I made it to the bar where Flynn would be playing. A place named Locust in a trendy part of town.
The place is jammed; full of young and old people in small groups, sitting and standing around the high-end bar tables that are scattered around the cozy venue.
The lighting is poor; a few sconces on the wall and an old guitar hung behind the bar with a spotlight hovering over it. This grunge-type ambience wasn’t my thing, but I was here to support Flynn. I did, however, make a mental note to avoid the restrooms at all costs.
I’d been nursing a gin and tonic for over an hour, waiting patiently for Flynn to begin his set. Alone, at the bar, I made small talk with the bartender as she kindly offered to top me off every so often. I wasn’t much of a drinker these days, sipping slowly trying to clear my thoughts without much luck.
I’ll admit it—he got to me.
Wesley Rich.
Crawled under my skin like a parasite. It wasn’t just the fact that I looked stupid for not knowing he was the same guy I ran into last week, it was the way he spoke to me. Like I was a nobody.
The music in the room softens to a much more enjoyable level as a guy with long hair—tied into a loose ponytail—tests the mic. His beard almost touches his chest; long and full enough to house a swarm of bees.
I swivel my chair around to face the set and see Flynn sitting on a stool, practicing with his sticks. He’s focused, narrowing his brow and biting his lip, flicking his piercing with his tongue.
Wait…a piercing? My foot falls off the stool and onto the ground as I stumble forward only to be pulled upright by an unknown hand.
“Jesus, can’t take you anywhere.”
The shock slows me down until I turn slowly and connect the hand with the face.
Are you kidding me? I didn’t know what messed-up game the universe was playing but I wanted out.
Wesley is standing beside me, smirk the size of Jupiter with that annoying stare that drives me insane. Yeah, I know what he’s thinking: here’s that dumb girl again that seems to manage to make a fool of herself every time I’m around.
I blame my wedges since I hadn’t worn them since my ill-fated trip down the stairwell back home. I’m certain they’re possessed, yet I wore them because they matched my navy A-line dress and made my legs look slimmer.
“I was distracted.” I clear my throat. “My brother is the drummer and he has a piercing that wasn’t there this morning.”
“Let me guess. You’re a nun that thinks piercings are acts of the devil?”
“No…” I drag, annoyed at his presumption. “It’s just not like Flynn. Anyways, are you stalking me?”
I don’t know where that came from, but his presence, so close, annoyed the living daylights out of me. How can someone attractive be so unattractive at the same time? He’s changed from wearing a suit, dressed in some light chinos and a dark denim shirt. It’s nothing like the bike gear he wore the other day, nor the suit earlier today, and for some reason it struck me as odd that one man could be so versatile.
Okay, admit it for one second, he looks nice in his yuppie getup.
“Are you done staring now?”
“I wasn’t staring.” I straighten my posture, crossing my legs in an attempt to act confident. “It would be rude to stare and if I wanted to be rude, I wouldn’t waste it on you.”
His eyes flare with amusement. “Ouch, you must really hate me.”
“Hate is such a strong word.”
“Well, I can tell you don’t like me.”
“Yet you continue to stand here, blocking my view when the purpose of being here is to watch my brother.”
Even in the dark, the contours of his face are defined. Striking jaw in an upwards pose, teasing me like we’re in the school yard.
“Sorry,” he apologizes sarcastically, “I’m pretty sure this is a public place but let me walk away from you because I was here for another reason. Your clumsiness just happened to catch my attention…again.”
I open my mouth wide to respond back but it’s too late. He has walked away in the opposite direction, suddenly crowded by a bunch of women that appear to be literally throwing themselves at him. They’re young girls that don’t even look of legal age and shouldn’t be in the bar. He doesn’t seem to care, lapping up the attention with his arms wrapped around two of the girls and easily ignoring my presence.
I force myself to ignore him, finishing the gin and tonic and waiting for the set to start. The entire band is on stage, and with a short introduction, they open up with a remake of Help! by The Beatles, remade to sound like rock which appears to be a big hit with the crowd.
Flynn is in his element. His talent to play music in beat with the band comes natural to him. I wish Mom could see him now. She would be proud of him, watching him perform and come out of his shell, something he struggled with back home. That piercing though… I highly doubt she would be proud of that.
The atmosphere is buzzing, people congregated in circles enjoying the time with friends. I had never felt so lonely. Aside from Flynn—who rarely spent time with me—I had no one here. Emerson was a great manager but she wasn’t exactly someone I hung out with and poured my guts out to. I missed Phoebe. She would have been drunk already, picked up several guys and managed to climb onstage to play air guitar with the band.
And then, there was that longing to just feel wanted.
Something I took for granted with Liam. Liam was a great boyfriend, but I guess over time like many relationships, we just fell into the comfortable basket. It never bothered me at all, we would easily spend our time in the basement watching David Attenborough documentaries with a tub of popcorn between us. It was simple, yet comforting.
This new life I had created in just two weeks was slowly growing on me. I enjoyed the drive around LA, although traffic was a bitch. Visiting new places and talking to different walks of life if only for a few minutes. My neighbourhood—while completely ghetto—was even growing on me a little.
The loneliness was the only thing bringing me down.
I stir the straw in circle motions trying to rid myself of these thoughts when a whiff of cologne strikes me. Trying not to seem obvious, I slowly peek at the arm beside me with the corner of my eye. It’s all muscle; nice and hard. Taking a deep breath, the part of me below that stirs, does nothing to cure my blues. As if I could hook up with someone. One: Liam and I weren’t over. Two: this guy could be really unattractive and three: I wasn’t that person. Sleeping with someone else was completely out of my comfort zone. I had been with one guy for four years. I might as well have been a nun. It’s like my past never existed.
But I could flirt…harmless flirting.
“Nice drink. Scotch?” I ask.
The man stops drinking, holding his glass in mid-air which gives me a chance to look at his face. A little older than what I liked, mature face with slight wrinkles around his baby-blue eyes.
“Bourbon.”
I smile, unsure of where to go from here. “Nice.”
He doesn’t say another word, glass in hand and walking away. Oh…that was terrible. Is it really this hard? Maybe it’s not hard, I’m not exactly a supermodel with a banging body. I had gained weight over the past few months—stress eating as they called it. I’ve always had this complex about my looks, the fact that I looked kinda Asian but also not at the same time. People often asked me about my ethnicity; confused by the almond-shaped eyes and scattered freckles across my nose coupled with my light hair that almost touched my waist.
Alone at the bar with one failed flirting attempt—I was ready to call it a night.
Just as I was about to give up and say goodbye to Flynn, a cuter, younger guy walks to the bar, easing his body between myself and another lady, ordering a Corona. He smelled nice. Like fresh waterfalls mixed with something manly.
“You’ve been sitting on that drink most of the night.” His voice is husky, the kind of voice that would sound great on a sex hotline.
“Not much of a drinker.” I grin. He’s cute—Ryan Gosling in The Notebook cute. “Here to support my brother.” I point towards the set. Flynn is banging it out to a rendition of Eye of the Tiger.
“He’s pretty awesome. He should play when the agents visit. I’m Mitch.” He extends his hand, and I shake it, trying to ignore Phoebe’s words about hands and sizes of genitalia.
“Milana.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
A deep laugh erupts. He looks confused at my sudden outburst.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just…this is weird.”
He smiles, raising a brow, resting his elbow on the bar and drawing himself closer to me. “Explain?”
“I don’t flirt, if that’s what this is.”
Oh my god that sounded terrible. I should not be allowed to hang around people.
“Sometimes flirting isn’t needed, not when you’re naturally beautiful, Milana.”
I laugh again, this time clutching onto my belly. It moves up and down, beginning to ache. “Oh my god what is wrong with me! I’m sorry it’s not funny, I mean you’re not funny. I’m seriously laughing at my stupidity here.”
I bring the glass towards my lips, allowing the remains of the drink to burn my throat to ease my nerves. Mitch whistles for the bartender, ordering me another drink which I gracefully accept, not wanting to be more rude.
“Okay, maybe you’re right. Flirting isn’t your forte. Let’s start again.” He extends his hand, keeping his smile simple. “Hi, I’m Mitch.”
“Hi, I’m Milana.”
“Okay, no. Now you sound like you’re forcing it.”
“Forcing what?”
“The flirting. You batted your eyelashes.”
I scrunch up my face, unsure if I had done that but had not been aware. “I suck.”
“Maybe, a little.” He laughs, easing my worry. “I don’t know why. You are gorgeous and the thought of you not being taken already piques my curiosity.”
I contemplate explaining my relationship with Liam, but decide against it.
“It’s complicated.”
“Ah, the good ole’ it’s complicated status.”
“We’re not complicated, Liam is so far from complicated. My circumstances are complicated. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
He places his hand on my shoulder, it’s nice and eases my nerves. “It’s noisy in here, why don’t we head out, someplace quieter.”
I smile, agreeing, jumping off the stool and bumping bodies with Wesley.
“Going somewhere?” he grunts, eyes wide.
“Um, yes. And you’re in my way because?”
Wesley continues to block my exit, staring Mitch down like he had done something wrong. Was I missing something here?
“I don’t think you should be leaving with a stranger.”
I’m confused. It could be the gin and tonic but I’m certain it isn’t. “Mitch is far from a stranger. We’ve attempted to flirt three times. We have a connection. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to continue my attempt at failing with this very nice man.”
I push on his chest, ignoring this warm sensation that pumped my blood and traveled to places that shouldn’t have. It was purely anger. I don’t think I had ever felt this level of anger with any human being before.
“Milana.” Wesley pulls me back into him, his deep stare locking into mine as I try to understand what is happening, what he was doing.
“Hey, leave her alone!” Mitch steps in front, breaking Wesley’s grip from my arm and creating a barrier between us. “I know you, you’re that guy, the one from that show.”
Wesley’s expression turns into rage, like Mitch had offended him by recognizing him. What show? I had never seen Wesley before that day in the café. Was this another one of those moments where I had no clue who someone was?
Then it clicks.
Emerson was on a reality TV show. This must have been their connection.
“You don’t fucking know me, okay?” Wesley spits, pushing past him and penetrating me once again with a deathful stare.
“Mitch, can you give us a moment, please?” I ask softly, calming the tension that lingers around us.
Mitch takes a step backwards, touching the small of my back. I grab Wesley’s hand and drag him past the crowds, ignoring his weight and reluctance to follow me. People are watching, curiosity on their faces and a few following us outside.
The cool air graces my face, instantly bringing my body temperature down. I search the area around us and continue dragging him to a more private spot in the doorway of a neighboring store that was closed. It didn’t stop the onlookers and cameras that flash in the distance. Conscious of the unwanted attention, I raise my arm and cover my face to disguise myself.
I want to tear him apart, fueled by anger and confusion.
“What the hell is your problem? What was that? You can’t just fight people and throw your fist around!”
“You didn’t even know the guy and you leave with him!” His brows pull down together, agitated, his expression full of animosity. “I knew you were naïve but didn’t think you were that dumb.”
His eyes are distracted for a moment, watching people walk past, a bunch of girls that giggle and call his name. That’s it. This, whatever this was, needed to stop.
“Thanks for calling me dumb. You seem to have this knack for making me feel pathetic. Run off to your posse of girls, I can take care of myself.”
I don’t give him a chance to respond, abandoning him and walking at a fast pace in the exact opposite direction with no clue where I was heading. I hear him call my name, once, twice, but ignore him. When a cab drives past, I wave my hand repeatedly until it stops along the curb. I jump in, shutting the door behind me, letting out a breath of air and allowing my head to fall against the back of the seat. The wind sweeps through the cab and the door swings open. The cab driver yells and Wesley has jumped in the back with me.
I straighten my posture, restraining my hands that want to push him out of the cab and onto the pavement.
“What the hell are you doing?!” I yell at him.
He runs his hands along his hair and bites his lip with an irritable twitch. There’s this nervous energy about him, like he wasn’t thinking straight and on complete edge. “I don’t know. You’re…annoying. Frustrating. Clumsy and dress like you belong in a nunnery.”
I stare down at my navy dress. His terrible words made me want to cry, as stupid as that sounds, but I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. I would cry behind closed doors with a tub of ice cream and be that type of girl I swore I would never be.
“Well, you’re a conceited snob that’s probably riddled with diseases from all the hoochies hanging off you!”
“Your mouth…it’s…” He curls his fist into a ball, stumbling on his words.
“What, Wesley?” I laugh out of nowhere. “You have no clue who I am. You don’t know me from a bar of soap. Whatever opinion you’re forming of me, go ahead. I don’t care.”
He raises his head and opens his mouth, my heart beating like a looming thunderstorm from the anger consuming me. I know his next words will be cruel and heartless, so I prepare myself, biting my lip and scrambling for the right words to use against him…
Then I stop.
I’m staring directly into the eyes of a man that hates me.
I want to hate him back.
But his stare changes, something I can’t figure out. It’s still anger, there’s still a wild flare…
He leans forward, my body pushing into the door as our lips touch. It lasts only seconds, him pulling away leaving me shaky and confused. I’m deafened by the thumping of my heart, catching broken words as he directs the cab driver, giving him an address.
My voice wavers, scared to ask the question. “Where are you taking me?”
Silence. He says nothing, staring deeply at the front window, nostrils flaring with lips pursed so tight they’re almost stark white.
“Wesley.” I push with desperation. “Answer me!”
His head turns swiftly, angrily. “I’m taking you back to my place. Now shut up, you’ve done enough damage tonight.”
I’m blown away by his disrespectful tone, his hurtful words and equally confused at the same time of his need to kiss me. That strong, independent woman inside of me was sobbing at this unnecessary mess.
I wanted to push him out the door.
Or I jump out myself.
It was now or never.
Yet that little devil, the one sitting on my shoulder with a heated pitchfork, wanted answers. And the only way I would get that—stay in this cab and follow his lead.