Chapter 10

Stevie McGabe

Rhea’s loud, off-key singing is like a pneumatic drill trying to force its way into my brain. ~I really shouldn’t have drunk all that wine last night.~ I groan, rolling over and pulling the comforter up over my head. Last night comes flooding back as I get a whiff of my fingers.

I can’t believe I rang Darryl and had phone sex with him! It is equal parts sexy and embarrassing. My cell pings with a message, and I crack my eyes open to read it, hoping it will be from Darryl. It’s not.

I quickly tap out a reply to Cameron confirming our coffee date and squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately to get back to sleep for another hour or two.

“Oh, Stevie!” Rhea sings as she swings my door open, making me groan again. “We’re out of food.”

“What? We only just went shopping!” I push my sheets off my face with a frown.

“Yes, but someone…naming no names…gets drunk and comfort eats all the food we have left.” She flops down on the end of my bed, her ever-eclectic wardrobe making my headache worse. “So, what’s going on?”

***

Two hours and many dollars’ worth of groceries later, Rhea is scowling into a steaming mug of black coffee, and Cameron is sitting slack-jawed in front of his fancy flavored concoction.

“I’m going to rip that asshole’s balls off and shove them down his fucking throat!” Rhea shakes her head, her dark waves falling into her eyes.

“I ~know~ he is acting differently toward you!” Cameron sighs. “I should stay back and wait for you.”

“You aren’t to know,” I shrug, picking the chocolate chips out of my cookie. My phone chimes with an email. Opening it up, I sit up straight in my seat excitedly. “Oh! Abi just sent me the tickets for Darryl’s concert, complete with backstage passes. I asked for an extra one for you too, Cam.”

“Sweet!” When I tell him who the other bands are that Darryl is playing with, I am surprised to find out he is really into the support act, some girl-led band called Meliora. “I can’t wait to meet them! Especially the guitarist, Axl—he’s sex on legs!”

Rhea huffs. “Can’t believe I finally got away from that idiot, Smit, and now I have to give up my night watching him make noise.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting that I get to see my gorgeous boyfriend, and that will make me very happy.” She sticks her tongue out at my wide grin.

“I guess.” She looks at her phone. “Shit! I’m, like, ten minutes late for my shift. Love you!” she calls, grabbing her bag and dashing out the door.

“I guess we should get going too,” Cameron gives me an apologetic smile. I take a deep breath and smile back.

“Gotta get it over with, I suppose.”

***

Every time Mr. Bryans’ gaze hits me, I can’t help but squirm in my seat, and I can feel Cameron bristling next to me with his eagerness to protect me. We might have only known each other for a short time, but I can already tell we will be friends for a long time. Even Rhea likes him, and she doesn’t really like anyone.

Two hours later, he calls for the end of the session. “Oh, Stephanie, can you please see me before you go?”

Cameron and I exchange a glance, and he nods slightly. I slowly gather my things together and loiter until the last couple of students leave—gushing over Mr. Bryans’ work and grade grubbing—before I walk over to where he is leaning up against his desk, his legs crossed at the ankles. Knowing Cam is standing just behind me is the only thing keeping me from bolting from the room.

I see Mr. Bryans’ eyes flicker in annoyance toward my friend, and I stand up taller, tucking my thumbs under the straps of my satchel. “Can I help you, Mr. Farmer? I am hoping to speak to Stephanie in private.”

“Sorry, sir,” he replies, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “But Stevie and I are going out now, so I’m not leaving her alone.”

Mr. Bryans stands up straight, smoothing down his tie, his cheeks lightly flushed with either annoyance or embarrassment—or maybe a combination of the two. “Okay, well…in that case. I just want to apologize for my words to you yesterday, Miss McGabe. I have my own issues with the world of romance novels, but your prose and your grasp of language are superb. Please, don’t let what I say put you off writing.”

“Oh! O-okay. Thank you, Mr. Bryans.” He gives me a tight smile and turns his back to us, gathering up his own papers. Cam mouths ~‘oh my god!’~ to me as we turn and make our way outside.

“Well! That hopefully puts an end to that!”

“Yeah! Thanks to you…~boyfriend~.” He grins, flashing his perfectly white teeth at me.

***

Our concert tickets not only grant us backstage access, but they also mean we get to jump the queue outside too. The whole journey here on the subway, Cameron does not stop talking about seeing Axl White in the flesh, and Rhea grumbles nearly as much about having to see Smit again.

I, myself, am too busy grinning excitedly at finally getting to see my boyfriend again, and hopefully being able to grab some alone time together. It feels like forever since we said goodbye to each other on the shared driveway between our parents’ houses. Plus, seeing him up on that stage doing his sexy rock drummer thing is making me feel tingly downstairs if you know what I mean.

“So, are we gonna go backstage and wish your man good luck?” Rhea shoves a handful of M&M’s into her mouth as we slowly wander down the line of merch stalls. I shake my head.

“No, we’ll go back after the show.” Glancing down at our tickets, I point. “This is our stall.”

Our seats put us right in front of the stage, slightly elevated from where a crowd is gathering, pressed right up against the barrier, keeping them back from the stage. The atmosphere is slowly building as more bodies drift in, the background music being pumped out of the sound system getting everyone in the mood for the live music to come.

After what feels like hours but is actually only about twenty minutes, the lights fade, and the music stops. A few whistles and cheers ripple around the awaiting crowd as shadowy figures take to the stage.

A little paradiddle is tapped out—yeah, I may have picked up a few terms hanging around a drummer—and the crowd gets more animated.

The lights go up, illuminating the band.

Smit steps up to his mike, resting a hand holding his pick on top of it. He leans in and grins. “What’s up, New York! We’re Methods of Dissent!”

Darryl counts them off, his drumstick striking the high-hat over and over again.

I’m on my feet the entire twenty-five minutes that they are on stage—my throat is hoarse from screaming the whole time. The crowd goes wild for them. Smit’s vocals are perfectly balanced by Darryl’s screams, the guitars and bass are tighter than the last time I saw them play, and Darryl’s drumming is as amazing as always—they are like a single entity, totally in sync with one another. Their talent makes me so proud I feel like I could actually burst.

“Well, for what’s basically just loud noise, they’re still not that bad, I suppose,” Rhea lifts an eyebrow as someone wearing torn fishnet stockings on their arms and extremely baggy jeans adorned with chains and little decapitated dolls squeezes past us. “That’s just plain weird.”

Cameron turns comically slowly to face her and looks her up and down, with his eyebrows raised nearly up to his hairline. I stifle a giggle behind my hand at her obliviousness to his reaction. Rhea honestly doesn’t see anything wrong with her eclectic way of dressing. Tonight, for example, she is wearing a pair of bright green Bermuda shorts she’d found mixed up in her washing after using the laundrette down the street for the first time, over top of a pair of my leggings, topped off with a Christmas sweater featuring a gray kitten wearing a Santa hat.

“So,” she continues, “are we gonna go track down these boys now?”

Just as I nod and stand up, the support band takes the stage to huge cheers, and Cameron grabs my arm. “Why is Darryl wearing Axl’s guitar?!”