Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Yeah, it’s at this club in Danbury. We’re opening for another band.” His eyes met mine. “You should come.”
My stomach did a little flip. The thought of going to see him perform excited me, but it also made me nervous, and I wasn’t quite sure why.
“You look like I just asked you to go to a goddamn funeral.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to go.” Translation: I have a fiancé back in Philadelphia and going out with you at night feels dangerous. “I just don’t know if I should. I have to organize all of my stuff that we unpacked.” God, that was the lamest excuse imaginable.
“Oh yeah,” he mocked. “Cuz all that stuff won’t be here tomorrow.” Holden’s smile faded. “I’m just messing with you. It’s not a big deal if you’re not in the mood. I just figured I’d ask.” Disappointment crossed his face.
Had I insulted him? I hadn’t meant to. Gosh, I really wanted to go. I just felt…guilty? Nervous? Out of my element? I couldn’t put my finger on it. But I did want to see him play. Screw it. “You know what? Sure. That would be awesome.” I exhaled. “But how would I get there?”
“There’s a car picking me up at eight before we scoop up one or two of the guys. There should be plenty of room. If there isn’t, I’ll make room.”
My pulse sped up. “Okay…I should start getting ready then. What’s the dress code there?”
“The dress code is wear whatever the fuck you want. Ripped jeans, a hat, and a clean, black T-shirt for me.”
Holden could wear a paper bag and still look hot. “A lot of help you are,” I told him.
“There’s no dress code, as far as I know. But feel free to wear something sexy so I can rip some guy’s head off later for messing with you. I’m kind of in the mood to fight. It’s been a while.”
A chill ran through me as I remembered again what Holden had admitted during our talk out on the fire escape. But I was foolish for looking at it as some kind of special compliment unique to me. He likely told a lot of women they were pretty on a regular basis.
Holden went back to his place and left me alone to get ready. I opted for a short, black skirt and a vintage, off-the-shoulder Blondie T-shirt. Debbie Harry’s face was deliberately weathered on the front. Leather booties finished the look. I sort of felt like I was channeling the 1980s. Given that it was drizzly out, I didn’t bother trying to tame my wild blond curls too much. My hair might start out looking like Carrie Bradshaw’s from Sex and the City, but I’d end up looking like I’d stuck something in an electrical socket by the end of the night.
Holden knocked on my door at a few minutes before eight. He looked me up and down when I answered. “Damn. Funky look, Blondie. I like it.”
“Thanks. Not sure my hair will hold up in this weather, though.”
“No offense, Lala, but when has it ever held up? It’s wild as fuck. Your hair is like a whole vibe.”
“It has a personality of its own, and it’s pretty good at predicting the weather, too.” I laughed.
He smirked. “Remember when you had to cut it, though?”
I gave him a sharp look. How dare he bring that up? “Yeah. How could I forget? You and Ryan had a contest to see who could stuff the most gum into your mouth. I planted my butt down to watch Jon & Kate Plus 8 in the living room, and when I tried to get up for a snack, my hair was stuck in a wad of gum Ryan had stuck temporarily to the back of my chair.” I shook my head. “Five inches gone with my mom’s kitchen scissors after we tried to remove it to no avail.”
Holden snorted. “You were so fucking pissed. I think that might have been the first time I ever saw you lose it on Ryan.”
I looked away, feeling my eyes well up unexpectedly. Grief was weird. I could go six months without shedding a tear over my brother, and then one pesky memory about gum pulls the trigger in a matter of seconds.
Holden’s expression fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No. Not your fault. It comes in waves, you know?” I sniffled.
“I do, Lala,” he murmured. “I do.”
“Let’s go.” I wiped my eyes and hurried to the door.
The mood was quiet as we took the elevator downstairs and walked out to where a black SUV waited.
A man was already in the backseat. Even though it was an SUV, it was a tight squeeze in the rear. And we apparently had to pick up one other band member, too.
Holden introduced me right away. “This is Monroe, our lead singer.”