Page 18 of More To Us

Chapter Five

Austin

Where'd she go? We just ended a set and I'm searching the bar, trying to find her. She's no longer at the table she was at and I don't see her in line to get a drink. She's not on the dance floor either.

I make my way over to the bar, girls shoving pens at me as I walk. They want my autograph, usually somewhere on their body. I think it's less about my signature and more about getting me to look at their bodies. I get a lot of breasts shoved in front of me to sign, which used to be a major perk of the job but now I'm getting kind of tired of it.

It's like being asked out. The first few times it was awesome and flattering, but after a while I missed being able to be the one doing the asking. Just like I miss the fun of undressing a girl. I haven't been able to do that forever. When I go on a date and we go back to her place, the girl's taking her clothes off before I even have a chance to do it myself. It's all because I'm in this band, or maybe it's because I'm a Wheeler. I don't really know. But whatever the reason, the girls I date are too aggressive and it's starting to become a turnoff.

"Kent," I yell, trying to get the bartender's attention.

He turns to me, holding a bottle of vodka. "Yeah, what do you need?"

"Have you seen a girl in a black t-shirt and jeans? Long dark hair?"

He comes over to me, smiling. "The hot one with the tight little body?"

I want to punch him for commenting on her body. Shit, that's a problem. I met her for like two minutes. I can't be jealous over a girl I met for two minutes.

"Yeah, that's her," I say.

He nods. "She left with her friends right after the concert started."

"Huh. I wonder why."

"I don't know, but they left in a hurry."

"Okay. Thanks."

So she's gone and I didn't get her number and don't even know her last name. I can't even look her up. Why would she leave? Was she mad when she found out I was in the band? I was just kidding around. I didn't think she'd get mad about that.

I meet up with Van and Dylan in the back room. Van's laughing and giving a fist bump to Dylan.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"Dylan's song just scored us about thirty phone numbers," Van says. "All from girls we'd actually go out with."

"I'm not going out with them," Dylan says. "You know I stay away from band groupies."

"Then I'll share them with Austin." Van points to a stack of bar napkins in Dylan's guitar case. "We'll divvy them up after the show."

"Not interested," I say.

"Why not? Did that girl finally agree to go out with you?"

"No. She left right after we started playing."

"She didn't like our music, or what?"

"I think she might be pissed at me for not telling her I was in the band."

"You should've told her," Dylan says, sinking into the brown leather couch that's across from the door. It's beat to hell with scratch marks all over it and cigarette burns. "Girls get pissed about that shit. Even guys do. I hate it when girls lie to me."

"It wasn't really a lie. I just didn't mention I was in the band. You really think that's why she left?"

"Hell if I know," Van says, tapping his empty water bottle on his leg. "I don't understand women. I don't even understand this idiot." He kicks Dylan's foot. "What's wrong with you man? Why are you acting all depressed? Everyone loved your song."

"I'm not depressed," he mutters.

---