3. Willa
CHAPTER THREE
WILLA
T he frequency of sound can kiss my entire ass.
This iterating rattling from the oversized speakers sets my teeth on edge as I scan the outdoor venue, plotting my escape .
I’ve done clubs and concerts before, but only when the stars align and my mood matches my mindset.
A weekend music festival clearly meets neither of those requirements.
It’s too much. I need to get the hell out of here .
Smoke fills the air as the sweaty throng sways around me, high off their asses.
The sustained baseline lulls them into a trance, while it sends me over the edge.
Every single one of them has contributed to my decision to call it a night.
I’ve been outside all day, and now that the sun is down, my body is screaming for solitude.
My sole reason for coming to the San Diego Tunes Festival left the stage over an hour ago. I should have gone with her.
I’ve forced myself to power through to justify the gaping hole left in my Europe or Bust fund, but fuck all of that right now. The holidays are right around the corner. I’ll make it back with the uptick in family photo sessions.
My lavender sundress, which seemed like a good outfit choice this morning, clings to the sweat trickling down my spine, touching me in all the wrong places.
I’m ready to toss it in a fire and crawl into the sweatpants waiting for me in my room.
As I peel the dress away from my lower back and smooth it around my hips, I’m jostled forward, and my eye twitches.
This bitch-ass lothario has bumped me from behind three times, trying to get my attention.
I’m about to go off, when a fourth bump solidifies my decision to head back to the hotel.
That, and my growing headache from the weed wafting in the breeze.
Trekking across the sandy beach in the dark is a small price to pay to get away from this chaos.
“Hey, I’m heading back.” I turn to my sister, who’s swaying to the repetitious droning like it’s fixing her life.
She leans in to hear me, dewy amber skin glistening with sweat, and rolls her eyes. “I’m surprised you lasted this long. You want Hunter to walk you back?” She tilts her head to her spectacled fiancé, who taps away on his phone as he bobs his fresh fade to the beat.
“No, I’m good. You two have fun.”
“You sure? Or I could text Trev. He’d love to walk you back…
” Her eyes fall closed as she lets the music course through her, missing my scowl.
Trevor started the day with us, but I haven’t seen him in a few hours.
His corny ass would walk me back in a heartbeat, that’s for damn sure.
I suspect he’s had a misguided crush on me for years, based on his attempts at grade school teasing.
He calls me Jim for fuck’s sake, which I’ll never understand.
So I ignore it and him. I’m not interested in the do-gooder Eagle Scout type, no matter how nice he is to look at.
“I don’t need a damn escort, Ash. I’ll be fine. See you in the morning.”
She cuts me with a glare mid-sway. “Miss me with that attitude, girl. I’m just looking out for you.”
“I know. Sorry.” I blow out a breath and grimace. “The noise is getting to me.”
“It’s called ‘music.’” A smile creeps across her face, and I brace myself as she slips an arm around my waist, pulling me into the side hug she knows I’ll hate. “Happy birthday, Wills. ”
She suggested we come to this festival for my birthday and lured me in with my favorite singer, Sienna Raine.
Seeing her perform live was once-in-a-lifetime amazing, but this environment is the furthest thing from my scene.
Crowds have a way of making me never want to leave my house again, and retreating to my quiet hotel room will be a welcome solitude. I’m ready to drown in peace and quiet.
Weaving through the horde, I breathe easier as I get farther from the speakers, but the low vibrations taunt me across the sand until I’ve almost reached the pavement.
Only then do I look up at the stars and pause.
Breathe . Release the tension . Kicking off my gladiator sandals, I let the gritty sand between my toes bring me back into my body.
I don’t know how long I stand there wiggling my feet, but a buzzing on my hip snaps me out of it.
Reaching into my mini sling bag, I grab my phone.
Sam
Happy Birthday, Will. 31 never looked better!
Me
Thank you I have a date with my sweatpants
Sam
Whoa now. Don’t go too crazy. Might throw out a hip…
Me
Sam
Maci says that’s not nice.
Her wide-eyed face lights up my screen, and I laugh, despite myself.
She’s the most expressive baby I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot in the studio.
But she’s a tiny spitfire already, a girl after my own heart.
I love her to bits. A FundsForMe banner slides right over her perfect wisps of brown hair.
Sam: $200 for the birthday girl. I know you didn’t get yourself anything. Go wild and buy a week’s worth of sweatpants . JK. Europe or bust!
I smile at his message because he’s right—I didn’t.
Being a business owner himself, Sam knows how hard it is for me to spend money on myself.
I like to put everything back into the studio, and that’s part of the reason business has grown so much these last few years.
That, and getting a few high-profile clients who leave me raving reviews and send constant referrals my way.
Momentum is on the fast track, and I’ve given all I have to Framed Orchid.
It’s my baby. My home. I shoot off a text to Sam.
Me
Ah, so the “Plant Daddy” to “grey sweatpants” pipeline is real.
Sam
How about neither of those things.
Me
Aww, come on! You can don some grey sweatpants, stick a rose between your teeth, and gyrate to one of those viral TickTech dances. The ladies will love it!
Sam
Sounds scandalous, Will. That life is behind me. I’m more of a Mimosa pudica these days.
Me
Love Mimosas. I’m in.
Sam
Mimosa pudica: The Shy Plant
Me
Thanks for the gift, dork. Please don’t send me a scaredy plant.
Sam
You’re welcome, nerd. Try to have a little fun out there, yeah? You deserve to let loose.
He’s probably right about that too. Even though we live nine hours apart, Sam’s always looking out for me.
We’ve been friends since high school, never anything more.
He’s been there in the wings since I escaped to LA over a decade ago, offering support when my family refused. I wouldn’t be where I am without him.
I look up at the star-smattered sky with a wistful smile, wishing I would have taken a quick trip to see him and Maci instead of paying to be miserable on the beach. My phone goes off again, and I look down, expecting another picture.
Unknown
Happy Birthday, sweetheart.
Don’t think I forgot…
My stomach drops. Sweetheart . This bastard is the only person who calls me that, and I haven’t spoken to him in years. I’m ready to throw my phone in the ocean.
Classical music drifts across the hotel lobby from the piano bar.
The serenity that washes over me halts my determined steps.
I contemplate continuing to my room, but the lilting of the keys draws me in like a moth to a flame.
It’s calm and soothing, and after the chaos of the music festival, I could use some relaxed entertainment.
I stand in the lobby, conflicted for several minutes while my dress chafes my underarms from the drying sweat.
After a quick shower, I’m sitting at the bar, drinking a Lemon Drop martini that matches the sleeveless sundress I changed into.
The dim warm lighting sets a sultry mood throughout the room, glinting off the liquor bottles lining the wall.
Sighing, I take another sip. That text message rattled me more than I’d like to admit, but I try to let the alcohol convince me it didn’t.
Drinking in a bar by myself probably wasn’t what Sam had in mind when he said to let loose, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Besides, it’s my birthday. A little indulgence could be just what I need…
Okay, a lot of indulgence. The longer I sit, the more relaxed I feel, and one Lemon Drop turns into two.
Classical music changes to sultry jazz. My scowl has shifted to a soft smile.
This doesn’t happen often, but I’ve been enjoying the music in the bar for a couple of hours now.
I’ve worked too hard to get where I am in life, and I didn’t do that by partying and drinking.
I like schedules. Routines. And I prefer my own company to anyone else’s. But tonight, I indulge.
The blue lighting on the stage illuminates the petite brunette singer who joined the pianist about an hour ago. I sway to the music, drink in hand, like I didn’t just criticize every single person on the beach for doing the same.
“This seems more your style, Jim.”
I’m bumped from the side, triggering the fury I’ve worked so hard to extinguish.
I half expect it to be that dude from the beach, except no one but Trevor calls me that stupid-ass name.
My head whips around right as he slides onto the high-back barstool next to me.
Even with him sitting, I have to tip my head back to look at him.
“Are you by yourself?” he asks. Nodding, I take another sip of my drink, stifling the groan in my throat.
Social butterflies make my damn head hurt .
Trevor’s my sister’s friend, but I wouldn’t call him mine.
Not that he hasn’t tried—he’s friends with everyone.
It probably bothers him that I don’t consider him one, but he talks too much for my liking.
And he’s too nice. Like helping old ladies across the street and saving the world in a single bound with his glistening biceps nice.
I don’t care what anyone says, no one is that damn happy all the time. I’d hurt his feelings so fast.