I’ve never felt so out of place. If it wasn’t for my roommate, Jessa, I’d never have known this place even existed. She told me we were going to a bar, but this resembles a run-down drug house. When she instructed me to park along the street, I thought we were going to the bar across the way, not this old white house we’re standing in front of now. The paint is chipped away, exposing the wooden frame, and dark-colored sheets cover the windows.

“Come on, Sadie. It looks worse than it is.” Jessa tugs on my arm, pulling me toward the door.

Girls and guys file into the bar and/or house, sporting different hair colors. There are more piercings and tattoos than I’ve ever seen in one place. I can count on one hand how many people I know who have a tattoo, and no one I know has a piercing, other than in their earlobes.

Of course, Jessa fits in with her short blonde pixie cut and tongue piercing. I notice the guys giving her a once-over before turning to me, questioning and judging why I’m here. How different this feels—to be the one being judged. I suddenly regret every glare I’ve ever given someone different from me.

“I don’t know, Jessa. Maybe I should just go back to the dorm. You can text me when you need a ride home,” I say, starting to backstep toward the safety of my car.

“No, you don’t, Sadie. I won’t leave your side. Just give it a try. The music is really good.”

She grabs my hand, and I reluctantly follow her to the open door, mumbling a pep talk to myself with every step. Mainly, I don’t have the energy to fight her right now.

A bald guy with a long-haired reddish goatee and tattoos stretching over each arm puts his hand out to us. Jessa takes the five-dollar cover fee out of her back pocket while I fumble through my purse before handing him a fifty. He cocks one eye at me, confirming his snap judgment, and then hands me my change back in five-dollar bills. I stuff them in my purse and clasp it shut, already assured that this is a bad idea.

Jessa grabs my hand and leads me into what I assume would normally be the living room. Couches line every wall, and chairs are randomly strewed around. All the furniture looks like it should be in a landfill, and I’m shocked that people are actually comfortable with relaxing on it.

When I walk a little further, a band is playing in the far corner of what I assume was the kitchen at one time or another. It sounds like they’re banging on their instruments rather than playing them while the lead singer screams into the microphone. I don’t understand one word coming out of his mouth, but Jessa’s head keeps up with the beat, bopping from side to side, making me wonder what I’m missing.

This obnoxious, loud music is supposed to be enjoyable?

Thankfully, Jessa positions us against the wall, out of the way, and buys two beers from some guy in the corner. I’m happy to see that they’re unopened since he pulled them out of a cooler one usually takes to go camping. I reluctantly take a sip and wince from the taste. Beer has never been my drink of choice. Quickly, I smile over toward Jessa to reassure her that I like it, but she’s already distracted by the music, jumping up and down.

This is going to be a long night.

Being the good wallflower I am, I take my time to observe the scenery. Almost every girl has looked me up and down in disgust, and guys have curiously skimmed over me. It’s a one-eighty from what I’m used to.

Until recently, I’ve never been a girl who guys notice. Not until after Theo. I don’t handle the attention very well.

Pushing back the guilt, I remind myself that I am in control of my own destiny.

I left that Sadie behind. I’m going to reinvent myself. No more letting boys lead me to their bedrooms at the end of the night or waking up in strange beds in the morning. No more out-of-control shopping trips or parties until dawn. I’ll make the dean’s list and be the child my parents miss. I promised I’d no longer be the screw-up daughter who did nothing but disappoint them.

Lost in thought, I’m surprised when I turn to my right and see Jessa making out with a short dark-haired guy with Rebel scripted into the back of his neck in big black lettering. His ringed fingers grab her ass, pulling her closer to him, and she doesn’t seem to be pushing him away. I wonder if this is how I looked, but then I shake my head at the vague memories of Drayton.

This is my time to flee.

I tap her shoulder. “Jessa, I’m going to get going. Call me if you need a ride.”

She stops kissing the dark-haired rebel.

“No, Sadie. Stay,” she whines.

Rebel continues to kiss and suck on her neck, ignoring my existence.

“Really, I need to go.” I start searching for my keys in my purse.

“Okay,” she relents, nodding her head with disappointment on her face. “Don’t worry; I’ll get a ride.”

I wave my hand to her and walk toward the front door. The bar is wall-to-wall people now. I can’t imagine what would happen if a fire broke out. Surely, this is not a legitimate business establishment, but rather a permanent house party.

Weaving in and out between the clusters of people, I inch my way to the door. I overhear small conversations about the bands playing tonight, and a common thread is repeated by every group. Whoever The Invisibles are, they have a big fan base—at least at this bar. That doesn’t say much, if you ask me.

I almost reach the bald man when an elbow hits my shoulder. My feet fumble, and I try to catch myself before I fall straight back onto this disgusting floor—or worse, into a group of people. My purse flies off my arm, crashing to the floor, spilling the contents everywhere, including my newly acquired collection of crumpled five-dollar bills. I put my hands out behind me, ready to catch myself, when an arm wraps around my waist, yanking me up to my feet and into a strong and hard body.

“Whoa, girl,” the stranger says.

Without turning around, calmness overtakes my body. He tries to straighten me up, placing his hands on my hips.

“Thank you,” I respond, not looking his way. Not wanting to face him, I kneel on the ground and hurriedly pick up my belongings, shoving them into my purse.

“Here you go.” That same guy dangles my keys from his finger in front of my face. When my hand reaches to grab them, he shuts his hand. “I don’t think you need them.”

Relenting, I raise my head. A set of caramel eyes stares back at me. His short brown hair is slightly pushed into a small Mohawk in the middle. Although he isn’t my usual type, he’s absolutely gorgeous. He isn’t wearing khakis and a polo. His hair isn’t trimmed and cut to perfection on a weekly basis. He’s nothing like what I’m used to, but I can’t tear my eyes away. If anything, I only want to close the distance between us.

Dueling with my emotions, I straighten my back as I glance down at his hand wrapped around my upper arm and then back up to his face. The smirk splashed across it almost changes my decision on leaving.

“Why are you holding me up? And can I have my keys?” I demand like a pure bitch.

“Sorry, I don’t let people drive drunk.” He puts my keys into the pocket of his faded jeans.

“I’m not drunk,” I spit out.

“That’s what they all say,” he deadpans. But the corners of his lips twitch, showing that he’s playing with me.

“What do you want me to do to prove it? Walk a line? Say the alphabet backward?” I ask, not wanting to show any weakness. I must convince him that he isn’t keeping me from a lonely night in my dorm room. “Z, Y, X…” I start to rattle off the alphabet backward.

He holds his hand up to stop me from continuing. “You really aren’t drunk?”

“No. Some jerk knocked me down,” I tell him, glaring around the room to find the culprit.

“Really?” He searches deeper in my eyes for some sign of alcohol. “Sorry. I just assumed since you were fumbling backward.” His eyes roam up and down my body. “I figured you swayed over from the frat party down the street.” A light chuckle escapes those succulent lips.

“No, I was here with my roommate. I had a couple of sips of beer. If you would hand me my keys, I’d like to leave now,” I request, keeping my eyes on the ground.

He unnerves me, and I’m afraid I’ll weaken. It’s a slippery slope, and I won’t have the same reputation at Western University as I did at Drayton.

“You’re leaving before the final band?” he asks.

My keys are still in his pocket, not that I would mind going after them myself. In fact, I wish I’d had his keys, so his hands would search my body for them.

“Yes, I have an early morning.” I stomp my foot for dramatic effect and place my hand out, impatiently waiting for my keys.

“I’ll give these back to you on one condition.” He digs them out of his jeans.

The metal circle sways from his movements. He dangles them in front of me, and I instinctively rush to grab them, but he clasps them again, tight in his hand.

“Or how about you just give them to me and call it a night?” I suggest. Or, better yet, drive me home, screw me, and hold me in those muscled arms all night.

“Where’s the fun in that? I want you to stay for the last band. It’s my band, The Invisibles.” A proud smile forms, making it even harder for me to stand a firm ground.

“Listen…” I pause for his name.

“Brady. Brady Carsen,” he discloses.

Even his name is sexy.

“Listen, Brady, I’m not the kind of girl you’re looking for. So, I thank you for stopping my fall and for helping me pick up my things, but you need to just give me my keys. Then, you can go up and play your songs, and I’ll go home.”

“Kind of girl I’m looking for?” He raises his eyebrows.

Nice act.

“Just stay. Afterward, we can get to know each other better.”

There’s that phrase, get to know each other, which clarifies to me that I’m not the girl he wants. I figure the easiest way to get him to leave me alone is to agree to his terms.

“All right, I’ll stay.” I decide that I’ll escape once he starts playing.

He finally hands me my keys, and I hold them snug in my hand.

“You’re going to love it.” He grabs my hand, and a bolt of heat travels the length of my body. Tugging me back the way I came, he stops at a tucked away corner on the right side. “Stay here. I’ll come back for you after the show,” he whispers in my ear.

His manly scent accelerates my heartbeat.

He begins to walk away, but he quickly turns around. “Hey, I never caught your name.”

“Sadie Miller,” I spill out before thinking I should have given him a fake name.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sadie. Enjoy the show.” With a turn of his heel, he descends down the dark hallway.

Five minutes later, the one band has taken off their equipment from the stage, and I’m assuming that the three other guys up onstage with Brady are the remaining members of The Invisibles.

When they’re all ready, Brady glances my way. He winks at me before jumping off the stage and walking toward the hallway. This could be my time. I should have already left, but my feet aren’t moving. I lie to myself, saying that I want to hear what the hype is all about, but truthfully, the curiosity of what he is all about keeps my feet planted.

Abruptly, the whole place quiets, and people push their way through the crowd to be as close as possible to the band. I see now why Brady positioned me here; no one will be able to push me around, and I have a perfect view of the stage. All the lights turn off, and colored lights beam down from the ceiling. It must be a special treatment for The Invisibles because the other bands didn’t get this crowd-pleasing introduction.

An older guy hops up onstage. He stands at the microphone, and the lights show his age. Even though his long Mohawk with an array of colors would give the assumption that he’s young, the wrinkles along his eyes and face say he’s at least ten years older than me.

“Everybody ready?” he screams.

The hollering erupting from the crowd would make people think we were in a packed arena.

“You know we don’t get these guys very often, so let’s show them what they’re missing when they’re not playing here.” He steps off the stage, and the crowd roars.

Brady leads his band members up onto the stage. Taking the microphone off the stand, he grips it in his hand, winding the cord around his fist. The drummer sits down behind his set, and the two others grab their guitars. The tattooed drummer starts beating his sticks in the air, and people in front of me push forward, unable to get close enough. The guitarist and bassist stand in a wide stance, holding their instruments, anticipating the start of their set.

The energy filling the small space is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and it tempts me to stay.

Brady’s presence onstage demands attention, and the crowd willingly gives it. He’s probably just over six feet tall or so. He has a strong build, but he’s not overly muscular. His old-school band T-shirt stretches tightly across his shoulders, and it rises up when he raises his arms, exposing the small ripples of his stomach. Brady in jeans and a T-shirt is a mouthwatering vision, but I wouldn’t mind seeing him without them, too.

All those walls that I built around myself are crumbling at warp speed as I observe him in his comfort zone.

His voice carries throughout the bar. At first, it’s slow and steady, but it quickly builds into a faster beat. He appears completely captivated in the moment, shutting his eyes from time to time, as though he truly feels every word he’s singing. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve witnessed.

I need to leave. This will only end one way—me in his bed and him ignoring me tomorrow.

He’s looking for a fast lay, Sadie. Nothing more.

Too bad I didn’t meet him last year. Pretty sure he could have shown me a thing or two.

I listen to two songs before I start weaving my way back through the wall-to-wall people. I ignore the groans and protests from the crowd for inconveniencing them.

When I reach the front door, the bald man is no longer there. He’s probably enjoying the band himself.

Brady’s voice turns sultry and sexual while the music switches to a slower tempo. This is my cue. If I hear a love song, I’ll never have the self-control to walk away.

Brady Carsen would only veer me off the course of a trouble-free life.

Opening the screen door, I step onto the street, trying to remain on the straight and narrow. My parents deserve it.

---

The following Monday, I walk back to my dorm after a long Algebra course. I hate math. It’s, by far, my worst subject. I’ll have to find a tutor if I want to have any chance at passing. Thoughts drift to Theo and how he would help me out when I struggled in math.

Digging into my messenger bag, I realize I forgot my iPod back in my room. Since the math building is clear on the other side of campus, it’s going to be a boring walk without music. It leaves me alone with my thoughts, and there’s nothing I hate more than that.

Half an hour later, I grab my keys to open my dorm building. Laughter and jokes from students float around the busy common area. A couple of girls are sitting in the corner and staring at some of the guys horsing around. How normal it all seems while I feel nowhere near normal.

Checking my mail, I’m not surprised to see the mailbox empty. I glance at my watch and notice it’s only three o’clock, making me feel relieved because Jessa has another hour before she has to leave for class. I hate being in that room by myself. It’s the sole reason I decided to move into the dorms instead of getting an apartment.

When I open the door to my room, Jessa is sprawled across her bed. Due to the small size of the room, we opted for loft beds. We set up chairs and a table under one and a television under the other. Next to the television sits our mini refrigerator with a microwave on top, and the dressers line the walls on either side. It’s close quarters, to say the least.

“You had a visitor today,” she says, beaming over the railing at me.

“Who?” I question. I don’t know very many people here—strike that. I know maybe five people here, and the only one who knows where I live is Jessa.

“Well, I’ll give you two hints.” She climbs down the wooden rails. “One, he’s fucking hot, and two, he’s fucking hot. What else matters?” She grabs a water bottle out of the fridge, giggling to herself.

“Okay, I don’t know any hot guys, so I’m at a loss.” I plop my bag down on the ground and grab a water bottle for myself before sitting in my chair.

“Think really hard,” she pushes, sitting next to me, crossing her legs. “He left something for you. I put it on your dresser.” She motions with her hand, acting nonchalant now.

Rising to my feet, I walk over to my dresser. Lying there is an iPod with a sticky note attached.

“May I say, he’s so beyond fuckable, Sadie. If you don’t jump on that, I will,” Jessa says as I pull the note off.

Since you left without seeing my show,

I’m leaving you to your own private listening pleasure.

—B

“Brady Carsen?” I question quietly to myself, picking up the iPod. I thumb through the albums and spot The Invisibles listed. “How did he know where to find me?” I whisper to myself.

“You should have seen how upset he was that you weren’t here. He hung around for a while but said he had somewhere to be,” Jessa reveals, coming up behind me.

“Huh,” I mumble to myself. Unable to wait, I grab my earbuds and climb up to my loft.

A couple of minutes later, I hear the door shut, signaling Jessa has left. I curl up on top of my blankets, allowing Brady to sing to me.

I’m astonished he even noticed that I left on Saturday even though I’m positive he found a replacement for me by the end of the night. College guys want one thing, and I’m fairly certain that lead singers of college bands get more offers than most.

Surprisingly, there are quite a few love songs. I assumed his band would mostly be loud and fast. I love how I can hear Brady’s breath suck in at the end of a lyric. The action tells me that every word is meaningful to him.

A particular slow song begins playing, and Brady’s soft voice starts singing, “I thought I would be enough, but I guess I was wrong. I never thought it was possible to miss someone for so long, but you just keep walking away.”

I begin to wonder if he’s been hurt, too.

When the song circles back to the chorus, my eyes droop, and eventually, I’m lulled to sleep with Brady’s voice filling my ears.