I’m disappointed, but I’m also not surprised.
Maybe she sees what I’m thinking because she rushes to add, “Your old friend — was it Adrian? — will probably be there. Maybe you’d like to see him?”
I shrug, and she says, “I don’t even really know why I want to go again. It’s just … last night was … intriguing, and, well …” Instead of finishing, she shrugs.
“You want to see where things go with Trevor,” I say.
“I want to see where things go … with … both of you?” Her voice lifts into a question at the end, seeking my input.
Trevor is a nice enough guy, but I don’t particularly want to see him again, and though I am curious about Adrian, I’d rather see him somewhere where he won’t be taking his clothes off, but if Autumn wants me to go with her, then I want to be there. If we didn’t work together, and if there was potential for some kind of relationship between us, then maybe I wouldn’t be open to sharing her attention with anyone else, but with the situation being what it is, there’s no reason for me to raise an objection.
“What time should I pick you up?” I say.
Night 2
11
Autumn
I should be spending more time preparing for my night at Rusty’s. Essentially, I’m ready. I know what songs I’m going to play, what I’m going to wear, and I do practice every day, but it’s hard to keep my head focused on it — which is completely bizarre, since performing is my dream, and the gig at Rusty’s is my first step.
But my head is consumed with thoughts of what happened on the couch last night, and what might happen if the three of us get together again.
I should probably wait until after my gig at Rusty’s — which is only two nights away — to go back to Club Red, but everything feels both urgent and delicate, like if I allow time to pass, everything will be different. Some spell will be broken, and the hot stripper and my amazing coworker will no longer want to make out with me. I know it’s ridiculous, but patience has never been my strong point, and I can’t see myself sitting at home when I know there’s an opportunity to have a second chance at last night.
My head is so far in the clouds that I’m caught off guard when Lindsey confronts me in our kitchen as soon as I get home from my hair appointment.
I managed to avoid the inquisition by going straight to my room last night after Garrett and Trevor left, but I’m not so lucky now.
“What was going on last night?” she asks, her body blocking the doorway as if she’s trying to keep me trapped in the room for the conversation.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. What was the stripper doing here again?” Lindsey demands.
“He knows my coworker. They went to high school together.”
“That doesn’t explain anything. What were they both doing here with you?”
With my water bottle refilled and a granola bar in hand, I’m ready to leave the kitchen. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“It’s my house. My business,” Lindsey says. She loves to pull this out anytime there’s a dispute about anything.
I want to do musical performances on the side because I love playing music, but it would also be great if I could get a steady schedule going and earn enough money to afford my own place. Having roommates is getting old.
“Speaking of your house, the bathroom faucet is leaking again.” Before she can say anything else, I push past her and take the stairs two at a time.
With the need for additional income on my mind, it’s easier to focus on preparing for Rusty’s. I go over the set list one more time, practice a few numbers on my guitar, and even iron the outfit I plan to wear during the performance, a white blouse and long denim skirt. I splurged on these new clothes, along with a coordinating jacket, with the hope that feeling like I looked good would help me overcome the stage fright that I’ll surely feel. Rusty’s isn’t a big place, and the stage is just a small elevated area in one corner of the bar, but it will be my first time playing for anyone who isn’t family or friends, and my stomach flutters every time I think about it.
I’m feeling highly prepared when it comes time to get ready to leave for Club Red. I ask Garrett to text me when he arrives, so I can slip out quietly. Instead of sitting inside his car, he’s standing next to the passenger door, ready to open it for me. Before he does that, though, he pulls me into an embrace and takes me by surprise with a lingering kiss.
“Hi,” he says, looking down at me, still holding me in his arms.
“Hi.”
“Your hair looks great,” he says. “You got it cut?”
“Just a trim,” I say, pleased that he both remembered and noticed. This is the kind of thing that always made me think he’d be a great boyfriend to someone.