Chapter 7
7
JORDAN
Bronson
You seem tense.
W hat did Bronson mean by that?
That I look stressed? The last time he told me I looked stressed, he wasn’t exactly subtle in suggesting ways to relieve that stress. Was that text his way of actually being subtle? Was that his way of leaving the door between us unlocked, so to speak? Or was that just him being a friend?
The latter. Definitely the latter.
It was a one-time thing.
I said so. He said so.
It was definitely just one friend checking in on another friend. And it’s not like that’s odd behavior from him. Bronson checks in with me all the time. Always has.
Or... is it possible all those times weren’t just him checking in at all? Was he offering to help me relieve my tension back then and I just… didn’t notice?
Oh, gosh!
What if I just didn’t notice?
I swipe up on our text conversation as Criminal Records plays through Strawberry Daiquiris again. The song echoes loudly in the empty Botsford Plaza ballroom as I scroll through days and weeks and years of past text messages. Mostly mine, obviously, but there are several of his one-word responses I’m suddenly reading with a different light.
Sure.
Sounds good.
brt
brt?!
What did he mean by that?
It was in reply to “Band meeting in ten minutes.” And he said he’d be right there . Not on my way or need a minute. Just that he’d be right there.
He’s always been right there when I needed him.
I look up from my phone as Knox and Addison’s dueling guitars lead into a drum solo. Jonah’s bass keeps time with Katrina’s keyboard as Bronson bangs his drums. It might look wild and random to the untrained eye, but Bronson’s arms and wrists act with purposeful grace, his foot hitting his bass drum with delicate precision on the beat.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The sound digs into my chest, penetrating deeper with each one.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I cross my legs, a light throbbing making itself known between them.
Bang. Bang.
Bang.
With closed eyes, I feel myself transported to last night. Suddenly, I’m lying on my back. I’m naked. My legs are spread wide, my knees wrapped around Bronson’s waist.
Bang. Bang.
Hard and deep. Over and over again. No sign of slowing down.
I throw my head back. I moan, my tongue unable to do anything else.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Knox’s voice pulls me out of it. The vision fades from my thoughts, but it leaves my skin tingling. I shift on my chair, now fully aware of the wet spot in my underwear.
As I glance at the band, I see Bronson peeking at me between his drums in the back; a look so quick and subtle I second-guess whether it really happened or not.
It was a one-time thing.
I said so. He said so.
But...
A chair sets down beside me. I look over my shoulder and nod at Chrissy as she sits down.
“What did I miss?” she asks.
I eye her closely, noticing the bright blue speck poking out of her black hair. I reach over to pluck it out. It’s a plastic wrapper of some kind, a torn edge of a much larger package.
Chrissy sees it between my fingers and blushes. “Thanks,” she says, snatching it from me.
“You two are ridiculous,” I say beneath the music, the band launching into an old classic: Down Down Baby.
“Oh, shuddup,” she says, combing her fingers through her long hair before pushing it over one shoulder.
“You didn’t leave him tied up somewhere, did you?” I ask.
“No, but I’ll definitely remember that for next time.”
“Whatever happened to giving him the silent treatment?” I ask.
“Oh, we didn’t do much talking at all,” she hums.
“You’re wicked.”
“You’re jealous.”
“Not really.”
“Well, you should be.”
I grimace, happy to place my focus on my band again.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I lurch back to Chrissy. “Tomorrow night, the ballroom here is booked, so I had to move practice to another venue.”
“What venue?”
“A local theater we’ve played at before. It’s nearby. Do you think you can oversee that for me?”
“While you’re having dinner with?—”
“Yes,” I say before she can, even though I know no one can hear us over the music. “While I’m in a meeting.”
“You’re not going to tell them?” Chrissy asks, curious.
“No,” I answer, having already thought this over. “They have more than enough to deal with right now. They need to focus on their music.”
“Sure, but… Jordan, the guy bugged their bus.”
“I know that. Don’t make this complicated.”
“It’s already plenty complicated, honey.”
“Right. So, there’s no reason to involve the others in what’s probably just a boring business meeting with the head of our record label. I mean, we’re having dinner here at the hotel restaurant. It’s not like we’re meeting someplace fancy.”
Chrissy chuckles. “Imagine a life where you spend so much time in Botsford Plazas that you don’t even consider them fancy anymore.”
I pause. “Okay. You got me there. It doesn’t change my mind, though. I’ll go to dinner, find out what he wants, and then I’ll fill in the band after.”
She releases a heavy sigh. “I really think you should give them a head-up first.”
“Can you fill in for me tomorrow or not?”
“Of course I can,” she answers. “August and I will be happy to herd your kittens for the evening.”
“Thank you. It should only take an hour or so, and then you and Mr. Boyd to go back to doing... whatever it is you two do to each other that leaves condom wrappers in your hair.”
“It wasn’t a condom,” she says. “It was a candy bar.”
I blink in horror. “What did you do with the candy bar?”
Chrissy grins.
“Don’t answer that,” I say, shuddering.
“But you should tell them,” Chrissy says with a definitive head bob. “That’s it. Last time I’ll say it.”
I exhale hard, but I don’t bother arguing with it again. I look over at the band, my eyes jumping to Bronson all on their own.
He looks at me, too. This time, he doesn’t look away or pretend like he was just glancing at his snare. Bronson keeps his friendly eyes on me, silently shifting to Chrissy, then back at me, a lingering question echoing in his irises.
Are you okay?
I smile and nod, signaling that everything is fine.
I open my planner, ignoring Chrissy’s warning.