Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I say slowly, trying to figure out if I’ve met him somewhere before.
“Garrett.” He points to himself. “We’re in music marketing together,” he supplies, reading the question mark on my face.
“Oh, right.”
“You like Gutterpunk?” he asks knowingly.
“How did you—”
“Lucky guess,” he jokes, pointing at my binder full of various band stickers.
“I’m surprised anyone in this town knows who they are.”
“I’m surprised anyone in this generation knows who they are,” he tosses back.
“Touché.” I laugh, knowing it’s true. Gutterpunk is a sloppy punk band—as the name suggests—from the nineties. With them being from Huntington Beach, everyone knew who they were back home.
“Did you know they’re playing a secret show this weekend?”
“Here? No way.”
“Way. They’re playing at The Lamppost, if you want to go together, maybe?”
My lips twist, contemplating. I don’t know him, but we have a class together. That has to count for something. Plus, he clearly has good taste in music, so he’s automatically cooler than ninety-five percent of the people I’ve met here.
“Or we can meet there, if that’s less weird.” He gives me an out, no doubt sensing my hesitation.
“Let’s do that.” I smile, genuinely excited to go. I haven’t been to a show since…well, since my dad was alive. “Where’s The Lamppost, though?” I’ve never heard of it before, and my dad knew of every venue in a two-hundred-mile radius.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?” He raises a brow. “Give me your number. I’ll text you the address Friday night.”
I’m way too intrigued to say no. I take his phone from his proffered hand. “And how do you know about this place?” I ask as I type my number in, suspicion lacing my tone.
“I know people,” he says cryptically. I can’t tell if he’s pulling my leg or not, so I don’t comment.
“I’ll see you Friday then.” I slap his phone into his palm and he flashes me a smile.
“It’s a date.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off, walking away from me backwards. “It’s a figure of speech. Relax.”
Right. Not everyone is hitting on you, Allison. I spin around, heading for my next class.
Class goes by quickly, and then I meet up with Halston to hang out for a little bit before I head back to Blackbear.
“I’m going to start charging you rent,” Lo jokes, and I stop short, nerves bubbling in my stomach. “I’m kidding, Allison.” She laughs. “You’re my best employee. I wish everyone was as dedicated,” she says loudly for Jesse’s benefit, who’s sitting at the bar with a plate of food.
“I don’t fucking work here.”
I eye the bowl of suckers next to him, and he follows my gaze, smirking when he realizes my thought process. Instead of handing them to me like a decent human, he slides them closer to himself, daring me to get close enough to take one. We haven’t spoken since the day I overheard him arguing with Lo. He hasn’t been around much, but on the rare occasion he is, he hasn’t so much as looked in my direction.
“Well, you should,” Lo says, her voice monotone.
I leave them to their bickering, walking past the bar toward the back room. But Jesse sits sideways on his stool and throws out an arm, stopping me with the bowl of suckers at my stomach. He raises a brow when I don’t immediately dig in.
I roll my eyes, quickly finding the brownish label I’m looking for, then move past him. I hear him chuckle behind me before Lo’s chastising follows.
“Don’t even think about it,” Lo warns.
I can’t see Jesse’s reaction, and if he responds, I don’t hear it.
“I mean it. Leave her alone. If you fuck this up, I’ll be even more short-staffed.”
She doesn’t need to worry about that.
I don’t hear the rest of the conversation, but when I come back out front, ready for my shift, Jess is gone. I let out a sigh of relief. Or maybe it’s one of disappointment.
* * *
“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU going?” Sully asks as I swipe my keys off the counter. Not having a place of my own is getting old fast. You’d think I’d be used to it after twenty years of bouncing from shitty apartment to even shittier apartment, never knowing when my mom would skip paying rent to support her drug habit instead.
“Not in the mood tonight,” I say, referring to the kickback-turned-party taking place around us. I’m sick of this whole fucking scene. He nods, knowing what I mean. He’s probably the only one who knows the real me.
“Hit me up tomorrow.”
Walking outside, I make a beeline for my truck, not stopping to make small talk with anyone lingering in the front yard. I don’t know where the hell I’m going, but I throw the gear in drive, laying on the gas. I’m on autopilot as I drive through town, wondering how everything got so fucked up. I’ve been staying at Sully’s, not wanting to look Lo in the eye and have to lie to her every goddamn day, but the longer I stay there, the better going home sounds.