Chapter 3

Brando

It takes years to find someone who’s got that spark, that indestructible core that relentlessly drives them mixed with solid talent and that indefinable X factor that sets them miles apart from all the others. Years again to find the right people to put around them, musicians, writers, studio crew. Months to strategize and plan, to sculpt and mold the public perception through blogs and marketing and word of mouth, to play that fine game of giving just enough that they get it, but not too much that they don’t beg for more. It takes power, connections, hard work, and experience. Even after all that, you may as well buy a lottery ticket, because the amount of luck you need to create a hit would bring Vegas to its knees.

And I’m trying to achieve all of that in a month. With a girl who appears to hate me.

It was a bad bet, and I was a dumbass for taking it. Davis played me for a fool and I walked right into, thinking with my heart rather than my head. Letting my hotheaded emotions make a decision before common sense had the time to pull the handbrake. I want to blame it on the tiredness, blame it on Davis doing the one thing he’s good at – manipulating people – but I can’t. Because the sad, pathetic truth is that I’d make the same decision if you asked me all over again.

Only for you, Lexi, only for you.

I pull up to the street corner I agreed to meet Haley on in a Mercedes SLR. I have a thing about cars; choosing the right one when you take a girl out is as important as the right outfit. The Merc is sleek, but not too flashy. Impressive, but not overbearing. Subdued, but you can still tell it’ll beat most cars.

I almost miss seeing Haley walking toward me, she looks so different in a jean skirt over tight black leggings. A loose grey tank under the same leather jacket she wore at the club. Hair wild and free – the way some girls pay their stylists hundreds of dollars to achieve. I know for sure that Haley didn’t get it that way by paying – if she could, she wouldn’t be living in this part of town.

She’s actually kinda cute, even with the crazy hair and that scowl on her face. A world apart from the minidress-wearing bombshells I usually take my pick from, but definitely hot enough to make me feel a stirring. Which I quickly tamp down. This is a business meeting, I remind myself.

Haley looks a little nervous as she opens the car door and ducks inside. I look over at her and try to catch her gaze, but she keeps her eyes straight ahead through the windshield, as if she can’t even stand to glance at me.

“So where are we going?” she asks, tension written all over her face.

“You like The Triangles?”

Her head snaps over to me, immediately dropping her guard, her brown eyes lit up. She likes them alright.

“Do you like The Triangles?” she asks, the implication clear. She doesn’t think I’m cool enough.

I laugh and let the clutch out.

“I manage them.”

“What?!” she squeals.

I let a grin spread across my face. My plan might just work after all.

I go full-Brando throughout the concert, introducing Haley to the band before they go on stage, pulling rank to get us through the line, barely waiting for drinks, commandeering the seats with the best view, and all the while focusing completely on her, making her feel like the center of attention.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she says, as I hand her another beer, “I’d think you were trying to turn this into a date.”

I laugh. “This is way too tame to be a date, don’t you think?”

“And I’m way too drunk for this to be a business meeting,” she replies. “What happened to the guy who wanted to talk about how much he liked my music?”

“He’s having a good time getting to know the girl who made the music he liked.”

She nods, and I see her tough exterior crack just a bit. I clink my bottle against hers and swig.

It happens slowly, piece by piece, but it happens. The sarcasm and the ice melting away, the smiles getting bigger and longer. We dance throughout the whole thing, alcohol and drums infusing our bodies, the breaks between songs feeling like torture because we don’t wanna stop. I hear her laugh for the first time and like it, long and melodic – a singer’s laugh.

“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time!” she screams over the music.

“I haven’t seen anyone have this much fun in a long time either!” I reply.

When the final crescendo melts into the crowd’s cheers and applause, I watch her scream along with them, a mixture of climaxing happiness and disappointment that it’s over written all over her face.

“That was amazing,” she says, her voice husky from all the yelling.

She grabs at her hair woozily, a satisfied grin on her face. I watch her bask in the afterglow of the high. Before I know what’s happening, we lock eyes, and Haley falls into me, holding tight to my biceps. Suddenly we’re kissing. It’s not lust, not affection, not desire. Her kiss is soft, innocent, deep. Just a girl moved by the music, drunk on alcohol and life. A girl whose inhibitions have been blown away by chords and dancing. A girl who feels like the whole world is there for her to just grab. And I’m here to oblige.

Then she pulls away, smiling drunkenly. Her wide, round eyes look up at me with tenderness and trust. For the first time I see the fragile hopes and fears that she’s buried under the wiseass remarks and attitude. I feel the pangs of guilt start to clutch at my chest. Maybe I’m going too far. Maybe this whole bet was a bad idea. Maybe the only way this could end is badly.

For a moment I lose myself in those eyes, out of my depth, swimming frantically to find my way back, to remember why I’m doing this, to remember what’s at stake, to remember how much I want Lexi back.

Then Haley presses her lips against mine again and I realize that it’s too late. I’m already in too deep.