Chapter 35
Mia
The band is great.
Oliver is a talented guitarist and his voice suits the songs they’ve chosen, a little scratchy at times maybe, but that only adds to its character.
And when everyone around me starts dancing and screaming, staring up at him on the stage, I can’t believe it’s me who gets to take him home tonight.
He isn’t in costume, which is kind of a bummer, but I can’t deny how good he looks in his tight T-shirt and a pair of jeans that shows off his cute butt.
Jeans that will be on my bedroom floor in a matter of hours.
‘Isn’t he amazing?’ I say to Jenna when he finally leaves the stage and the DJ’s music flows through the speakers again. Weak compared to Oliver and his band.
‘He’s fine.’ She looks like I’m asking her to pull out her own teeth. ‘I need another drink, you want one?’
‘No, thanks.’
There’s only one thing I want and he’s currently standing at the side of the stage, guitar in hand.
‘And, we’ve lost her,’ Alice says, grabbing Jenna’s hand. ‘We’ll be at the bar if you need us. It was nice knowing you, Mia.’
‘The bar,’ I mumble back, not really listening.
I squeeze through the crowd of bodies to get to Oliver, my towel hanging on for dear life, but when I reach him, I don’t know what to say. He’s dripping with sweat, his T-shirt almost transparent and clinging to his body, his eyes feverish and bright.
‘Hi.’
I barely make a sound but the other guys in the band look me up and down in a way I do not love.
‘One sec.’ Oliver holds up a hand to hold me back without looking at me. ‘Johnny, you’ve got to stay on the beat,’ he says to the drummer. ‘If you can’t play a fucking Journey cover, how are you going to stay on top of my stuff? It’s a thousand times more complicated.’
‘Ol, I passed grade eight when I was fourteen. I’ve been drumming since I was two.
I could hold a pair of sticks before I could walk and you don’t think I can keep time on a cover of “Don’t Stop Believin’”?
’ Johnny shakes his head. ‘I don’t know what you were listening to, mate, but it was pretty fucking perfect as far as I’m concerned. ’
‘All that tells me is we have very different standards,’ Oliver mutters.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way but do fuck off, Oli,’ the bassist says cheerfully. ‘It’s a bop, we’re a covers band. We’ll worry about your very complicated music when you book us an actual gig.’
Oliver’s top lip flickers into a snarl as the two of them stroll away, Johnny shoving his sticks in his back pocket, leaving the two of us alone. Before I can say anything, he turns to his open guitar case, adjusting the Fender Strat inside before closing it carefully.
‘I thought you sounded great,’ I tell him. ‘Everyone loved the show.’
‘It was shit,’ he replies, still not looking at me.
‘Not even a little bit. Even Jenna said how talented you are.’
His shoulders jerk with a snort. ‘Even Jenna?’
Fine, he’s mad at his bandmates, I get that, but is he going to let it ruin the rest of his night? Our night?
‘They’re probably embarrassed,’ I offer lightly. ‘That’s why they said those shitty things.’
‘Whatever, they’re talentless hacks. I’d rather not be reminded of them.’
He turns around and there’s a pinched, twitchy quality to his features I haven’t seen before and would rather not see again. ‘You’re wearing a towel.’
Looking down at my outfit, I suddenly feel inexplicably stupid. What was I thinking? This isn’t me. I’m not the kind of girl who can pull off something like this.
‘It’s my costume,’ I reply, quietly wishing I could start this conversation over, preferably in my own clothes. ‘I told you about it.’
‘Did you?’ Oliver rubs a hand over his face and heaves out a heavy sigh. ‘Sorry, this isn’t about you. I’m a perfectionist when it comes to the music. Really, I’m sorry. I need a drink.’
‘You stay here, I’ll go to the bar,’ I offer, certain that he’ll feel better in five minutes. He’s disappointed, it makes sense. At least he’s self-aware enough to admit it. ‘Whiskey, right?’
The look that follows brightens up his gloomy face and I exhale for the first time in what feels like several minutes.
‘I should’ve known you’d understand.’ He brushes the backs of his fingers against my cheek. ‘Thank you, Mia.’
This is not part of my plan. By now we’re supposed to be making out backstage, maybe dancing in a way that would put my mother into an early grave.
Digging Oliver out of a shitty mood because his bandmates messed up isn’t exactly how I wanted our evening to begin, and if they’re still at the bar when I get there, I’m going to …
well, I’m probably going to do nothing but I’m sure going to think long and hard about kicking their collective ass.
The bar isn’t so busy; most people already moved onto the dance floor and it only takes a couple of minutes to grab the whiskey for Oliver …
Oliver who is nowhere to be seen. His guitar case hasn’t moved so I know he didn’t leave but I can’t see him anywhere.
At least not until a bunch of people filter off the dance floor, leaving a quickly consumed vacuum. Brief but just long enough.
There he is.
Dancing with a pair of super-hot girls wearing nothing but IKEA bags.
Only, dancing isn’t really the word for it. Oliver is the meat in a blue bag sandwich and I honestly feel like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t as they all grind on one another. What the hell? I was only gone for two minutes.
‘Mia!’
I can’t quite believe it when he sees me watching them and raises a hand. ‘Come and meet my friends.’
Friends? Is he for real? People do not get this up close and personal with friends. Except a quick flash of Ethan’s closed eyes on my birthday douses me with an ice bucket of cold guilt and I find myself pushing my way through the bodies towards Oliver, the bass beating loud in time with my heart.
‘I got your drink.’ I hold out the plastic cup full of brown liquid and see the sloppy smile on his face.
‘Dance with us,’ he says, grabbing my wrist before I can pull it away. ‘Loosen up.’
I wish I could because I’ve never felt so tightly wound in all my life.
‘Yeah.’ One of the other girls, a gorgeous blonde with hair hanging all the way down to her ass, snakes a hand around my neck and strokes my shoulder. ‘You should dance with us.’
The hand on my shoulder pulls me into the fray.
I’m face to face with Oliver as he looks at me with the kind of heavy-lidded desire I’ve been waiting for.
Only … he isn’t looking at me. I turn to see the subject of his gaze and almost bump noses with a brunette.
These girls are gorgeous, impossibly sexy – all long limbs and flowing hair – and they know it.
They exude sexuality, there’s no pent-up frustration or awkward attempts, it’s right there, front and centre, for everyone to see. I can’t compete.
Licking his lips, Oliver leans forward and just as I think he’s going to kiss me, the brunette slides between us and meets his lips first. Before I can protest, the blonde is in front of me and her mouth is on mine.
My lips part and her tongue, tentative and tender, slips into my mouth.
She’s pulling me in, her soft body moving against mine when I snap to my senses and push her away.
This is not what I want. She is not who I want.
‘Hey, can we talk?’ I feel so foolish, tapping on Oliver’s shoulder like the silly little girl I am.
‘We’re talking,’ he replies, releasing the girl in the blue bag and wrapping his arms around my waist. ‘What’s the matter?’
The other girls aren’t going anywhere.
‘Mia, is it?’ the blonde asks. ‘Come on, don’t be a bore. This is supposed to be a party.’
I want Oliver to laugh and put his arm around my shoulders and take me away.
I want to leave the party and walk together in the moonlight.
I want to know I’m the one he wants. But he doesn’t do any of those things.
He releases me and allows the blue bag girls to pull him away, the three of them melting into the mass of dancing bodies.
‘Mia, you all right?’
It’s Jenna, with Michael at her elbow. They both look past me to the dance floor, eyes on Oliver, then Jenna slants her head at Michael. He gives the briefest of nods and heads off in the opposite direction.
‘Oh, Mia.’ She yanks up her Saran wrap and draws me into a hug. ‘Fuck him.’
‘That’s the problem,’ I say, too stunned to even cry. ‘I was planning to.’
‘Then I’m glad he showed you what a cock he is before you did.’ She sets her hands on my shoulders and gives me a stern look. ‘You don’t need a wanker like that messing with your head. They’re dick-led, every single one of them.’
‘But why can’t his dick lead him to me?’ I say with a whine and the disappointed feminist inside me hangs her head in shame. ‘It’s me, I know it is. Guys don’t see me that way, never have. But I thought, with Oliver, I thought it was different—’
‘Take that back immediately,’ Jenna orders. ‘You’re gorgeous and he’s an imbecile and I don’t want to say I told you so but—’
‘Then don’t! Then fucking don’t!’
I don’t mean to raise my voice, but I do. I don’t want to hear it. Even if she’s right. Especially if she’s right.
‘Okay, calm down,’ she mutters. ‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘Not everything needs a snarky response,’ I snap. ‘Maybe you could try not being such a bitch all the time instead.’
She takes a step back, a look of shock widening her perfectly made-up eyes but now I’ve started I can’t stop myself.
‘I know, I know, stupid Mia should know better. Well, there you go, you were right, congratulations. Feel free to run back to Michael and have a real good laugh.’
Tears are coming, I know it, and I do not want to cry in the middle of the ref in front of every student at Hemden.
‘Fuck,’ I mutter under my breath, dropping my head so Jenna won’t see.
She doesn’t stop me when I turn to leave, doesn’t say anything as I push my way through the party until I’m at the door.
‘Can’t take that drink outside.’
An arm bars the exit, and I look up to see a doorman frowning at the whiskey in my hand. Oliver’s drink. I’m still holding Oliver’s drink.
‘Can’t go off property, sorry. You’ll have to neck it.’
And because I’ve always been a good girl who does as she’s told, I do.
With whiskey burning the back of my throat, I hand him the empty glass, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and walk out into the night.