I'm Happy and Other Lies I Tell Myself

I'm obsessed with John Mayer. I'm obsessed with wine. This book idea was born when my two obsessions came together. John is my muse for my male lead, Joe. And now I'm obsessed with Joe. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer** This is a rough draft without professional edits. Apologies in advance for any grammatical fuck ups.

Chapter One

Men are pigs. Well, at least the ones who I’ve had the displeasure of falling in love with. That’s how I ended up here, in a swanky ass hotel, in my home state of Montana, preparing for my first book signing. I had always been a writer, but after I lost all desire for bacon grease infused men, I became an angry cynic, ripe with nasty thoughts that I turned into a series of books. My high school English teacher used to tell me I wouldn’t have a story worth telling until someone hurt me. That perverted old man was correct.

My best friend, Lori, and I had both been invited to this signing. It was so massive, they actually had room for us nobodies. Both of us stumbled into the indie book world years ago, but our careers had yet to be recognized by the masses.

To my dismay, my brother Collin and his best friend Eric came along for the signing. They found more fame in the book world than Lori and I had. I made the mistake of joking with Collin, telling him he should be on one of my covers to help me sell books. The only thing he had going for him was his looks. I love my brother, but he’s lazy and dumb as dirt. A month later he landed two covers that weren’t mine, and now, a year later, he was up to thirty, with Eric on his heels at fifteen. They were in it for the extra cash and extra ass they were bringing home. Helping my failing writing career had long been forgotten.

We had only been at the hotel for a few hours when Collin and Eric found a group of girls to bring up to our room. Correction, suite. We had been unrightfully upgraded because our heater was broken. The only room they had left in the entire hotel was this ridiculous two-bedroom suite equipped with a gaudy red couch and tacky jacuzzi tub. Which was currently full of inebriated girls, plastic champagne cups, and of course, Collin and Eric. Lori had locked herself in one of the bedrooms because she said she was likely to kill a bitch if they puked all over.

The volume of hysterical laughter rose to a sickening level, forcing me out onto the balcony. The book I had been reading earlier still on the chair, waiting patiently for me.

Just as I pull the bookmark from the last page I read, I hear the slider door open behind me. I don’t look up, annoyed that these people won’t leave me alone.

“Balcony is off limits.” I say.

“I think I’m allowed on my own balcony.” I glance over my shoulder and see the shadow of someone standing out on the balcony next to ours. I turn back to my book and shake my head.

“Sorry. Thought you were one of the idiots in there.” I say pointing at the slider.

“No, just your friendly hotel neighbor who can’t sleep because of said idiots.”

I continue staring at my book as I say, “They’re just getting started. Probably best if you move rooms.”

“I was promised this room has the best view, and I must say I agree. I’d hate to give that up." I can hear the playfulness in his voice and it bothers me. If I wanted to be bothered I’d just have to walk two feet into the door behind me.

“I came out here to avoid human interaction. You can stay on your balcony, but could you kindly stop talking?” I hear him laugh and the drag of the sliding door. I wait for the drag again, but there’s silence. I look over my shoulder to see him walking out with a guitar.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I breathe into the air. I set my book down in my lap, my focus too disturbed to understand what I’m reading. I keep my back to him, listening as he plucks a few strings, and then, he’s starts to hum the most beautiful hum I’ve ever heard.

Bastard.

“What’s your name?” He asks as he strums.

“Georgia.” I respond without looking back at him. I hear him laugh as his strums thicken.

“Georgia, balcony pirate, party hatin’ book lover just lookin’ for some quiet. Georgia, surrounded by friends and all she wants is silence.” He sings.

I roll my eyes as I turn my chair around to look at him. He’s smiling when our eyes meet, and I want to throw my book at his face.

“What part of stop talking didn’t you understand?"

He continues to strum as he says, “You told me to stop talking. I’m singing, Georgia. There’s a difference.” He smirks.

“What’s your name?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

His brows furrow in confusion. “Umm, Joe.” He answers me like asking his name is the dumbest question in the world.

“Keep strumming, Joe.” He shakes his head and continues playing.

“Joe, more annoying than a cat. Parents should’ve named him asshat.” I sing as I smile at him. “Joe, annoying balcony dude who can’t get a clue.” I take a bow and turn to open the slider door.

“Hey!” He shouts just as I step in. “Do you not know who I am?”

I laugh as I turn to face him. “Do guys actually think we care about that shit? What? Your dad has money? Your mom owns a shoe line? Congratulations. No, Joe, I don’t know who you are, but if I did I’m sure I’d hate you.” I shrug and step into the hotel, slamming the slider behind me. It doesn’t slam as hard as I’d hoped, so I do it again and nearly throw my back out.

“Where were you?” Lori asks when I walk into our room.

“On the balcony trying to escape these idiots. Apparently, we’re surrounded by them. I was accosted by a guitar player with a killer smirk out there. Nowhere is safe.”

Lori laughs and pulls me to sit on the bed with her.

“Did he actually accost you, or you just tapping into your large vocabulary to emphasize your irritation?”

“He was annoying. Is that better?” She laughs and yanks the blankets from under me, then curls herself around them.

“Those girls started to stumble out a few minutes ago. I guess someone complained about the noise. It’s just the four of us now.”

“I want to reiterate I’m not hooking up with Eric now that his groupies are gone.” I say as I fall back onto the bed.

She smirks, “I know that. But I don’t think he does. He swears you’re in love with him.”

“In order to be in love with him, I’d have to like him first. We’ve yet to get to that point in the twenty years I’ve known him. It’s a no go for me.” We both jump when we hear a thumping on the door.

“It’s probably hotel management. Tell them we’ll be quiet when they stop forcing their female employees to dress like chic sex slaves.” She yells as I go to the door.

I’m laughing at her as I swing the door open.

“Smiling suits you. Although your scowl is quite impressive.”

It’s Joe. It’s obvious he doesn’t understand the meaning of fuck off.

“What do you want.” I spit at him.

He smirks as he looks over my shoulder into the room.

“You know, I was sitting in my room and I was struck with this urgency to know if your room looked the same as mine. Do hotels actually make every room unique like they advertise? I can’t be the only one who questions these mysteries.”

“Joe, I’m a strange person, but I don’t need medication. Do you need medication? Have you forgotten them at home?”

“I haven’t been diagnosed with anything, but if you’d like, we can figure out together what I can attribute my strangeness to. Perhaps boredom?”

“No. I’d say it’s alcohol. Alcohol always makes boys crazy.”

“First, I’m a man. Second, I don’t drink.” He shrugs.

“Recreational drugs?”

He shakes his head. “Sober as a newborn baby. Well, unless the mother was a drug addict and in that case…”

I start to close the door in his face, but he stops it with his foot.

“I’ll take your rudeness as a side effect of the mass amounts of liquor you dumped down your esophagus.”

I kick his foot and yell, “I don’t drink, asshole!”

I hear him laughing as he pulls his foot away and I get the door closed.

“So, we have something in common?” He shouts through the heavy wood.

“Tons of people are sober. Nothing special. Goodnight.” I storm away from the door and back to my room. Lori is gone, and in her place, is Eric.

“Where’s Lori?”

“Educating Collin on intersectional feminism over sushi. Oh, the jokes I could come up with.”

“You need brain cells to produce jokes. You’re out of luck.” I smile as I grab his arm and try to pull him off the bed. “Get out. I’m going to sleep.”

“I can’t. Lori is in my room. You know once she gets going she’ll be yapping all night.”

“Go sleep on that obnoxious red couch.”

“One of the girls puked on it.”

“The couch deserved it.” He yawns, ignoring my impeccable joke, and stretches out, making it impossible for me to even inch my way in. I groan as I pull the pillows from under his head and then the throw blanket from under his feet.

“I’m sleeping on the patio.” He shoots me a peace sign as I walk out.

“You’re a true goddamn gentleman, Eric.” I huff as I set up my pillow on one of the lounge chairs. I thank all the gods that it’s mid-summer, and not mid-winter. I’d be buried in snow by morning if it were. I lie down, grab my book and get back to reading. I’ve only finished a page when I hear the slider open. This time I know it’s Joe.

“Don’t you have something better to do than harass a woman all night?

“Harassment is a very serious accusation. I’m being friendly. Are you one those women who hates men, Georgia?” I hear the teasing in his tone, but he still pisses me off.

“Yes. I hate you. Guess that makes me a man hater.” I flip a page so hard I give myself a paper cut.

“Shit.”

“If you injured yourself I need to help you. Are you injured?”

“No. Go away." He laughs, and I hear the slider door, then a few seconds later the drag of a chair against concrete.

“Here.” I jump when I feel his breath near my ear.

“You can’t jump balconies. What is wrong with you? Are you sure you don’t take medication?” I say as I push myself to stand.

“I told you, I’m sober. And it was hardly a jump. More like a step over a rail. Here, I carry a first aid kit with me. It’s an obsessive thing I do. Diagnose me if you must.” He unwraps the band-aid and grabs my hand.

“What are you angrily reading?” He asks as he smooths the notable Ninja Turtle band-aid onto my finger. I’m staring at his mouth, amused and annoyed by the way his bottom lip pouts at the end of every word. He smirks when he catches me looking.

“Pride and Prejudice. Austen was a feminist, before it was cool.”

“Have you ever thought of what might have happened to Wickham as a child to make him so awful? Every antagonist has a story." My eyes widen, surprised that he knows anything about Austen.

“Yes, actually. I’ve thought exactly that.”

“That surprises me.” He says, his bottom lip distracting me again. “In this blip of time I’ve known you, I’d say you regard men with a sustainable malevolence. I’d expect you to come to the patterned conclusion that Wickham was your typical, without redemption, asshole antagonist.”

His vocabulary range impresses me, but he sounds like a pretentious ass, which makes me wonder if I sound like that when I wield my vocabulary at people.

“In my defense, I don’t hate all men. Just the bad ones. Although fictional men come with exemptions.”

“And you think I’m a bad one? That’s why you’re so rude to me?”

“I’m not rude. I’m myself.”

He laughs and steps closer to me, his thumb grazing my band-aid protected finger. I stare at his full hairline instead of his eyes. I learned this trick in psychology. If you want to distract someone, find a focus point on their face that isn’t their eyes. Their focus becomes yours, insecurity is born, and they question what the hell you’re looking at. Distraction mission complete. I wouldn’t call it a game, more like a defense mechanism. I’m a self-proclaimed prude, but I’m not immune to pouty lips attached to a weird brain like Joe’s. No one is perfect.

“What are you doing?” He asks, brushing his hand over his hair.

It’s working. I need to email my old psych professor a thanks.

“Trying to figure out why you’re still on my balcony.”

“Well, the longer I stay, the higher the probability I’ll get to kiss you. We can’t move forward until I do. A kiss will tell me if you’re worth all the trouble that will likely come after I kiss you.”

“Move forward? With what?”

“Us, of course.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re presumptuous? Also, kind of an asshole?”

“Yes. All the time.” He smirks. “But I have to say I usually don’t get this kind of reaction from women.”

I laugh in his face, “Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“To be so full of yourself? That’s got to cause loads of pressure in all your appendages. Especially the small ones.” I say as I glance down to his crotch.

He laughs and takes a step back. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that…”

The slider behind us opens and Eric peeks out, eyes hardly open. “Hey. Come in. I’ll give your bed back.”

I’ll thank Eric later for being a half-assed gentleman.

“Be right there.” He nods as he closes the slider, too wasted to even notice the other body on the patio.

“Boyfriend?” Joe asks as I look into his eyes at close range for the first time. I stab at my paper cut, willing pain to overtake the lethal lust fueled stomach flop I experience when I make full eye contact with him.

“Never.”

“Good.” He says, then climbs back to his balcony.

Chapter Two

“Get up. We have to be in the ballroom in an hour.” Lori whispers in my ear. She’s never this kind in the morning. Her and I share the burden of insomnia. We’ve spent the better part of our lives torturing each other in the morning. I can’t even finish that thought when I jolt up from the bed when Green Day’s Basket Case starts blasting through the room. There she is. Asshole.

“Don’t they have assistants to go down and set everything up?” I groan.

“Those people are only there to watch our lines that will never get out of control because no one knows who we are.”

“Oh, the plight of being an indie.” I laugh. “How did we get invited to this thing anyway? Did they need space holders like they do at the Oscars to make the room look fuller?” Lori touches her nose and nods as she pulls me into the bathroom.

When we get down to the ballroom my anxiety swallows me. Lori grabs my hand, always my strength, even though I know she’s being swallowed by her own anxiety. We find our shared table, in a far corner next to a New York Times best-selling bully. Her line will bleed across our table, and the only good thing about it is people will be forced to see us. Maybe even buy our books out of guilt. Hey, a sale is sale.

“Stop.” Lori says as we set our bags behind the table. “Some people know our work. Yes, we got stuck next to her, but it could be worse. We could not be here at all. Let’s enjoy ourselves until we go back to the room, and then we can bitch about all this song and dance.”

“Fine.” I say as I grab a stack of books from her hand.

“Hey y’all.” Carrie Harper, a fellow author, waves as she passes our table. Carrie found success years ago, before it was cool to be an indie. Success didn’t change her personality, only upgraded how much she could help others. And then, our table neighbor walks past, not bothering to acknowledge us lowly nobodies. She’s staring at herself in a mirror, applying goopy gloss to her lips as she walks, and I secretly hope she trips.

“You know, wishing ill will towards people isn’t a good look for you.” Lori whispers.

“I did no such thing.” I feign innocence.

“Lies.” She laughs.

Once the doors to the signing open, we're flooded by the bully’s line, as expected. Lori and I sit and talk as the people in line ignore us, refusing to make eye contact for fear that we will sell them a book that isn’t part of a twenty-part series.

I’m laughing at Lori’s impression of Collin when I hear a voice say, “I’d like to purchase every copy you have.”

My gaze shifts to the front of the table to find Joe running his fingers over the covers of my books. “Stop fingering my books. What the hell do you want?”

“Thought I’d see what it is you do at these things. I’m used to crowds, but this is insanity.”

Lori clears her throat, and I look over to her wide eyes and gaping mouth.

“Lori, this is the annoying guy from the balcony last night. Annoying guy from the balcony, this is my Lori.” Lori stands slowly, her hand inching toward Joe.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” I ask Lori, her hand shaking when it’s almost touching his.

“Good to meet you Lori. You have an old soul. I can see it in your eyes. I like you.” She nods as she sits down, a mute all of sudden when normally she would’ve reamed him for that cheesy ass compliment.

“I’m trying to sell books. If you could go away, that’d be great.” He laughs as he pulls out his wallet. He hands his black MasterCard to Lori. Boastful bastard.

“Whatever all these costs, charge me.” Lori grabs his card and tries over and over to swipe it but is unable to control her shaking hand. I yank it away from her and do it myself.

“Here.” I say, handing him my phone to sign for the transaction. I hand his card back then shove all the books toward him.

“I’m only taking your money because I feel like I should be paid to put up with your annoyance.” I smile at him and sit back down. He smiles as he signs with his finger, then gets shoved forward over the table. It’s then I see a crowd has formed around our table. Everyone is staring at me, Joe, and Lori. Phones are hovering above Joe’s head, flashes are going off. The whole room is exploding with chatter.

“What the fuck is going on,” I whisper to Lori. She’s still staring at Joe.

“When you’re done here, stop by my room. I checkout in the morning. I’d like to see you before that.”

“No.” I shout as he backs away through the crowd.

“I’ll text you then, bother you until you say yes.” I look down at my phone when he disappears in the crowd and see that he text himself from my phone. Clever bastard.

“Do you have any more books?” We have a line of women at our table now, hungry to get their hands on our stuff, and we have nothing. I start to hand out cards with our book information and website on them, at a loss for our sudden popularity.

“You know who he is, right?” Lori asks, blindly handing out our cards to the slew of insatiable women.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re the last woman on the planet I’d expect to fall for the ‘do you know who I am’ bullshit.”

She laughs, “No. Not like that. That’s Joe Merrill. The singer.” I shrug, his name sounds vaguely familiar.

“Am I supposed to know him?”

“Yes. Unless of course you haven’t listened to the radio in the past fifteen years or surf social media regularly, then no.” She looks at me with a grin.

Radio has been dead to me since Video Killed the Radio Star. I gave up on it years ago. My vinyl’s and classically curated iTunes playlist do the job just fine. There’s nothing that can take the place of the classics. And don’t even get me started on social media. A cesspool for vain people to stroke their own egos. No thanks. Lori told me I needed to get with it, make an Instagram at least, for marketing my books, but the idea of shoving my books at people in the form of pictures and a quirky one liner reeked of desperation. I can’t and won’t. My sub-par website will have to do.

“He’s incredible. A legit musician. Not like these sell out pop stars who don’t even write their own songs.” I shrug again as I hand over the last card to a girl who looks like she might jump over the table to see if Joe is hiding under it.

“He’s into you.” Lori states.

“Captain obvious, what would I do without you?”

She punches my shoulder. “You’d die a lonely death surrounded by unfinished manuscripts.”

“Bitch.” I laugh.

Chapter three

Joe text me nine times before I got back to my room.

“Hey.”

“Do you know the human heart beats 100,00 times a day?”

“Did you know a kiss stimulates 29 muscles that cause relaxation?”

“I like you.”

“I have a lazy eye. The right one.”

“Contrary to what most people think, I believe Wylie E Coyote was the protagonist. Not the antagonist.”

“I’m terrified of getting old. I only know how to be young.”

“Has the probability level of kissing you increased or decreased with your new knowledge of my lazy eye?”

Lori reads through the texts, cycling between laughter and face splitting smiles. “He’s weird. I like him.”

“I have his number. Call him. He’s all yours.” I say I push the door open and drop my bag on the floor.

“Don’t be lame. At least talk to him. He’s handsome. He’s mature. Employed. Everything you say guys aren’t. Which is why you’re still single.”

“Do I have to remind you you’re single too?”

“I date. I at least try. All you do is bitch about men.”

“Whose side are you on? Vagina or penis?”

“Vagina forever. But I do love a good penis.” She laughs as she walks to the bathroom and closes the door in my face.

My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s another asinine text from Joe.

“A ten-year-old mattress weighs double what it did when it was new due to debris that it absorbs over time. How often do you think hotels switch out mattresses? I’m looking up the brand of my mattress right now to see how much it weighs brand new. I’m going to weigh it after. Do you want to help me lift it onto the scale?”

I roll my eyes and shove my phone into my pocket.

“I’m going next door. I’ll be back.” I shout to Lori. She peeks her head out the door, grinning as she waves me off.

“Yell our code if you need me. I can hear everything through this wall. Remember that when you decide you may want to accidentally fall into bed with him.”

“Suck my ass.” I shout as I walk out into the hallway.

“I’d prefer to kiss you first, but if you insist.” Joe says, grinning as he leans against the wall separating our doors.

“What are you doing out here, creep?”

“Waiting for you. I thought after I told you about my lazy eye you would come out just to see if it were true. Figured you’d enjoy staring at it to make me uncomfortable.”

“That does sound like something I would enjoy, but I don’t have the time to stare longingly at your flaws. I’m sure I can round up a group of girls from downstairs to do that for you though.”

“No thanks.” He smiles.

“What’s your deal? Lori says you’re a singer. And from the looks of the madness you caused downstairs, I’d say you’re a popular one. Shouldn’t you be doing a concert or signing autographs instead of bothering me for nearly twenty-four hours?”

“I have a concert. Tonight. I’d like for you to come.”

“No thanks.” I say.

He pushes himself off the wall. “What’s your deal? Why are you so mean to me?”

“I’m not mean. I’m honest.” He takes another step toward me.

“Would you kick me in the nuts if I kissed you?”

“No. But…”

Before I can get the next word out, he grabs my face and presses his lips to mine. That pouty bottom lip moving over mine, twisting my annoyance into lust. He pulls me to him, walking me forward as he opens his door. He doesn’t remove his lips until we're on the other side.

I push him away and cover my mouth. His eyes are hooded, the playfulness replaced with want.

“Fuck.” He says, dropping his head. I think he’s disappointed. This is good.

“See. Nothing there. Now you can leave me alone.” I stick out my hand to shake his. “It was good to meet you, Joe Merrill.”

He lifts his head, that grin back in place. This time his grin pulls at the woman inside of me who hasn’t had sex since her nasty divorce. This pretentious balcony pirate is breaking through my bullshit barrier. I’m going to murder him.

“Nothing there? My heartbeat count for the day just jumped to one hundred and fifty thousand beats.” He places his hand on my chest, above my breast, but still, on my chest. “Safe to say yours did too.”

He slides his hand up my neck, squeezing as he looks at me. This close-range shit is dangerous. I notice his lazy eye now, but it’s endearing. Gives his face character. I want to murder myself for thinking that.

“Come tonight.” I let a chuckle slip from my throat. My mind tends to shy away from the gutter, but we’re already nearing the storm drain at this point, so I’m going with it. He leans in, nips my bottom lip with his teeth and groans. “Your smile might be my coup de grâce.”

I have no idea what that means, which seriously bothers me, but I smile again because I can’t help it. He kisses me, pressing me into the door, pressing his body against mine. His hands cradle my cheeks, my hands cradle his back, and when his tongue reaches for mine, a moan slides across my lips and I think Lori definitely heard that.

“I can’t come tonight.” I breathe against his mouth.

“You sure?’ He laughs and kisses me again, this time his tongue leads. He’s bold, moving one hand down to my ass, keeping the other against my cheek. “You afraid you’ll like it if you come? Want more?” He says as he pulls away just enough to look in my eyes.

This time I look at his lazy eye. I stare it, because it’s the only thing to keep me from falling in the trap he just set out for me.

“I shouldn’t have told you about my eye. I was desperate.” He covers his eye, and now he looks like a pirate, and he’s making it so much harder not to like him with all the weird shit he does.

“I’m a thirty-three-year-old divorcee.” I blurt out.

Most guys I’ve even thought of starting a fling with ran the other way when they found out about my ex-husband. They all had assumed it was my fault. And well, they were right.

“Is that supposed to scare me? Try again.”

“I hate all new music, anything beyond 1990. Which means I hate your music.”

“Get in line. Try again.” He nuzzles my neck, dropping a kiss below my ear as I say, “I hate cats.” He bares his teeth beneath my earlobe and says, “Same.”

I push him away, my breath labored, and my heartbeat count up to two hundred thousand. This can’t be healthy.

“Okay. This was fun. Bye.” I pat his chest then turn to open the door.

“You’re insane.” He laughs.

“You have no idea.” I say as I rush out the door.

Lori, Eric and Collin are huddled on the couch when I walk in. Lori has her laptop set up on her legs, she gives me a knowing grin when she looks up.

“Where were you?” Collin asks.

“Buying tampons.”

“Okay. Gross. You could’ve just said at the store.”

I could have, but that would leave room for questions I didn’t want to answer. Talks of tampons always ruin a pending inquisition.

“Whatcha watching?” I move behind the couch and see Joe on the screen, standing on a stage, grin in place, guitar hovering over his crotch.

“Seriously?” I whisper near Lori’s ear. She looks over her shoulder and narrows her eyes on my lips. “Busted,” She whispers back.

“This guy is a pansy, if you ask me. He sings all love songs. And look at the awful faces he makes. He looks like he’s having a seizure.” Collin says.

“Bro, he’s bagged some of the hottest chicks in Hollywood. Obviously, what he’s doing is working.” Eric replies. I cough and step away from the couch.

“You okay,” Lori asks, smiling like the asshole she is.

“I’m good.” I say as I squeeze in next to her.

“We’re going to the bar. There are tons of chicks from the signing hanging out there. We’ll likely be back with about fifty of them.” Collin grabs his jacket and waits for Eric to follow. As soon as the lock clicks on the door, Lori turns to me.

“Did he force you to do anything you didn’t want to?”

“Umm, no.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to kill that pretty face. So, he’s a good kisser? The way you wobbled in here tells me yes.”

“Damn good.” I nod. “And he invited me to his concert tonight.”

“And you said yes, right?” She’s trying to control her excitement, but she’s rising off the couch like the exorcist.

“Of course, I said no. Yeah, he’s a good kisser, and don’t even get me started on his ass, but what then? We have sex? I never see him again? I continue on with this draining dating pattern until I’m sixty? You said it yourself, he’s a famous singer. He lives in LA in a multi-million-dollar mansion and will never come back to Montana again. I’m never moving out of Montana, so it’s settled.”

She starts laughing and typing on the computer. She hits enter, then turns the computer toward me.

Joe Merrill

Born- November 16th 1977 (age 41).

Residence- Montana.

“First, he’s forty-one? He looks thirty at best. Second, shit.”

Lori sets the computer aside and says, “We’re going to that concert. Get cleaned up.”

Chapter Four

“I’m coming.” I text Joe right before I get in the shower. I imagine his right eye closing completely as he smiles reading the text.

I’m brushing my hair when I hear a knock on the door. I’m only in a towel, and Lori is in the shower, so I’m the only viable door opener.

I look out the peephole and see it’s Joe. I force my smile away and swing the door open. His eyes widen, even his right eye looks normal. He clears his throat and hands me two laminated passes.

“For you and Lori.” He says as he hands them over in full animatronic mode. I adjust my hand to hold the towel tighter as I grab them. His fingers brush mine and my damn nipples harden. His gaze falls to my chest, he bites that stupid full bottom lip, then walks down the hallway like he’s got a mic stand stuck up his ass.

We make it into the venue and show our passes, then we’re scurried between bodies all the way to the side of the stage. I know most people would love to have a chance to be in this spot, but I hate it. The sound is awful, too loud. The energy is more professional, more sound guys than buzzing concert goers. Being in the crowd, feeling the energy of music being passed between shoulders and arms, I live for it.

Joe is already on stage, telling the crowd he loves them, hand over his heart. Girls scream their love back. It’s surreal to see the crowd from this vantage point. At least five thousand people are staring back at him, waiting for his words to make them feel something, to help them deal with something in their life, it’s why they paid money to be crammed in this place.

I want to vomit at the thought of having this mass audience depending on me to make them feel something. I’ll never tell Lori this, but it’s a significant reason why I won’t do social media. I won’t market like everyone else. I’m scared of mass success. I’m scared of what everyone will find. Our profession as artists connect Joe and I, even if I don’t want it to. People read to find what they need in that moment, the same way they do with a song. People are always searching outside of themselves, looking to another person who has felt what they have felt. To commiserate in common joy and pain. Joe seems to treasure that connection.

There’s a break in music and I watch as Joe runs toward us, a man beside me reaching out a guitar that looks like something a seventy-year-old man would play. I’m impressed for a nano second. Joe grabs the guitar, his other hand sweeping against my arm, his smirk as he walks away tells me it was intentional. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed he didn’t even say hello. I mean, I don’t like him, but he did invite me.

“I LOVE THIS SONG.” Lori shouts in my ear when he strikes the first chord on his guitar. I roll my eyes and return my focus to the stage. The crowd loses their shit when he breaks into the song, a heavy guitar and drum opening. The lyrics pull at the classic music lover, and divorcee in me.

“Had a hell of a time, had rough start.

But I’m living right here, living in the now.

My dark days over now.”

My eyes burn, his music doing what music is supposed to do. I look over to Lori, who is in tears. She looks at me and smiles.

“I told you.” She slings her arm around my shoulder and pulls me in. I let a few tears fall as the song pulls me in and under its melody. We sway as one, buzzing with the speaker next to us. My pride is fighting with his voice, with his lyrical genius. I’ll never tell him I was wrong about his music, but I’ll secretly enjoy it for now.

He goes on to do an hour-long set, and by the time it’s over I’ve danced, cried a few more times and shamed myself repeatedly for picking up some lyrics and singing them back to him with everyone else.

Once Joe finishes his last song, we stay put, thinking he’s going to come over to us, escort us off the stage. Instead he’s ushered off on the other end. Eventually were forced to leave the stage so the guys can start breaking down. We’re not left alone until we’ve reached an exit and are told to go out that way. Lori looks as disappointed as I feel. But I refuse to show it. I knew he was a bad one.

“How are you going to invite someone to a concert and not have them come hang at the after party? That’s like telling someone you’re taking them to dinner but you don’t pay for them.” Lori says as we walk to her car.

I stay silent, because I don’t want my voice to give away my disappointment.

“Your silence gives you away. It’s okay to be bummed.” Lori says as we pull away from the venue.

“I’m more angry than disappointed. I’m angry that I actually came. That I let him worm his way in a little. I’m angry that I like his music and now his stupid songs will be stuck in my head longer than the memory of his stupid lips.” I punch the dash, seeking a quick release for all this anger.

“I would stop you from beating up my beautiful Jeep, but I haven’t seen this severe of a reaction from you over a guy since Kurt, so have it. Just be a little gentle with those fists.” She rubs my back with one hand, steering us away from this shitty night with the other.