Moaning. And more moaning. And it came from me. My head hammering, I pulled my face from the couch cushion in a mess of drool and mascara. The apartment was dark aside from the faint light of the streetlamp that streamed through a dual set of blinds. I knew I hadn’t been home long. I shifted on the couch while what was left of my alcohol drenched brain screamed in protest. I raised my pounding head to see black boots on the carpet. Letting my eyes drift up, I cringed when I saw the steady stare of dark emerald eyes fixed on me. Reid sat in my sister’s recliner, a beer in his hand, his cast laying on the arm. The air conditioner kicked on, and I welcomed the stream of cold that swaddled my heated skin. It was only then that I realized my skirt was hiked up to my waist. My black, lace-covered ass was on full display due to the discarded blanket I’d kicked off. I sat up in a fog, the pound increasing as the blood circulated.
“Lexi?” I croaked.
Reid lifted his chin toward the TV, where Lexi lay immobile on the carpet next to the wooden stand. I let out a relieved whoosh of air and then looked at the clock on the DVD player—4:30 a.m. Pressing my brows together, I scrutinized Reid. “What are you doing—” Before I could get the rest of the sentence out, it came back in one gigantic play-by-play.
Eight hours earlier.
“Now this is what I’m talking about!” I declared to Lexi, who hustled down the bustling sidewalk next to me. Though I’d marched up and down Dirty 6th numerous times since I’d arrived in Austin, it was mostly to find a job, and it wasn’t the same without my partner in crime. Lexi had a similar amount of respect and enthusiasm for music as I did. Though she was mainly rock and roll, and I had a more eclectic palate. I didn’t discriminate, not in the least, and it was becoming harder to be biased due to the amount of new artists that had emerged in the last few years who made it impossible for any music genre to rule. It was no longer the time of decade-ruled music like ’70s disco and ’80s hair bands. And the blast of heavy metal through one open door of a bar on the crowded street followed by the steady bass of hip-hop a few steps later confirmed it. It was a free for all, far from the old days of dialing a radio station to vote for your favorite song and see who placed first on the countdown.
The diversity on the strip was much the same. It was one giant concrete party of young and old, green and gray. And for the first time since I arrived in Austin, I felt like I was a part of it. Electricity thrummed through me as I looked at the neon-lit row of buildings and passed large phone poles littered with advertisements. Lexi’s smile was a mile wide as she glanced over at me with the same resolve.
This was home. We both felt it.
“I will have us a place soon. I swear it.”
“This is so happening,” she agreed as we stomped down the concrete, taking in the sights and sounds surrounding us.
An older man with charcoal-colored skin and a set of ancient brass drums beat them in rapid succession to the side of us near a fenced off part of the street. He had messy dreads and oversized fists as he held his sticks and pounded away. Lexi and I both stopped for the show, along with a few others, while he sat half a foot from the ground on a worn-out stool and did his best to impress the audience. He won us all over easily as he hit his stride and then ended on a cymbal tirade. Lexi dropped him a five and we carried on, arm in arm down the street, where we were both sure we would be the first to see the next Jack White or Chris Martin before they played in front of filled stadiums. That was the best part of being on the path in which I was about to embark. There was no shortage of talent, and there were so many undiscovered artists losing a piece of themselves daily for any sort of recognition.
“This is where it starts, Lex,” I announced before she yanked my arm and pulled me into a line. We waited for a hand stamp before pushing through a small line. After getting through the door as Juanita Sanchez and Meadow Townsend, we were free to consume. A duet of guitarists strummed on a small stage to the left of us as a burly bartender eyed our hands before silently demanding our orders.
“Two shots of real liquor and a beer each,” Lexi demanded. “Nothing foo-foo.” The bartender peered down at Lexi with mild amusement. “Something to put a little hair on our chests, bartender’s choice.” He walked away with a slight head nod and Lexi’s offered money in his hands.
I looked over to her as she surveyed the small bar I still didn’t know the name of as the crowd went wild for one of the most famous guitar openings in history.
I took my beer and nodded toward the smiling duo as they finally got the room’s attention.
“The song that gets most sung in US bars second to Happy Birthday,” I whisper-yelled to Lexi, who looked at me with interest.
“Really? Hotel California?”
“Yep.”
“You always did love the old stuff.”
I pointed toward the singing crowd. “I’m not the only one. And I love Don Henley’s voice. You know he’s my hero.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s okay, I guess.” We clinked glasses as she proposed a toast. “Here’s to the bee that stung the bull that got the bull a buckin’, and here’s to Adam who stuck it to Eve that got the whole world a fuckin’.”
“Amen!” A guy coughed out in a laugh next to us before he wedged his way into the bar to order his own drink. I swallowed back the brown liquid fire as she gave him a wary eye and tossed her own back.
“It’s Jameson.” She coughed and sputtered as the bartender had a good laugh at her expense.
“You wanted a hairy chest,” I said as I swallowed a long pull of beer to ease the burn.
“Happy birthday,” she beamed as she coughed back the rest and stacked our empty shot glasses on the bar.
The guy who’d overheard our toast turned sideways with a smile. He had curly blond cropped hair, amused blue eyes, and a sexy smile. He seemed tipsy as he ordered us two more of what we were having. I shook my head as Lexi gave me big eyes. We had about a hundred bucks between us, and I knew it was barely enough to hold us in cover charges and booze for the night. I relented, taking another shot of the amber fire, and slapped it back on the bar with a curt “Thank you.”
“Where are you guys going?” our new friend asked as Lexi gripped my arm to lead me out of the bar.
“We’re meeting our boyfriends up the street.”
She was pulling a fast Dear John, which I respected, because being tied down so soon in the night was far from what either one of us wanted.
“Well, hey, I’m playing tonight at Emo’s around midnight. Come see me.”
“Yeah, sure,” Lexi lied as he moved to stand in front of her, blocking her quick exit. His eyes flitted over her face as she looked up at him, annoyed. I stepped back because this was where my best friend shined. They stood eye to eye as I noticed the confidence he exuded. Maybe he wasn’t so much buzzed as he was cocky. No matter, he had no intentions of being brushed off. I smirked between the standoff, seeing Lexi’s eyes light slightly with interest. She was the definition of alpha female, and what I considered a good influence on me. She wanted to pave her way on her own as a stylist, just as I did as a journalist. Our only interest was in living it up at that moment. We were on the same page.
“I’m Ben.”
“And I’m not interested. Flat. Out. Not. Interested.”
“Wow.” He chuckled as he stepped to the side gracefully. “You’re kind of scary. But the offer still stands.” He pulled two admission cards out of his pocket and held them out for Lexi. She eyed them and then plucked them from his hand. “Thanks for the drink.”
“Welcome,” he mused.
Out in the street, we had a slight buzz as we spent our time hopping between bars, our heavy decision weighing on whether to pay cover or not. Instead of hitting the staples, we wandered into the dives that had no cover and slammed back more whiskey. By the time my birthday clock struck midnight, we were hoisting each other up and running on empty.
“Home?” I asked as we looked at our surroundings. We’d wandered off the beaten path to get some air, and it was as if both of us suddenly noticed we were no longer in Kansas. Lexi’s eyes widened as she pulled the tickets from her pants.
“Let’s go.”
“You didn’t even like him.”
“So what, it’s a free show.”
She hailed a cab and plucked the last of our cash from her pocket. We were only a mile away and Lexi cursed as she gave away half of our funds to the driver before we stood in front of the bar. It looked like a theater from the 1970s on the outside. There was a group billowing smoke out in front. With fuzzy vision through the cloud of nicotine, I spotted the square, yellow-lit marquee that showcased that night’s headliners.
“Dead Sergeants and Billow?” I coughed out. “Oh, I’ve got my last five bucks your curly haired mystery man is allll Billow.”
“You know better than to judge a book by its cover.”
“He’s so Billow,” I insisted, swaying into her. “Billow,” I seesawed my voice teasingly.
We bickered in drunken slurs until chord recognition covered Lexi’s face and we both stared wide-eyed at each other.
“No fucking way.”
“Float On” by Modest Mouse drifted out of the bar speakers overhanging the red tin awning. Both of us waited on the vocals, which had always tipped the scale for us. “It sounds good,” I told her.
She nodded. “Really good.”
“Come on!” I yanked her arm forward as we handed our tickets to the doorman, and I rushed her into the middle of the exceedingly packed bar. The air was filled with the smell of sweat and alcohol. My eyes went immediately to the man belting out the lyrics. And there in the middle of the stage was our curly haired stranger who was executing the song perfectly to a crowd full of raised fists.
“Fuck me,” Lexi said as she gaped at him while he held the mic like a master, his sneakers on either side of the stand expertly tilting it in the direction he decided to take it across the stage.
Slightly stunned, I watched as he worked the mob, and Lexi shook off her shock to walk to the bar. She caught a tiny bartender’s attention. “Who’s playing right now?”
“Dead Sergeants,” she said as she waited on a drink order. With a grudge, I nudged her to order. She laid the last ten bucks we had on the bar. “Can I get two shots of whiskey for ten bucks?”
The bartender pocketed the ten and poured two heavy shots of whiskey and winked at Lexi.
“Thank you!”
We clicked glasses as we both started stomping along with the band. They were exactly the refreshing mix of talent I’d been dying to encounter since I got to Austin. It seemed like a lot of their songs were original and weren’t half bad. But while I fixed on the music and the effect on the fans for my first article due in sixth months, Lexi fixated on the man she’d mere hours before dismissed as nothing but a free drink.
“It’s okay,” I consoled her. “He could have been a creep.”
“But he’s not. He’s a hot ass front man.”
“Maybe not hot. Cute.” Even I didn’t believe that line of bullshit.
“Oh, fucking look at him! Who do you think you’re kidding?” she scolded with a sigh. “I won’t talk to him. I can’t. I was too much of a bitch,” she said, disheartened. “But, God, just look at him.”
“That ought to learn ya,” I said on a laugh. “He really is talented. One of thousands in this city, Lex, don’t forget that. There’s always another front man.”
She turned to me, determined. “You’re right. Now let’s find someone drunker than us to buy us one more drink.” She pushed us past a few lingering people at the bar and yanked my arm so I was forced to dodge a protruding leg that could have caused me to face plant. Stumbling, I smacked the leg and caught myself directly in a lap. Something stiff and bright green brushed my cheek, and I looked at it with faint recognition before I apologized. “Sorry, dude, so sorry,” I offered, refusing eye contact before I yelled at Lexi, who was still trying to pull me in her direction. “Damn it, Lexi, slow down!” She looked back at me and apologized to the guy I’d just run over. “Sorry!” Submersed in the show, we were five songs into Dead Sergeants’ set when they took a break. Lexi had managed to get us a few more shots of whiskey with her persuasive tongue. I was close to hitting the wall when Usher starting to sing “Yeah.” In the year 2005, it seemed a rule among the masses, myself included, when “Yeah” was played, wherever it was played, the protocol was to lose your fucking mind. Some songs had that power, and within seconds, I was on the dance floor with Lexi as we danced like a couple of drunken sluts. It was everything I hoped my birthday would be. Until I hit that wall.
Hazel eyes seared into me as I hung my head, blank to the remainder of the night. Somehow, I knew the man staring at me from the recliner had saved my ass, and the ass of my snoring best friend on the floor. “Sorry. For whatever I did. Please don’t tell Paige about having to get us home.”
“Your secrets are safe with me,” Reid said as we both stood up at the same time. I tugged my skirt down and averted my eyes. “I hate this feeling.”
“What feeling?” he asked, his deep voice penetrating the dark room.
“The feeling that I have to apologize after a night like that.”
“So, don’t,” he said before he took a swallow of his beer and handed it to me. “Happy birthday.”
“What? No lecture for ‘little sister?’”
Reid paused at the door. “There’s nothing I can tell you, Stella. Nothing that you don’t already know.”
It was the first time he’d said my name, and it sent a small fire through me, despite my aching head. “But I’m safe?” The words tumbled out just as he opened the door. The porch light temporarily blinded us both before he slipped out without an answer.