakers, rolling their eyes as “Christmas in Hollis” came on next.
Geesh. Tough crowd. I wasn’t a Christmas fanatic or anything. But in this room full of concertgoers frowning at the holiday music— it was Run DMC, for goodness’ sake, not Bing Crosby —I felt downright festive as I hummed along. Across the room, I noticed a guy with blue-black hair also nodding to the song. It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only person here not drowning in ennui.
My best friend Bren and I shoved our way toward the front. A second later, the holiday playlist cut off, and the opening band started its set.
It was a triple bill tonight. Three pop-punk bands from Europe. Not my favorite type of music but not the worst option either. And beggars couldn’t be choosers. I’d just gotten back from Coleman Creek that morning, still buzzing with the odd mix of happiness and guilt that followed every visit to my hometown. Bren had registered my mood the minute I’d dropped my suitcase back in our central Seattle apartment, and because she was the world’s greatest roommate and friend, she’d scored us these last-minute tickets.
The bands turned out to be surprisingly decent and just what I needed. But they weren’t the only thing capturing my attention. As the night wore on, my eyes kept drifting to the guy with the blue-black hair who stayed near the back of the room. The one pretending not to notice me.
At least twenty bodies stood between us, the crowd packed shoulder to sweaty shoulder in the overheated venue. Still, I felt his gaze. Each time I glanced back, he looked away quickly and resumed a blank expression, stuffing his fists into his pockets.
My interest rose as I cataloged little details. He was shorter than most of the guys in the room, close to my own height of five feet, six inches. His pale skin glowed in the crowd, stark beneath a head of dark curls. Thick lashes framed striking gray eyes, making them look as though they’d been lined. But something else was in his enigmatic features, a softness underneath.
I was intrigued. This guy might be just the thing to help me forget myself for a while. The next time I caught him staring, I attempted to hold his gaze. He tried to look away again, but I persisted, determined to bring this little dance to a head. I smiled—cheeks lifting just a fraction—enough to let him know I was open to a conversation.
He held my stare another moment before making a move in my direction. Abruptly, he stopped and shook his head. His face dropped into a scowl, and his jaw clenched. Turning away, he headed toward the back of the venue.
What the hell? I didn’t think I’d read that wrong. He had been checking me out.
I sighed as I watched him retreat. Disappointing, but whatever. The guy was sexy, no doubt, but he had zero chance of me chasing him. Especially not tonight. Besides just returning from an exhausting trip, I had a new job starting soon, so there was plenty on my plate already.
If I wanted to hook up, there were other men here. Or I could just enjoy the music. At the least, my position near the speakers would get me out of my head for a while. With the way my ears already rang, I’d be half deaf tomorrow.
Bren returned from a mission to the bar, handing me a bottle of water.
“Where’d he go?” she shouted, doing her best to be heard over the amplifiers.
“Who?”
“The guy who’s had his eyes on you all night. The short king with that killer black hair.”
I shrugged. “Dunno. I got tired of waiting for him to come over, so I gave him my best I’d be down look, and he walked away.”
“Fucker.”
“It’s okay. Band’s good, though.”
Bren and I faced the stage. Musicbox had grown famous for its acoustics—a charitable way of saying it was inexcusably loud. Despite the rainbow-colored foam plugs in my ears, my teeth still rattled with every guitar strum.
I noticed another guy a few feet away. He dipped his chin forward, eyeing me with a leer. With his muscular build, backward baseball cap, and loose-fitting Levi’s under a Guinness T-shirt, he looked like he’d just wandered in from frat row. I knew this sort of obvious interest and generic handsomeness appealed to a lot of women, but unsubtle dude bro wasn’t my type at all.
He stared at me. I looked away, hoping he’d get the message.
Meanwhile, Bren had been proactive about ensuring she’d have someone to go home with. I saw Chase pushing his way through the crowd halfway through the main act’s first set. He and my best friend had been close since high school, and he was one of her regular booty calls, her friend-with-benefits, or whatever she labeled it this week.
I smirked at her. “Chase is here.”
“What can I say?” She winked. “I needed a sure thing.”
“That poor guy. You realize he’d marry you tomorrow if you’d let him, right?” It came out slightly more admonishing than I’d meant, but it was hard not to feel sorry for Chase when he looked at Bren with such clear adoration.
She had no patience for my opinion. “He’s a big boy, Maureen. And I’ve been honest with him about where I stand. If he’s willing to accept the limited arrangement I’m offering, that’s on him.”
Accurate, of course. “Is he taking you to his apartment?”
“If that’s okay?”
“Sure. I can Uber back to our place on my own.”
“Alright. But we’ll stay with you until the end of the show, or at least until you’re ready to leave. Make sure you get in the car safe and sound.”
“Thanks.”
Chase wrapped himself around Bren from behind like a koala, resting his chin on her head.
“I’m gonna grab a soda.” I had to yell even though Bren stood right next to me. She nodded in reply, squeezing Chase’s arms around her ribs.
I made my way to the bar with minimal shoving. While I waited to grab the bartender’s attention, a prickle of awareness ghosted across the skin of my neck.
I glanced to my left.
Blue-black curls gleamed like the ocean at midnight. He sat on a stool across the bar, posed casually, but unable to hide the tension in his shoulders as he caught my eye. He didn’t look away this time. Instead, he bit his bottom lip.
A hint of excitement traveled down my spine. My mouth turned up slightly as I peered at him through my lashes.
He gazed at me for the type of fleeting instant which felt like an eternity, all the people and noise between us fading into the background.
I took a step in his direction, and his lips flattened. He looked away quickly, shifting uncomfortably on the seat.
I huffed. What was this guy’s problem? I did not have time for men who went back and forth between eye-fucking me and looking like they swallowed a lemon.
Shaking my head in annoyance, I raised an arm, aggressively trying to flag down the bartender. Screw soda. I needed a shot.
As I took the shot and slammed ten bucks down on the counter, I wasn’t paying attention to anyone else at the bar. Which was how I turned around and found myself facing backward baseball cap dude.
“Hey,” he said, giving me an aw-shucks smile.
Irritation flared. After getting mixed signals from blue-black hair guy—again—this was the last thing I wanted.
“Um, hey,” I replied, twisting my hip to snake through the tight crowd.
“I’m Paul.”
He moved in front of me as I tried to scoot around him. The audience was rowdy. I couldn’t be sure if he’d intentionally gotten in my way or if he’d been pushed from the side.
“Um, okay,” I said. I didn’t want to be too friendly or give him an opening, but being outright rude probably wasn’t a good idea either. Dude bro seemed harmless enough, but you never could tell.
I squared my shoulders and stood as tall as I could. “Hey, Phil, I’m going back over to hang out with my friend, okay? It’s girls’ night.” Hopefully, he wouldn’t follow my path too closely and spot Chase.
“It’s Paul. And I came over to talk to you. You were checking me out before," he said, unmistakably blocking my path now.
I exhaled heavily. “I wasn’t.”
“Pretty sure I know when a cute girl is looking at me.” He smiled again, sure he’d won me over with his amazing compliment. “I get it if you’re with your friend, but can I get your number? Or maybe we could meet up later?”
Was this doofus for real? My hackles poked beneath my skin. Off-brand Ken doll must be extremely used to closing the deal if he moved this fast. Part of me itched to give him a piece of my mind for being so pushy, but I didn’t want to make a big dramatic scene. Not after the week I’d had. “Um…no thanks. Listen, I’m sorry you got the wrong idea, but I just want to get back to my friend.” I attempted to squeeze past him.
He sidestepped in front of me. “So you don’t want to even talk to me?” He seemed genuinely perplexed, completely unfamiliar with the concept of no . “You won’t even tell me your name?”
I glanced over and tried to grab Bren’s attention. She didn’t notice, completely wrapped up in Chase. I didn’t think this guy would do anything to me in a room full of people, but his lack of chill was unnerving.
“Look, Paul, I’m going to need you to let me pass by. Otherwise, things are about to get very real, very fast. We’re about five seconds away from my knee becoming intimately acquainted with your nutsack.”
His incredulous frown deepened. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. Because I just want to talk. I like a feisty girl. I don’t mind having to work for it.”
Ugh. Seriously? “We are done here. Let me pass. Now.”
“Just give me a chance—”
“She’s not interested, man. What the fuck more do you need?” Suddenly, blue-black hair guy was next to me, giving the other man a glare so icy his backward baseball cap could have frozen.
“Who the fuck are you?” Paul demanded.
“I’m just someone who thinks it’s messed up that asshats like you give the rest of us a bad name. This woman obviously isn’t interested in your bullshit. So how about you run along and go practice your keg stands, or hit up some sorority party to find a woman who’s more willing to find out how disappointing you are in bed.”
I couldn’t help my small giggle. Paul looked between the two of us, finally throwing his hands up. “Fuck this.”
I watched him go, making sure he was well away before turning back to the man next to me. “Thank you for stepping in. But just so you know, I had that handled.”
He replied with a grin, and I noticed how full and red his lips were, standing out against the paleness of his smooth-shaven face. “You absolutely did. And I’m sorry I intruded on what I’m sure would have been an epic takedown. He was just really pissing me off. Allow me to apologize on behalf of all men, especially those who are still figuring out how not to let their dicks run the show.”
I barked another laugh. “Feminist, are you?”
“I like to think so.” His features still showed caution, but no scowl. I was charmed. And I wanted a reason to forgive him for making the sucking-lemons face at me earlier.
When he didn’t step away, my initial interest resurfaced. Heightened.
Except he’d given me whiplash all night. And I wasn’t into playing games.
“I saw you before,” I said. “During the warm-up act. Watching me. Then you were doing it again just now, at the bar.” I leaned my elbows against the counter behind me. “You couldn’t have missed me looking back at you. But you got all weird and turned away. Both times.” His Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed, but when he remained quiet, I continued, “I’m in the habit of being aware when people are staring at me. Call it self-preservation.”
“Sorry.” He dragged a palm across his face before shoving both hands in his pockets. “I…uh…did notice you.” His sexy voice was lower than I expected.
His expression remained unreadable. Partially intrigued, but also…pained somehow. I grew impatient with his non-reply. “So, there we were, noticing each other—” I gripped the edge of the bar top. “Why’d you look away, then?”
He muttered, mostly to himself, “You could call that ‘self-preservation,’ too.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly through the hum of the surrounding crowd. “Huh?”
“It’s hard to explain. Tonight…I didn’t really come here for…that.” He bit off the word. “I sort of wanted to be alone, and I guess I was trying to stick to the plan. But after noticing you before, then watching you hand that guy his ass a minute ago, I just…had to meet you.”
I still didn’t know what he wanted, and I’d given him plenty of opportunities to clarify. Hot and cold didn’t work for me. Too bad. With that moody, dark gaze, he was exactly my type. “Well, we’ve met now. I guess I’ll leave you to your alone time.” I pushed my elbows away from the bar. “Thanks for the assist with frat douche. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
His eyes widened. “Wait! I’m sorry I made it so complicated. Can we start over? Please.” He stepped closer and made a throaty entreaty, “Now that we’re talking, I’d like to keep doing that.”
I supposed I could give him a pass for being weird at first. We all had our reasons for bad moments. As long as he didn’t make his complications my complications, we could still have a good time.
Or maybe he wasn’t a casual hookup type of guy? That would explain some of the odd behavior. I could respect that. He’d helped me out with Paul the garbage person, and seemed fun to talk to. I wouldn’t be too disappointed if that was all we did.
“I’m cool to chill. But I won’t apologize for interrupting your me time ,” I joked. “Since I offered to walk away.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” His heavy-lidded gaze raked over my body from the top of my head to the tips of my black calf-height boots. “Like I said, I wasn’t looking…but I’m not sorry.”
I smiled. “How about we start with something simple. Like, what’s your name?”
“Oh, jeez.” He rolled his eyes. “I know I’m rusty, but apparently, I’m also an idiot. Sorry. I’m Billy.” It would have felt natural to shake hands, but his fists stayed determinedly in his pockets. I assumed he wanted to be extra gentlemanly and hands-off after the dude bro situation.
“Mo.”
“Mo. Cool name. Is that short for something?”
I always used Mo with potential dates and hookups until I was certain it was safe to give my real name. A girl never could be too careful. I tsked. “Ooh, tough break for you, Billy. That’s information I reserve exclusively for people I’ve known longer than fifteen minutes.”
He laughed. The look of indecision I’d seen pass over his features earlier broke through for a moment, but he washed it away quickly.
“How about we remedy that?” he asked. “There’s a twenty-four-hour diner north of here. Sophisticated place called Denny’s. Can I buy you a late, late dinner? Or coffee?”
My stomach did a somersault as his question resolved into a beautiful smile. It pulled on my insides like gravity. We’d been able to speak at a normal volume for a few minutes with the band between sets, but the pounding bass started up again.
Billy evidently didn’t want a speedy hookup. And I wasn’t in the mood for quick and meaningless either. That wasn’t the vibe between us. The smart thing to do would be to call it a night. Exchange numbers and plan for another time. But now that we were finally talking, I was reluctant for the conversation to end. And the band was performing its encore.
There was an urgency to the moment I couldn’t explain or dismiss. Dang . I’d come here tonight trying to get out of my head after a stressful few days, and now I was considering something more than a casual hookup with someone I’d barely met. I couldn’t even recall the last time I’d gone to a restaurant with a guy.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I wanted to. As attracted as I was to those full ruby lips of his, I was just as interested in finding out if his confidence was real or forced. I wanted to know if he truly considered himself a feminist, and who had taught him that. Did he actually like Joy Division, or was he wearing their T-shirt ironically? And what had he seen in me that made him want to stop being cautious?
“Yeah. I could eat,” I said. “Although I might be too deaf to carry on a conversation.” I reached up to touch the foam in my ears. “We’re good as long as you’re in the mood to potentially be eating french fries with me in stony silence.”
“Sounds perfect.”