19. Jeanie
19 /
jeanie
Savage Boyfriends
I glance through the back window of the taxi. There’s nothing but bumper-to-bumper headlights and taillights for blocks on the downtown Miami streets. Around us, horns honk like unanswered ringtones.
“Why’s there gridlock on a weeknight?” I ask.
“We’ll jump out here.” Nathan hands the driver cash.
We slide out of the back seat and join the stream of pedestrians making their way to an old theater. A huge vintage sign reads neon in hot-pink crawling lights. Beneath it, a massive crowd waits at an entrance guarded by bouncers. Several spotlights slice through the sky, beckoning everyone within a twenty-mile radius to join the party.
The marquee reads:
TONIGHT:
SPECIAL GUESTS
Wolf Savage and DJ 2-Nic e
“You’re Wolf Savage!” I stop in my tracks.
Nathan grabs my hand and tugs me into an alley like he’s trying to hide. And maybe he is.
I’ve heard the name a thousand times on Mom’s trashy entertainment TV shows, but I never placed a face. Then I remember all the girls at Sophia’s bachelorette party howling and clawing the air like rabid animals.
My heart drops.
I’m so stupid. This entire time, everyone knew but me. At least, some of them did. That explains several confusing questions they asked, and why Nathan always wears hats and sunglasses in public. He really is hiding.
Behind the theater and under a zapping yellow light, Nathan knocks on a door. It eases open, and he mumbles something to a man the size of a tanker ship. The man allows us inside, where we’re shown to a cramped dressing room dripping in red velvet. Waiting for Nathan are flowers and gifts, all tagged with his stage name.
“Um, I think you underplayed your fame a bit.” I pick up a stuffed animal wolf and howl.
“Stop.” He lightheartedly bats it out of my hand.
“With this material, I could make fun of you forever.”
“Forever?” He arches a brow.
“Until I’m done with you.” I shrug off his reaction. But for the first time, I’m considering something new. Would he want to be friends with me after this week?
“Thanks for coming.” He tugs off his hoodie .
“I haven’t been out with a guy other than Roman since the tenth grade.”
“Then the pressure’s on.” He snags a red rose from a bouquet and presents it to me with a flourish.
“Too late, I know the real you— Wolf .”
He snarls, and I snarl back.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in,” Nathan says but his gaze remains on mine.
“Mr. Savage?” The door creaks open. A young woman in a neon-green tube dress appears.
It’s like he only looks away from me because it would be rude not to give the woman his attention.
“I’m Ana. I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” she says.
Nathan extends a hand to her, and they exchange pleasantries.
“You’re on in thirty minutes, but is there anything I can get you in the meantime?” She glances around the room.
“Is the VIP table I requested ready?” Nathan removes his baseball cap and tosses it aside. His hair flops in tousled perfection.
“All ready, and some of your guests have arrived.” Ana flips through pages on her clipboard, confirming.
“Would you mind showing Jeanie to the table? Make sure she gets whatever she wants.”
“Absolutely,” Ana says and turns to leave.
“I’ll see you after the show,” I say.
Nathan tugs me back into his embrace. He thumbs my chin, and my eyes flutter to his lips for a moment.
“Don’t suck too bad,” I say.
His eyes brighten at the newly brandished inside joke.
“There’s always life coaching to fall back on.” His eyes sparkle.
“If only you didn’t suck at that too.”
I spin to leave but he pinches my butt, sending me jumping to Ana’s side. He shuts the door behind us.
Backstage, performers pass wearing dazzling outfits. When we step through sweeping red curtains to the main theater, I’m on sensory overload.
A DJ spins music on a stage. Below him, a packed dance floor writhes to pounding electronic beats. Above the bar, men hang from the ceiling, performing graceful aerial ballets on spinning hoops. Elsewhere, dancers perch on columns that shimmer like disco balls.
Ana leads me to the VIP area. It’s in the middle of the dance floor, raised so it’s level with the stage.
Mom and her new beau are already at the table. Robert is an artist who has a gallery in the Wynwood. He’s currently painting her portrait—nude, which means this guy will be around until it’s done and hanging in her living room. If he’s lucky.
“Is this what you saw online about Nathan, the secret you should have told me?” I ask Mom and wave my hand to indicate the crowd.
“I’ve got lots of secrets. But the question is, if I told you, would you have gone on the first date?” she asks.
“Do I even have to answer that?” My voice cracks as I settle in the chair beside her. Knowing the truth about Nathan’s fame would have scared me away, which makes me sad because he’s kind of awesome.
Mom lifts a brow. “You picked a hell of a rebound.”
“He’s not a rebound.”
“Don’t be stupid. Nathan might be your last chance for some strange booty if your wicked plan works. Have some fun.”
I can’t deny the temptation he offers. Every second we spend together makes me question why I’m not taking advantage of the situation. He’s awakened my inner cougar, and it’s increasingly harder to control. The itch is growing, or is it growling?
“Did you see Dex before you left?” I ask.
“He and Freaky Freddie went out with some girls.”
“Nathan’s been coaching their confidence. I guess it’s working.”
I make a note to myself to ask Nathan what he’s been preaching to the boys. But isn’t this what I’ve been eagerly awaiting, for Dex to come out of his shy shell and experience all teenage life has to offer?
A new realization hits me. Dex is the same age as I was when I met Roman.
When I think of Dex meeting someone he might spend the rest of his life with, I blanch. He’s fifteen, too young for that kind of commitment, which means I was too young.
Maybe all this time I’ve been pressing Dex to experience more because I haven’t in my own life. Perhaps I’ve been projecting my own cravings for adventure onto him, only so I could live vicariously through his experiences .
The next aha moment hits harder.
There’s no one to stop me from experiencing everything I’ve missed out on anymore. No one except me. Will I continue to stand in my own way?
With the way I feel right now, I think, Not tonight . Tonight, I feel strong. Tonight, I say, Bring me the zombie drugs and let me eat some faces!
I chuckle to myself, but Mom misreads my reaction.
She pats my arm. “Knowing Dex, he’s probably taking everyone on a boring cultural tour through South Beach, detailing the significance of MiMo architecture.” She sticks a finger in her mouth and fake gags.
A server brings an ice bucket with champagne and places three flutes on our table. “Compliments of Wolf.” She presents the bottle’s label for our approval. It’s French with lots of gold foil and probably cost a fortune.
“Fancy!” Mom waggles her brows.
“He asked me to give you this.” The server removes a piece of paper from her apron.
“Thanks.” I take it.
“What’s it say?” Mom leans closer as I unfold it.
“He says he hopes we enjoy the show,” I fib.
When Mom and Robert are engaged in conversation, I open the note and read it over and over. In scratchy handwriting, it reads:
This performance is for you. XO, N
For some reason, this causes me to suck in a breath and hold it in my chest. A fluttery feeling in my stomach makes me so high, I might float away .
“Everything okay?” Mom bumps my shoulder.
“Fine.” I breathe in slow spurts.
What’s wrong with me? I’m reading into everything Nathan does. It’s nothing. We’re friends. I adjust my necklace and smooth my top.
“It’s time to slow this party down and get sexy, y’all. Wolf Savage is here to set the mood,” the DJ announces over a microphone.
The music changes tempo, and the crowd goes wild. Everyone’s attention turns to the stage.
Before us, bright lights flicker on and then off. In the darkness, the word BOYFRIEND flashes in tall cyan letters on the backdrop. A slow seductive acoustic mix plays so loudly, the instrumental music makes my bones buzz.
In the next flash of lights, Nathan appears.
His head tilts away from the sharp lighting, accentuating his angular chin. He’s not dressed much differently than he was when we arrived. With the backwards baseball hat, hoodie, and God-help-me gray sweatpants that seem to accentuate the shape of his package, he emanates a distinct bad-boy-next-door vibe. Even with baggy clothing, you can still see the definition of his lady-killer body.
Before Nathan moves a muscle, I’m enamored. The world around me dissolves, and it’s just us and a song that promises all the ways he would be a good boyfriend.
Boyfriend? I clench his note.
His dance moves are different tonight. Here, he’s an artist, his body swaying, his arms cutting the air in extravagant and intimate gestures. His face is filled with the emotion of the song. When he looks out toward the audience, he stares directly at me. The connection draws me from my seat until I’m standing and moving to the music with him.
In my mind, where it’s safe to do things I can’t in real life, we’re together. His hands are on my back while his hips roll with mine.
I’m brought back from my daydream when he blows me a kiss and tosses his baseball cap. I catch it with both hands. The song ends and the audience applauds.
His spell on me breaks and I drop into my seat, breathless and my head swimming.
“Is it me, or did he eye-fuck you the entire time?” Mom asks.
I laugh because I think she’s joking, but then I decide she’s serious. I find I’m wordless. If she saw what I felt, everyone probably saw. When I glance around, people are staring. I sink into my seat a few inches.
“Half your age plus seven,” she says and pours me another glass of champagne.
“What?”
“That’s the maximum appropriate age gap between lovers.”
“I’ve never seen you apply that rule.”
“In my world, there are no rules, but that’s beside the point. I find it more interesting you didn’t deny that you’re lovers.” She tilts her head meaningfully.
This was her intended trap, and I fell right into it.
I stare at the bubbles in my glass with a sense of unease .
Even if I’m feeling something for Nathan, I wasn’t ready to share. Those emotions, no matter how real or contrived, only lived in my head. Now they’re out there, and she knows. And if she knows, others will too.
“We’re friends. Nothing’s happened.” I’m hanging from the lie by a fraying thread.
“ Yet ,” Mom says.