When she pleads like this, it’s hard to say no. I nod, finally giving in. Elle squeals, wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek multiple times. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Quinn. You won’t regret it. Rehearsal starts tonight.”
“Monday,” I tell her. “There’s something I want to take care of first.”
My sister stands in front with her hands on her hips. “Already acting like a diva, I see.”
I shrug. “Take it or leave it.”
“Oh, big brother, I’m taking it and running.”
I don’t know if I feel lighter or if the weight on my shoulders is actually heavier. I’m still not comfortable with the idea of playing in a band, but it’s hard to say no to my sister when she’s pleading. The twins have always been a weakness for me. Maybe it’s because of what they went through with their father or the fact that they were thrust into the world of tour bus living.
After leaving the studio, I head to the Bean Song, knowing full well Nola isn’t working. Thing is, I want to see her and driving all the way over to her parking lot isn’t the way to achieve this.
Luckily for me, Zeke is working the counter. He nods and continues to help the customer in front of me. Once she has her order, I step up. “What can I do for you, Quinn?”
“I don’t know how to say this, but I’d like Nola’s phone number.”
He blanches. “I can’t give you her number.”
“Okay.” I turn to leave, only to hear him call my name. He motions toward the back and I follow him into his office.
“What’s the problem with Nola?”
“Nothing. I gave her a ride home last night and she left her bag on my bike. I wanted to return it before open mic night.” The lie comes easily, which shocks me. I can’t remember the last time I boldly lied. I hate being deceitful. “You know what, I’m sorry. I gave Nola a ride home after her shift and I really just want to see her again, without waiting until next weekend.”
“Do you like her?” he asks, looking rather shocked.
“I think I do.”
“You know, in all the years you’ve played here, I’ve never seen you even talk to any of the waitresses. She must be unique if you’re here, asking about her.”
I’m not sure how to answer him so I nod, hoping he will just hand over her number. I’ll pay for it if I have to. When he picks up a pen, I get excited, although telling him that I might like her isn’t what I wanted to do.
“I shouldn’t do this.” He slides the piece of paper over to me. “Please don’t tell her it was me if you decide to call her.”
“I won’t,” I tell him, although lying to her from the start doesn’t sit well with me. Maybe she won’t ask, or I can be coy about it.
The drive back to my apartment takes forever. Maybe it’s because her number is burning a hole in my pocket or the fact that traffic is simply a nightmare. Usually on my bike, I can weave in and out, beating most of the cars to their destinations, but not today.
Nola’s number sits on my coffee table. The 8-4-3 area code stares back at me. I look at it, curious as to where she’s from, now knowing the accent she tries to hide is from South Carolina.
Her number is already in my phone, waiting for me to press the green button to call her. I finally do and when I lift my phone to my ear, the mix of her phone ringing and my heart beating loudly fills the air space.
When she finally picks up, her sweet voice rings out and my mouth goes dry. I clear my throat and say, “Hi, Nola, it’s Quinn.”
18
Eleanora
“Hi, Nola, it’s Quinn.”
Quinn James, the overly sexy, motorcycle-driving hottie from the Bean Song is on my phone. To say I feel like a schoolgirl would be an epic understatement. I seem to have forgotten that I’m a refined woman with deep southern roots, who shouldn’t like the fact that this man is calling me.
Unfortunately, that’s not me. Nope, I’m the giddy, what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this chick who is jumping up and down, fist pumping and trying to get Kellie’s attention, pointing at my phone and mouthing “Oh. My. God,” all while trying not to make a peep. Yep, that’s me in a nutshell.
As soon as Kellie realizes what I’m telling her, she’s up and standing next to me, and just like in high school, my phone is angled toward her, so she can hear everything he’s saying. Except, he’s not talking. It’s likely because I haven’t said anything in response.
“Holy crap,” Kellie mutters, a bit too loudly. My eyes go wide at her and I’m fairly sure my face has morphed into some grotesque character, letting her know that wasn’t okay.