Happily Ever After? (Sleeping Handsome Sequel) (13 page)

The third song is something I’ve never
heard before. Though catchy with a long repeating chorus and fast
beat, there’s a folk influence in there. I nudge Marcus. “What’s
this?” I mouth.

“
This is theirs,” he
shouts in my ear.

My interest goes up a notch. I don’t
want it to, but the fact they don’t just do covers impresses me. I
nudge Marcus again with my elbow. “What’s their name
again?”

“
Luminescent Juliet,” he
yells in my ear.

I give him a look and a
question with it.
What kind of dumb name
is that?

He shrugs and keeps up his fist pump
dance. For a boy so into music he can so not dance.

Through the rest of the set, I mostly
watch the drummer until the thud and want in my chest has me
glancing at the rest of the band, but my eyes always go back to the
drummer. He really is good. He also looks like he’s enjoying
himself. Between songs, the singer says some stupid shit but for
the most part, the band seems to be serious about the music. I like
that.

Once the singer yells out,
“Goodnight!” The band heads off the stage and Marcus turns to me as
the lights come on. “What do you think?”

“
They’re good.” I go to
leave with the rest of the crowd, but he puts on a hand on my
arm.

“
Think you’ll try
out?”

I press my lips together.

He grins. “Tell me you’re thinking
about it.”

“
Probably not.” He opens
his mouth but I cut him off. “Can we go?”

He nods below us to the people
leaving. “Give it a minute. I want to introduce you to the
band.”

My brows rise. “Why didn’t you tell me
you knew them?”

He shrugs. “I just know the singer. He
gave me the tickets. He lives in my dorm but we can meet the rest
of them too.”

“
No way…I’m not in the
mood.”

“
Come on,
Riley.”

I shake my head.

“
Okay then just let me say
hi.” After another of my looks, he adds, “I told him I was
coming.”

“
Fine. Just don’t
introduce me.”

We follow the end of the crowd down
the stairs then wait to get into the main theater until it’s almost
empty. A few stragglers like us hang out near the stage. Well,
Marcus is near the stage. I’m a few feet back resting on a
rail.

He’s talking to some guy
about the performance when I remember bandana man from outside and
the card in my pocket. I give the room a peek for a guy in a white
t-shirt and shorts. No bandana guy in sight. I dig the card out.
Since I thought the guy gave me his number—not that I’d call him—I
blink at the black and green ink. One words stands out the most.
Suicide. Then
free
and
help
.
Slowly, like at the pace of a waltz, I realize he gave me a card to
the Suicide Hotline.

My face warms. Looking around and
still not finding the guy from outside, I stuff the card in my
pocket.

Just because a girl’s in a dark alley
crying doesn’t mean she’s suicidal. Yet beyond the embarrassment
burning throughout me I’m touched that someone would try to help
me, even if he got it wrong.

Like way wrong.

Still, I can see where
bandanna man was coming from. I probably looked pretty pathetic out
there crying alone. Major loser. The weight of my life just pulled
me down for a moment. That’s all. I’m okay. My hand presses over
the card in my pocket. I’ve never thought about
that
. However, crying in a dark
alley alone does point to the fact I may need a change in my
life.

A major change.

So adrift in thought, I’m startled to
notice the band has come out. The singer stands with an arm around
some girl’s waist and a beer in his other hand while talking to
Marcus. This close, I can see that his body matches his face. He’s
quite good looking with dark blond hair, deep dimples, and a
crooked white grin. Chloe would be whispering smoking hot in my ear
if she were here. As they talk, other guys come out on stage and
start packing up. The tall drummer starts tearing apart his set.
The bass player talks within another group a few feet away. Shorter
and energetic he exudes fun. He still bounces a bit as if on
stage.

I’m watching the drummer and thinking
about being able to pack up drums when the guitar player comes over
to Marcus and the singer. Chloe wouldn’t whisper smoking hot. It
would loudly tear out of her mouth with an F-bomb. While the singer
is eye candy, the guitar player is walking lust. Dark hair. Dark
eyes. Muscled body in a tight, dark tank top. The girls waiting
behind him practically pant.

He brushes the angled flop of hair out
of his eyes and looks up. Our eyes meet. Shit. He’s caught me
staring. His eyes narrow. My face flushes as my gaze finds the
floor. He probably thinks I’m panting after him like the other
girls. Doesn’t know I’m just musically interested.

Feeling like an idiot, I find the
nerve to glance up at the stage. Out of the corner of my eye, I can
see both the guitar player and singer still talking with Marcus. No
one looks at me. I cross my arms, stare at the far wall of old torn
wallpaper, and mentally will Marcus to shut up and come on. Behind
my irritation, drums beat in my head.

After I’ve studied frayed wallpaper
like its displayed art, Marcus comes up to me. “You
ready?”

“
No, I thought I’d stare
at the wallpaper for another five minutes.” I spin away. Marcus
catches up with me in the theater lobby. “Shit Riley, slow down.”
But the whirl in my head has me moving fast. Maybe if I keep
moving, the thought that’s entered my brain won’t come
out.

“
Why is the drummer
quitting?” I ask as we step onto the sidewalk.

“
He’s transferring to
another university.” Marcus digs for his keys even though we’re
still several blocks from his car. “He’s good but you’re
better.”

I don’t say anything. Rather imagine
playing again. Excitement churns in my gut.

“
So?” Marcus elbows me in
the side.

I don’t want to play on stage. I’d
rather be in the Marching Band. But I want to play. Bad. “You have
their play list?”

A grin breaks out on his face. “I can
load it on your iPod. I already told my mom you’d be practicing in
the garage.”

My eyes narrow on his grin. This time
I give him a nudge. A hard one right in his ribs.