Chapter 17 Sloane
Sloane
After leaving Professor Reilly standing in the parking lot of Books and Brews, I came to work.
Yes, work. After what happened, I need to find a way to distract myself.
The lines that Professor Reilly and I drew for our relationship were blurring.
I hate how badly I wanted to erase those lines clean off of planet freaking Earth.
So, I’m currently sitting at my desk at work.
“Sloanie. Hey! How’s that piece on music theory going? Making any headway?” Alex asks, walking in from his morning meetings.
“Well, I kind of need to talk to you about that,” I respond.
“Oh no. I know that look. What happened?” he asks, walking over to the coffeepot to pour himself a cup, probably his third one today. The guy’s got an addiction.
“Um, I’m going to need to scrap it. It’s not what I was thinking. There’s no story there. I … I don’t know why I thought there was. I’m sorry,” I say, giving him my best puppy dog eye apology face.
“Aww, Sloanie.” He pauses. “Wait. Don’t completely scrap it yet.”
“I just told you that I don’t have a sto—”
“Yes. You do. You just don’t have that story.
But what if you still unmask Van? I mean …
not physically unmask him but get closer.
Find out his desires, his fears, why he writes the music, why he hides behind it, if he finds solace in it.
You know … all the deep shit.” Alex grins like he knows he’s onto something.
Maybe he is, because the thing he said about finding solace strikes a memory.
“Hmm, now that you say it, they did play this song at the meet and greet, that kind of resonates with that. It was a pretty upbeat song, but the lyrics were so … not. It was like they were begging people to remember that the music is what matters.” I pause, thinking.
“Yeah … maybe the fame of it all isn’t what they expected it to be?
Maybe Van doesn’t like all the attention. ” Now I’m the one lost in thought.
“Yes, see. I knew your gears would start turning. Run with it. You’ve got this.” Alex pats me on the shoulder and returns to his desk to work.
? ? ?
I spend the next couple of hours preparing an outline of questions for an interview that I’m not even sure I’ll be granted.
Now that I think about it, I don’t even have a way of contacting Reverb or Van.
There’s also Sabel. I don’t want her to assume I’m still investigating anything related to the music.
I’m supposed to be walking away from this, not running toward it. Story of my fucking life.
I remember the invite to the meet and greet that Lydia had, recalling something on the back of it. Maybe it was a number or something else that I could use to track Reverb down. I need to catch Lydia up on all of my professor drama, anyway. So, I shoot her a text.
Sloane: Wine and vent sesh at my place tonight?
Lydia: Um, duh! You know I’m a sucker for the gossip, and I neeeed to know. Is this about that hottie professor? (;
Sloane: Maybe….
Lydia: BITCH! I can’t wait. See you at 7?
Sloane: 7 sounds great. Oh, and can you bring that meet and greet invite? I need to look at it.
Lydia: Um, sure. So….cryptic. I love it! *kiss face emoji*
I finish up at work and head back to my place.
I run upstairs and take a quick shower, throwing on a matching black short-sleeved pajama set, and head back downstairs to my kitchen.
I pull out a bottle of white wine from the fridge and open up my cabinet to grab a couple of stemless glasses, placing them on the counter.
I throw together a quick charcuterie board as Lydia comes barging through the door without bothering to even knock.
“Looooo!” she screams, running up to me and throwing her arms around me in a tight hug.
She’s so touchy-feely, so unlike me. But for some reason, it never bothers me coming from her.
Lydia’s presence is always a welcome one, albeit sometimes slightly suffocating, but welcomed nonetheless. She’s the sunshine to my storm clouds.
“Hey, Lyd. How was your day?” I ask, pulling back to look at her.
“Oh, ya know. Just the usual elite of Hollowcrest drama. Carly Joe and I were cackling over this one client who told us that the ice machine on her private jet only makes crushed ice.” Lydia pauses, containing her laughter.
“She said that she specifically asked for crescent-shaped ice, and that now the aesthetic of her cocktails was ruined.”
“Wow, talk about first-world problems. Geez,” I say back, laughing along with her. “Who knew that crescent-shaped ice was even a thing?”
“Right! That’s what I said. But like I said, they pay well.
I’ll sit there and listen to them rant about the shape of an ice cube all day long.
” She pauses, pulling something from her purse.
“But anyway, here’s that invite you wanted, weirdo.
” She hands me the cardstock, and I flip it over, noticing an insignia on the back of it.
I recognize it from Sanctum Studios. That’s the same place we went to for the meet and greet. Maybe they also happen to record there?
“So, what did you want it for?” Lydia asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“I thought I noticed a symbol on the back, and I just wanted to see it again to make sure.”
“Anndddd?” she pushes, knowing there’s more.
“Okay, fine. Come on, grab the wine and the glasses. I’ll grab the food,” I say, heading to the sofa. We sit down and get comfortable as she pours us each a large glass, handing one to me.
“Spill,” she says, turning to me with a wild excitement filling her deep blue eyes.
“Do you want professor drama or Reverb drama first?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine.
“How do I even choose? Wait, this is a ‘why choose,’ isn’t it?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively. I slap her arm.
“What? No! God, you read too much smut,” I tease.
“Is there such a thing as too much smut?” she asks, a knowing smirk on her face.
“No, probably the opposite.” I laugh, causing her to nearly spit out her wine.
“Wow, look at you. Those two must really have you all hot and bothered, then.” She reaches over and grabs a grape from the charcuterie board, popping it into her mouth. “Start with Reverb drama. I have a feeling that the professor drama is hotter, so we’re saving the best for last,” she says.
I snort. “Okay. So, the story that I’m working on right now is on music theory.
I’m trying to get an interview with Van.
I think this insignia is the same one I saw at the studio during the meet and greet,” I say, holding up the cardstock so she can see it.
She reaches over and grabs it, getting a closer look. She flips it over in her hand.
“Yep. That’s the same one. Wait … interview?!” She shoots her eyes up to mine.
“Mhm. I want to interview him about that song they played. Find out the deeper meaning behind it, and maybe behind the anonymity thing, too.”
“Whoa. So, you’re gonna get up close and personal with the Vantros?” She grins maniacally.
“God, you’re ridiculous. But yes. If I can manage to get the interview.” I leave out the part where I’ve already been more than up close and personal with Van. Especially that time he had his hand wrapped around my throat. The image that I can’t manage to keep locked away in my mind.
I do want to tell her. I haven’t felt like it’s the right time yet.
How exactly do you say, “Hey, by the way, Van actually had me pinned up against a wall a couple of weeks ago, and then took me to a remote facility to be tested as an ‘outlier’ for his band that also happens to be using mind control on people against their will?” I just don’t think that would go over too well with Lydia, and I find myself oddly wanting to protect Van.
It’s a thought that I haven’t even given myself a chance to process.
“What do you mean if? You’re Sloane Keenan. If anyone can figure out where they record, and how to get in on the inside, it’s you.”
“Yeah, I suppose I am sort of a bad ass, huh?” I joke.
“Yes, and so humble, too.” She places a hand over her heart to drive home the sarcasm.
“Ha ha. Anyways, do you wanna hear about the professor or what?” I ask.
“You mean the dessert? YES!” she shrieks, jumping up onto her knees.
I grab a throw pillow and smack her with it. “Chill. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you,” I tease.
“Lo, you better tell me right now. I need this gossip like I need air to breathe.” She exasperates. So dramatic, as always. I shake my head at her disapprovingly.
“Alright, but swear not to say anything until I’m finished.” I hold out my pinky to her.
“What are we … twelve?” She laughs, looking down at my finger. I don’t move it.
“Oh, you’re serious.” She looks up at me and extends her pinky, curling it around mine. “Fine, weirdo. I promise not to interrupt you.” She rolls her eyes, sighing.
“Okay, so.” I take a sip of my wine as Lydia sits cross-legged with her head resting in her palms, smiling widely.
“We were in the parking lot after meeting at Books and Brews. I ran out, and he followed me to my car.” Lydia starts to speak but catches herself, throwing her hand over her mouth and nodding at me to continue.
“He followed me to my car, and then he grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around until he had me pinned against my car. I could feel his di—” Lydia gasps, bringing her other hand up over her mouth like it takes an astronomical amount of effort to stop herself from speaking. I giggle at her absurdity and continue.
“I could feel his dick pressed up against me. It was … not small.” I feel warmth move up my neck and into my cheeks. “There was so much tension.”
“And then?!” she blurts out before throwing her hands back over her mouth, eyes wide. I’ll give her a pass for that one.
“And then, I pushed him off, got in my car, and drove home.” Her eyes look like they might just bulge out of her skull, hands clamped tightly over her mouth.
I laugh. “You can speak now.”
“You … what? You just left Mr. Hottie professor standing there, blue balls and all?” She’s laughing hard like she can picture it. “Oh my God, Lo. This is so good.” She’s still laughing, now grabbing onto my arm.
“Lydiaaaa. I need advice. I haven’t talked to him since then. Like, what do I even say? Sorry, Mr. Professor Sir. I know you just had your erection pressed against me in a parking lot. But what do you say to a date?” Now I’m the one laughing hysterically.
“Not Mr. Professor Sir.” Lydia throws her head back, tears now coming out of her eyes from the hysteria. She stops, eyeing me with a serious expression.
“Wait … you haven’t talked to him at all yet?” she asks.
“Nope. I might have gotten off to the thought of him in my bathtub a couple of times, but nope … not a conversation,” I blurt out. We’re close, and there isn’t much we don’t tell each other. Plus, the alcohol seeping into my bloodstream has me a little loose-lipped.
“Sloane. You dirty girl,” she mocks.
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes.
“Oh, Sloane, I think you have the hots for Mr. Professor Sir,” she declares.
“I mean, I might be willing to explore something there,” I say, admitting it to myself for the first time.
“This is awesome. I’m so jealous of your life right now. I can’t even get a guy to put up with all this.” She waves her hands over herself. “Oh, speaking of, can you get the big guy’s number when you meet with Van. He was so hot … in like a tense, broody, mysterious way.”
“You don’t even know what he looks like.” I scoff.
“I don’t need to. I can tell these things,” she assures me.
“Oh, is that so? Shall we add clairvoyant to your resume, then?” I mock. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Unless you’re saving him for your reverse harem?!” she blurts out, laughing at herself like she’s the grand jester at a carnival.
“Stoppp,” I whine, smacking her with the throw pillow again, standing from the sofa. “Okay, as much as I would love to continue this comedy bit that is my life, I gotta call it a night. Lock up before you head to bed?”
“Yeah, yeah. We both know you aren’t going straight to bed after that. I hope you charged the purple goddess.” ‘Purple Goddess’ is the name Lydia gave my … never mind.
“Lydia! Go to bed, you nympho,” I say, walking toward my stairs.
I’m exhausted from that ridiculously hysterical conversation with Lydia.
I can always count on her to make me feel better about my questionable life choices.
What else are best friends for, if not to encourage your delusions?
But I’m also the type of person who feels immense mental exhaustion after something like that.
Too much peopling, as I like to call it.
So, I climb into bed and drift off in no time as my head hits my pillow.
Images of gray sweatpants bulges and black cloaks flash through my subconscious as I drift off to sleep.
? ? ?
I’m awakened by a noise coming from downstairs.
I roll over and squint open one eye to see that it’s only 2:11 in the morning.
I sigh, rolling onto my back as I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands.
There’s already a faint headache forming in the front of my skull.
I need to remember to drink water on wine nights.
I lazily sit up, pushing the duvet off to the side, and stand. What is Lydia doing up at this time? I walk out of my room and toward the stairs. Once I get to the bottom step, I look up to a noise coming from my living room window. I notice someone wearing all black climbing out of it.
I freeze, horrified, unable to take another step.
I steal a glance toward my guest bedroom door and notice that it’s closed.
Then, I turn around and sprint back up the stairs as my heart pounds in my ears.
I reach my bedside table and grab my phone, unplugging it from the charger as I do.
I scroll through my contacts until I find the one I want and hit call.
“Sloane?” Riven’s worried voice echoes across the receiver.