I pulled back so he could see my face. “I’m terrified. And I trust you too.”
His grin was shy and sexy. “Well then.” He cleared his throat. “Electric Rose is playing here tonight at nine.”
My eyebrows shot straight up. “That’s my favorite fucking cover band of all time.”
He brushed the hair from my forehead. “Mine too.”
I hadn’t seen Electric Rose in years, but back in the day, I was their number one fan. They played punk and classic rock covers I loved to dance to.
“Would you like to see them together? With me?” he asked.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes,” he said. “My first first date.”
I gave him a short but passionate kiss. “Yes. Please.”
A second later, Pop and a handful of delivery guys kicked open the door and walked through the office door. We turned around—hair mussed, clothing wrinkled—looking, I’m sure, like two teenagers caught making out in study hall.
“Oh, uh, hey, Pop,” Max said, voice strained. “And hello, complete strangers.”
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing.
Pop gave a secret little grin and nodded. Then took out his phone.
“Hold up. Mateo owes me ten dollars.”
Max narrowed his eyes as I gently extricated myself from our scandalous position. Bag, I had a bag, right? Keys? What had I brought into this room and where were my sandals? My brain had melted like a Popsicle on a hot day.
His phone chirped, and when he picked it up, he swore.
“Pop,” he said, arms raised. “You and Mateo took a bet about me and Fiona?”
Pop shrugged. “I gave it a solid week before you two started dating. Mateo gave it ten days. And it’s been six so…”
“Six?” We both said in unison.
I touched my fingers to my lips. It felt like months, not days, had stretched between the night on the fire escape until now. If I’d known kissing Max would be like this, I would have let him do it immediately.
Casting Max a slightly bemused look, I ran a hand through my hair and slipped on my sandals. “I’ll see you… tonight?”
He nodded, squeezing my fingers when Pop wasn’t looking. I flashed a silly smile at Pop as I left and caught the amused expressions of the three strangers hanging out, watching this scene unfold.
But I kept my chin high and my back straight—same as when I’d been caught kissing a boy I wasn’t supposed to. And as I left, walking down the steps on legs like jelly, I heard Max say, “Hey, any of you guys know what you wear on a first date?”
25
Max
I stood outside The Red Room just after 9:00 pm and didn’t want to go in for the first time in my entire life.
Because I was nervous as hell for my first date with Fiona and pretty damn sure I was going to puke any second.
“You’re not gonna puke, hermanito,” Mateo said. I’d called him in a panic as I walked down the sidewalk, grateful that Fiona had texted she was already inside. Her text read, specifically: Get your ass in here, Devlin. They’re playing your favorite songs and I might have forgotten to wear underwear.
A text like that would usually send me spinning through a fantasy of all the filthy things I was going to do to that smart mouth. But instead I was terrified I was about to ruin our first date—a major, epic first for me.
Every moment with Fiona ended up being a terrifying first. This morning was the first time a simple kiss broke me. As if Fiona had reached into my chest and pulled my heart out herself. At this stage in my life, I was essentially an expert in the different intensities of sexual arousal. And the second Fiona touched those sweet, mischievous lips to mine, I was a goner.
Every other experience in my life was stuck, stubbornly, at level five. Fiona in my lap, kissing me like I was the air she needed to breathe?
There wasn’t even a level.
Actually, the level was called I am so fucking fucked.
“How does the shirt that I lent you fit?” Mateo asked, dragging me back from my chaotic thoughts. “Has Fiona seen you yet?”
I looked down at the black Henley Mateo had given me. I’d shoved the sleeves up to my elbows and worn my cleanest jeans. “No. I’m still out here thinking about throwing up or whatever. But I think I look… fine?”
Mateo laughed. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
The door opened, and I peeked around, trying to get a glimpse of a blond beauty throwing elbows. “Your support is appreciated.”
“Hey,” Mateo said, voice growing serious. “You’ll be fine. Remember my first date with Rafael?”
I sighed, leaning back against the brick wall. Let my head fall back. “I told you, if it went poorly or you wanted to bail, to call me and I’d come pick you up and take you out to meet cute guys.”
“I’ll do the same,” Mateo said. “Even though you’re a pain in my ass right now. But if it goes bad, text me. We’ll come get you and take you out for a burger and then drop you off at a bar filled with beautiful women who aren’t Fiona.”
That scenario sounded real depressing right now. But I appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you,” I said. “Be on standby for your best friend to make a goddamn idiot of himself tonight. How’d the bike ride tonight?”
“She’s perfect,” he said. “And I really, really appreciate you doing that for me.”
That was some good news, at least. “Ask for more help, and I’ll give it.”
“I know,” he said. “I see you trying, I really do. Now get in there and get your girl.”
I slipped my phone into my back pocket and yanked open the front door of The Red Room. Nodded to the bouncers, waved hi to Pop, who was chatting with a few bartenders. I sank into a warm feeling I was starting to think of as having roots. And not like Mom always said. These weren’t holding me back. I wasn’t sure why, but who was I to doubt it?
The more pressing question was if I’d feel this way when I had to leave for California—a reality that hadn’t really hit me yet.
The Red Room was packed tonight—packed and energetic, with people dancing and singing along to the beloved cover band up on that stage. The opening chords of The Clash’s “Train in Vain” started up. I grinned and shook my head.
And that’s when I saw her.
Time slowed. Reality stopped. On stage, the band sang their hearts out while the crowd parted right down the middle. The dancing happening around me moved at half-speed, faces blurred. The only person I could see was Fiona, arms in the air, blond hair flying, jumping with so much joy I was literally charmed. She appeared crystal-clear beneath a shining spotlight, dancing and singing without a care in the world. This was Fiona unchained and without a plan. This was Fiona in her birthright, the daughter of musicians, a child raised in music venues and on tour buses.
In my seven years on the road, I’d seen some epic natural beauty. I’d watched sunsets over canyons and sunrises on desolate beaches, had ridden my bike through famous mountain ranges and across wide deserts.
And Fiona Quinn dancing to the Clash was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.