Chapter 7
Theo
Three days later, I arrive at practice deliberately last, timing my entrance so I won’t risk being alone with Dante. His rejection is lodged under my ribs like a bruise I can’t stop pressing.
“Theo!” Tai calls, jogging over and throwing his arms around me before I can even set my bag down. It’s out of character for him to be this openly affectionate, but somehow he reads my need for comfort the second our eyes meet.
The physical touch is a lifeline, and I cling to it. He’s only a few inches taller than me, but he feels larger than life as I tuck myself into the crook of his neck. His hug tightens, and I draw in the first real breath I’ve taken in days.
“Hey,” he whispers into my ear. “Theo, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is you always smell like blueberries and I’m jealous.” The words come out weak, and a tiny sniffle escapes before I can swallow it back.
He squeezes me tighter, one hand drifting slow circles over my back. “If you ever need to talk, you know I’m here, right?” I nod against his shoulder, throat too tight to speak. His fingers keep moving, and for a second I almost believe I can keep it together.
“Or,” he continues, “if you’d rather get drunk and make questionable life choices, I’m also quite skilled at that, too.” My laugh is half-buried in another sniffle, and I feel him smile against my hair.
“Theo?” Dante’s voice cuts across the room, closer than I want it to be.
I burrow deeper into Tai’s chest, fingers curling tighter into his shirt as if I can disappear inside it. Footsteps approach, and my pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
“Is he okay?” Dante asks, concern threading through the words.
“He’s fine,” Tai insists, turning just enough to place himself squarely between me and Dante. “We’re just having a snuggle session over here, and you aren’t invited.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, so faint only Tai can hear. Then, louder but still muffled against his shoulder, I say, “Want to make out and make him jealous?”
Tai laughs in his soft, throaty way that’s somehow still musical. “Remember our whole conversation about modern civilization falling apart?” He drops his face to mine and plants a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Still a concern, I’m afraid.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I whisper back. “Damn us and our duty to society.”
Dante’s voice is unsure as he says my name again, and the small respite from Tai’s joking vanishes in an instant. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force my temper back down. Unfortunately for him, it’s a beast that rarely listens to its master.
I pull away from Tai and strain my neck to glare around him at Dante. “He said I’m fine because I am fine.”
His fingers steeple against his lips, and he dares to look confused while he stares at me—like he has no idea why I’m this raw.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks.
My scoff twists into a bitter laugh. “Please, Dante, enlighten me. Why on earth might I be mad at you?”
His eyes drop to the floor, shoulders hunching just enough to make my chest ache through the fury. “Um, well…”
“No.” I dart out of Tai’s arms, jabbing my finger against Dante’s chest hard enough to make him feel it. “Not um. Look at me and tell me. What exactly do you think could have upset me? Give me one good fucking reason I might be pissed!”
When our eyes finally connect, his are so full of emotion that it almost breaks me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“No? You don’t want to hurt me?”
“Of course not,” he whispers, inching forward.
I step back to counter it, and I catch the flash of pain that flickers in his eyes. “Then stop fucking hurting me.” The words come out venomous, spitting everything I’ve been swallowing for days.
I turn on my heel, snatching Tai’s hand and dragging him with me as I grab my guitar and join the others. Dante follows a few minutes later, but the tension between us is suffocating. We struggle through practice, off-key and out of sync.
He keeps staring.
I do everything I can to avoid his eyes.
When it’s finally time to go, I slam my bass into its case and storm toward the exit. He follows—of course he does—but his footsteps skid to a halt when Tai steps in.
“Give him space, Dante.”
“I don’t want to give him fucking space.”
I’m already out the door. I shake my head as I slide into my car and stare at the steering wheel, hands trembling against it. He doesn’t want to give me space, but he doesn’t want to get too close, either.
What the fuck does he want?
“You are stunning tonight, Theo,” Jesse purrs, leaning in with clear intent.
I panic and twist my head just enough that his kiss lands on my cheek. His lips are soft and warm, but not where he wanted them. Ever since our coffee date, he’s been increasingly insistent, and despite my string of excuses, I gave in after his third invitation.
He never gives up, and I never say no. It’s a dangerous combination that’s starting to feel like a trap I set for myself.
“What, this old thing?” I tease, gesturing down at the outfit I picked specifically for him. Stylish jeans and a baby blue sweater that matches my eyes, paired with my blue Converse hi-tops to keep it casual. Just the right amount of effort without looking like I’m trying too hard.
“You look quite nice, too.”
He smiles, tilting his head down to inspect his own ensemble while loose strands of blond hair fall into his eyes. Dark skinny jeans, a crisp white button-up, and a long tan wool coat hitting mid-thigh. It’s a fantastic look, so I don’t feel like a complete fraud when I offer the compliment.
“I’m so glad you could make room in your busy schedule to see me,” he says, weaving our fingers together with easy confidence.
It takes every ounce of self-control not to pull my hand away as my brain screams at me for agreeing to this date.
My schedule has been wide open these past few days, but the thought of seeing him didn’t exactly fill me with enthusiasm.
I let him lead me toward the restaurant door while my hand stays stiff in his grip.
The night air is cool against my face, but it does nothing to ease the knot in my chest.
Despite our coffee-shop conversation, I’m positive Jesse wants a relationship, even if he claims to be fine with taking things slow.
We aren’t on the same page, that much is painfully clear.
It’s why I’ve been hesitant to see him again, though there’s no valid reason for me to dislike him.
Jesse is nice, sweet, and cute. It should make this easy, but he isn’t what I want.
He’ll never be what I want, because he isn’t Dante.
They’re polar opposites, and the differences hit harder every time I notice them.
Jesse’s personality is bubbly and cheerful compared to how Dante is somber and keeps to himself.
They couldn’t be more different, even in their appearance.
Jesse is confident in his good looks, and isn’t afraid to flaunt them.
Dante hides himself under oversized hoodies and crossed arms. He’s painfully insecure, no matter how much he tries to cover it with his controlled facade.
There’s more to his story, and the not-knowing gnaws at me.
Jesse gives our joined hands a little shake, and I realize I never responded to him. “Sorry,” I say with a smile, “I got stuck in a daydream. The life of a musician, you know. Head in the clouds.” My voice comes out too bright, but the excuse seems to satisfy him.
God, I’m being so rude.
I need to get out of my head.
We make it inside the restaurant and are led to a table near the back, where pendant lights cast a warm glow.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the smoky, savory smells wafting from the kitchen, while the clink of cutlery and soft laughter from nearby tables serve as gentle white noise.
We chat easily enough, pausing when the server takes our order and brings our drinks.
Jesse’s sweet smile lights up his face as he moves from his spot across from me and slides into the booth beside me. His body presses close and his arm drapes casually around my shoulders. “Do you mind if I get a picture of us?”
“Sure,” I say, forcing a smile as he grabs his phone and extends his arm.
His lips press against my cheek in a quick kiss while he snaps the selfie.
He snuggles in for a minute longer, cheek resting against mine, before he picks up on my tense posture.
He eases back to his own side of the table with a small nod, though his brows are pinched.
Our food arrives and serves as a welcome distraction, giving us a safe topic as I share my enthusiasm for cooking.
I tell him stories from late-night bus-tour meals, and improvised dinners with whatever we could scrounge from gas-station snacks and hotel microwaves.
He laughs in all the right places, asks thoughtful questions, and for a few minutes I almost forget the knot in my chest.
Then my phone vibrates against my thigh.
“Crap, I thought I put this on silent.” I slide it from my pocket and frown at Dante’s name staring at me from the screen.
Dante (Is Being A Brat)
Please tell your date not to post personal pictures to the band pages.
“Everything okay?” Jesse asks, brow furrowing as he watches my face.
“Sorry,” I say, flashing him another smile that feels too tight. “Give me just a second.”
I pull up the band’s social media pages and immediately spot the selfie.
It’s posted by a user named TallBlondAndJesse, and the band is either tagged or the photo shared directly to our feed.
The image stares back at me: Jesse’s lips on my cheek while I smile, and the whole thing looks far more couple-y than it ever felt.
“Jesse…” I heave a sigh, bracing myself for the fallout of upsetting him. “Fuck, this is awkward. The band likes to keep our social media pages for official news. Do you, uh, mind taking the picture down?”
“What, we aren’t official?” His tone is playful, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it that feels like a test.
I lock eyes with him, making sure there’s no room for misinterpretation. “No, we aren’t official. I made it clear I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now—”
“Oh, my god, I’m fucking kidding. Chill the fuck out.
” My mouth snaps closed as he glares at his phone, jabbing his finger across the screen.
“There. Pictures are deleted. Happy now?” He’s still staring down at his lap when he gives an abrupt shake of his head.
“I’ve been nothing but nice to you, Theo.
If you didn’t want anything to do with me, you should’ve just said so.
It would’ve been kinder than letting me think I had a chance. ”
Fuck. The guilt hits hard, twisting in my gut like a knife I turned myself.
He grabs his jacket and scoots toward the end of the booth. “I’ll pay the bill, and then you can get back to your life without me being a constant interruption.”
My fingers wrap around his wrist before I can think better of it. He goes completely still, rapid pulse pounding beneath my touch and gaze fixed on where I hold him.
My voice comes out gentle, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean I wanted you to leave, but I also don’t want to lead you on. We discussed this, and if we can’t spend time together as friends without it turning into arguing and frustration, then we shouldn’t be hanging out.”
Look at me, pretending to be all mature and shit.
He exhales a long breath, shoulders dropping slightly. “Friends hanging out… can we at least call it a date?”
I hesitate, the word feeling heavier than it should, but I nod. “I think I can handle that.”
His jaw ticks once, legs bouncing under the table in that restless way he has when he’s trying not to push too hard. “I really like you. Just… keep an open mind? Please?”
I groan internally as he hits me with those fucking puppy-dog eyes, and I fold like a goddamned origami crane. “Okay,” I say, softer than I mean to. “I can do that.”
His smile relaxes, tension easing from his face as he settles back into the seat.
True to his word, he tones it down. There’s no more leaning in too close, no more testing the waters.
We finish dinner with easy conversation: stories from his law-school classes, my half-hearted anecdotes about tour mishaps.
Nothing too deep, and nothing too revealing. It’s comfortable. Polite. Safe.
He even keeps his hands in his pockets as he walks me to my car afterward, ending the night with nothing more than a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Text me when you get home safe, okay?” he asks before he walks off with a wave.
He’s a perfect gentleman.
So why does it still feel so wrong?