2. Parker
2
PARKER
CRUSH
“Do you think we’re too early?” I wriggled out of my jacket and draped it over the back of my seat, folding my hands on the table in front of me.
My best friend and roommate, Simon, looked around, eyebrows raising. The place was packed. “I think if we’d waited any longer, we wouldn’t have anywhere to sit.”
If someone had told me this time last year that I’d be spending my Saturday nights at sold-out shows for a ‘90’s tribute band, I’d have asked them what they were smoking. Yet, this was my third—fourth?—Patti Mayonnaise show in the last few months. And it wasn’t even a rabid love for ‘90’s music, which I’d certainly come to appreciate, or a taste for the fruity drinks the bar served on show nights, which I also enjoyed.
It was something—some one —else entirely.
“Okay.” I turned toward my friend. “But does it make me seem…” I trailed off, words eluding me.
“Desperate? Eager?” Simon supplied. “Head over heels in gay love?” He nodded, hazel eyes flashing with amusement. “Oh, absolutely.”
I slapped his shoulder, laughing even as heat flooded to my face. “No, but seriously.”
“Seriously?” He leaned an elbow on the table and sipped his drink. “I think that no one even cares that you’re here. Except for the Karen in the corner who’s pissed you grabbed the last table.” He lifted his glass in her direction, giving her a wink. She scowled harder.
I covered a laugh with my own drink, a bright green, fizzy thing that tasted like a fruit basket and a glass of champagne had a baby. As I sipped, I took in the bar’s stunning mural, a zap of pride lighting my heart. My sister designed and painted it last year, and it didn’t matter how many times I’d seen it, I was always impressed by her ode to classic literature, with a steampunk twist.
“Still cool,” I said, turning back to Simon.
“So.” He leaned back in his chair, resting an ankle on his knee. “Is tonight the night?”
My next breath caught in my throat, gaze flying to the stage, where Patti Mayonnaise was about to go on. Catching sight of the drummer, my heart did a stupid skippy thing.
Her hair was down tonight, falling over her bare shoulders in dark, messy layers. The stage lights caught a glint in her eyes as she laughed at something the bassist said, and, ugh. She was so pretty.
I grabbed my drink in both hands and stared hard at the bubbly green liquid. “I’unno,” I mumbled.
“What was that?” Simon leaned closer, his face blurring in my periphery. “I didn’t quite hear you.”
“I said I don’t know.” I threw back my head and groaned. “What am I supposed to even say?”
“How about, Hi, I’m Parker ? Or, Nice set ? Or, I’ve been coming to your shows for months and all I can think about is how I want to smash your mouth with my mouth ?”
“God, I hate you,” I said as Simon dissolved into laughter. Sitting back in my seat, I took a long drink of my cocktail. Maybe he was right. Maybe all I had to do was walk up to Halle, introduce myself, and—
“How is it?”
I jumped, my drink splashing over the rim of the glass, and looked up at Gigi, bartender slash friend slash sister-of-the-dude-dating-my-sister, standing over me. “Shoot.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” She handed me a couple napkins, an apologetic smile on her face.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said as I mopped up the mess. “I was just…lost in my thoughts.”
“Dirty thoughts,” Simon said, poorly covering his words in a fake cough.
I glared his way and motioned for Gigi to take the empty seat across from me. “Wanna sit?”
“Nah, I can’t.” She shook a tangerine lock away from her forehead. “Just thought I’d come say hi. See how you’re liking tonight’s special.” She motioned to the cocktail I’d just spilled. “Thought I’d try something new.”
“Oh, yeah.” I reclaimed my glass and held it up in a faux-toast. “It’s really good! And the name? Perfect.”
Gigi beamed, planting her hands on her hips. “Thanks. I was pretty proud of it.”
Simon looked between us, bafflement settling onto his pretty face. I frowned. “I’ll be pear for you?” I said. “ Friends ?”
He shrugged and grabbed his own drink. “Never watched it.”
Gigi and I gasped in unison, me clutching my drink to my chest as if it were pearls. “How,” I said, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time, “am I friends with you?”
“Listen,” he said, nonplussed. “I was too busy making out with the football captain behind the Dairy Queen after school to watch reruns of some old show.”
My mouth fell open. “I—”
Gigi lifted a hand, stopping me. “No,” she said, face grave. “Arguing with someone who doesn’t get it is a moo point.”
I laughed and she grinned. “And on that note,” she went on, “I gotta get back to work.” She tossed me a wink before and spun away. “Enjoy the show,” she called over her shoulder before vanishing into the crowd.
Still smiling, I turned to find Simon staring at me. The quirk of his brow indicated that something unreadable going on in that perfectly coiffed head of his. “What?” I asked, brushing a hand over my face. “Do I have a lipstick smudge or something?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “You’re good. Just…” He trailed off, lifting his drink to his lips.
“What?” I pushed, shaking his arm so he couldn’t take a sip. “Say it.”
He laughed and lifted his drink up to avoid spilling. “Nothing,” he said. “You’re just a much, much bigger dork than I initially realized.”
“Hey, that’s on you,” I shot back. “I wear my dorkiness loud and proud.”
Whatever Simon was about to reply with was drowned out by the opening riff of a ’90’s grunge song. All attention turned toward the stage. The guitarist stepped up to the mic, a smirk curving one side of his mouth as the crowd cheered. In another life, he’d have totally been my type. As a teen, I’d always had a thing for angsty dark-haired boys. But times had changed, and so had I.
And now, apparently my type was dark-haired drummer girls with sun-shiney smiles and the most toned arms I’d ever seen.
As if I summoned her, Halle came in with the beat, and every strike of her drumsticks demanded my heart match it. I leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in hands, eyes glued to the stage. To the girl.
“Here we go,” Simon muttered. I ignored him. I ignored him so hard that, after half of the first song, he completely faded into the background. It was just me and Halle. Oh, and my emotional support delusion.
For the next ninety minutes or so, I watched Patti Mayonnaise own the stage, weaving from Nirvana to Spice Girls and back again. But mostly I watched Halle. She was the backbone of the band, keeping them on track with her impeccable timing. As she pounded out the outro to some song about a chick named Virginia, I slid to the edge of my seat. A sheen of sweat on her face glistened under the stage lights, and strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. My fingers itched to brush them away.
God, I had it bad.
The stage went dark and the crowd erupted in cheers. I exhaled and sank back in my seat. Beside me, Simon clapped for the band, pausing long enough to slide me a stack of napkins.
“Dry off, sweetie,” he said as the cheers wound down. “It’s time to say hello.”
That pulled me from my Halle-induced trance. I straightened. “What? No. I can’t. I’m not ready. I—”
“You what?” Simon angled his body toward me, brows lifted. “This is the third show you’ve sworn was the show. The one you finally introduce yourself to the object of your wet dreams.” He rested an elbow on the back of my chair. “Third time’s a charm, right?”
Panic surged. I threw my head back and groaned. “Okay,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “All right. Okay. I can do this. I’m gonna do this.” I flattened my palms on the tabletop and pushed to my feet. “I’ll just…say hi. Tell her I liked the set. Say—”
My stream-of-conscious pep talk came to a halt when I caught sight of the band slipping out the side door. Oxygen left me like a deflating balloon. I sank back down in my seat. “Too late,” I declared. “They’re gone.”
Simon scoffed. “They’ve gotta pack up. You’re not out of the woods yet.” He stood. “I’m gonna go get you a little liquid courage.” I looked up at him, and he must have seen something on my face, because he added, “I’ll make it a double.”
As he walked away, I dropped my head to the table. Around me, the bar buzzed, but nowhere near as loudly as the voice in my head. The doubt. The insecurities. The…
“Ugh.” I sat up and raked my fingers through my hair. This was ridiculous. People talked to their crushes every day. People put themselves out there. People got rejected and survived. I’d just…never be able to show my face around here again.
But, considering my sister’s boyfriend owned the place, that could prove difficult.
Maybe…maybe it was better this way. Maybe—
“You’re catastrophizing.” Simon sat down next to me and slid a fresh green drink my way.
“Am not.” I pulled the drink closer and leaned in for a sip. “It’s just that, she’s probably busy. And I don’t want to get in the way, you know?”
“Uh huh.” Perfect eyebrow cocked, he rested his chin in his hand. “Go on.”
I did. “Plus, she’s probably tired. Drumming is hard work. I’m sure she just wants to pack up and go home.”
Simon’s eyes slid from my lying face to the front of the bar. I followed his gaze. There, in the shadowy sidelines, stood Halle. Laughing at something Gigi was saying as she wound a cord around her hand. “Yeah,” he drawled. “She looks exhausted. ’
The sarcasm in his voice slid off me like Teflon as I watched the two women. Gigi had picked up another cord and was wrapping it neatly, as if she’d done it a million times. As she did, she held a steady stream of conversation with Halle. I leaned in, as if the meager few centimeters would suddenly allow me to hear what was being said in this noisy bar.
“Do you think they’re flirting?” I asked Simon, my stomach sinking. If Gigi’d decided she was into Halle, too, I stood no chance. That woman had game for days.
Simon sat back, crossing his legs. “Hmm.” He took a long sip from his Sex on the Beach. “It’s hard to say. On one hand, they do seem rather chummy. But…”
“But?” I grabbed his arm. “But, what?”
Without looking my way, he peeled my fingers from his arm and rested my hand on the tabletop, giving it a pat. “But,” he continued, eyes still on the stage. “No sparks.” He shook his head decisively and returned his focus to his drink.
“Sparks?” I looked from the women to him. “What is this, a Taylor Swift song?”
He shrugged. “Everything is a Taylor Swift song.” Pushing his drink aside, he stood. “If you’re not gonna make your move, we can at least dance.” As he said it, the sound system kicked on, the opening beat of some new pop song filling the space. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers, beckoning me to take it.
With a sigh, I took it. Simon pulled me to my feet, making an attempt to twirl me. I stumbled and crashed into him, like the graceful being I was. My gaze flew to the side-stage to see if Halle had seen. Upside? She had not. Downside? She hadn’t noticed because she was still laughing at something Gigi said.
Clenching my molars against the surge of prickly-hot envy that roared through me, I let Simon lead me to the dance floor.
Next time, I told myself as Simon shimmied my way. I’d definitely say something next time.