Page 4 of Wish You Would

My mouth fell open. “I—”

Gigi lifted a hand, stopping me. “No,” she said, face grave. “Arguing with someone who doesn’t get it is a moo point.”

I laughed and she grinned. “And on that note,” she went on, “I gotta get back to work.” She tossed me a wink before and spun away. “Enjoy the show,” she called over her shoulder before vanishing into the crowd.

Still smiling, I turned to find Simon staring at me. The quirk of his brow indicated that something unreadable going on in that perfectly coiffed head of his. “What?” I asked, brushing a hand over my face. “Do I have a lipstick smudge or something?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “You’re good. Just…” He trailed off, lifting his drink to his lips.

“What?” I pushed, shaking his arm so he couldn’t take a sip. “Say it.”

He laughed and lifted his drink up to avoid spilling. “Nothing,” he said. “You’re just a much, much bigger dork than I initially realized.”

“Hey, that’s on you,” I shot back. “I wear my dorkiness loud and proud.”

Whatever Simon was about to reply with was drowned out by the opening riff of a ’90’s grunge song. All attention turned toward the stage. The guitarist stepped up to the mic, a smirk curving one side of his mouth as the crowd cheered. In another life, he’d have totally been my type. As a teen, I’d always had a thing for angsty dark-haired boys. But times had changed, and so had I.

And now, apparently my type was dark-haired drummer girls with sun-shiney smiles and the most toned arms I’d ever seen.

As if I summoned her, Halle came in with the beat, and every strike of her drumsticks demanded my heart match it. I leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in hands, eyes glued to the stage. To the girl.

“Here we go,” Simon muttered. I ignored him. I ignored him so hard that, after half of the first song, he completely faded into the background. It was just me and Halle. Oh, and my emotional support delusion.

For the next ninety minutes or so, I watched Patti Mayonnaise own the stage, weaving from Nirvana to Spice Girls and back again. But mostly I watched Halle. She was the backbone of the band, keeping them on track with her impeccable timing. As she pounded out the outro to some song about a chick named Virginia, I slid to the edge of my seat. A sheen of sweat on her face glistened under the stage lights, and strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. My fingers itched to brush them away.

God, I had it bad.

The stage went dark and the crowd erupted in cheers. I exhaled and sank back in my seat. Beside me, Simon clapped for the band, pausing long enough to slide me a stack of napkins.

“Dry off, sweetie,” he said as the cheers wound down. “It’s time to say hello.”

That pulled me from my Halle-induced trance. I straightened. “What? No. I can’t. I’m not ready. I—”

“You what?” Simon angled his body toward me, brows lifted. “This is the third show you’ve sworn was the show. The one you finally introduce yourself to the object of your wet dreams.” He rested an elbow on the back of my chair. “Third time’s a charm, right?”

Panic surged. I threw my head back and groaned. “Okay,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “All right. Okay. I can do this. I’m gonna do this.” I flattened my palms on the tabletop and pushed to my feet. “I’ll just…say hi. Tell her I liked the set. Say—”

My stream-of-conscious pep talk came to a halt when I caught sight of the band slipping out the side door. Oxygen left me like a deflating balloon. I sank back down in my seat. “Too late,” I declared. “They’re gone.”

Simon scoffed. “They’ve gotta pack up. You’re not out of the woods yet.” He stood. “I’m gonna go get you a little liquid courage.” I looked up at him, and he must have seen something on my face, because he added, “I’ll make it a double.”

As he walked away, I dropped my head to the table. Around me, the bar buzzed, but nowhere near as loudly as the voice in my head. The doubt. The insecurities. The…

“Ugh.” I sat up and raked my fingers through my hair. This was ridiculous. People talked to their crushes every day. People put themselves out there. People got rejected and survived. I’d just…never be able to show my face around here again.

But, considering my sister’s boyfriend owned the place, that could prove difficult.

Maybe…maybe it was better this way. Maybe—

“You’re catastrophizing.” Simon sat down next to me and slid a fresh green drink my way.

“Am not.” I pulled the drink closer and leaned in for a sip. “It’s just that, she’s probably busy. And I don’t want to get in the way, you know?”

“Uh huh.” Perfect eyebrow cocked, he rested his chin in his hand. “Go on.”

I did. “Plus, she’s probably tired. Drumming is hard work. I’m sure she just wants to pack up and go home.”

Simon’s eyes slid from my lying face to the front of the bar. I followed his gaze. There, in the shadowy sidelines, stood Halle. Laughing at something Gigi was saying as she wound a cord around her hand. “Yeah,” he drawled. “She looks exhausted.’

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