Page 22 of Busted Dreams

Thatcher: Hey, I can’t talk right now. I’m fine, just got something going right now that needs my attention. I’ll call you later, ok?

“See? Nothing bad or that message would have been vastly different.”

I nodded absently, letting the subject drop, but I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was wrong.

“We better get going if you want to catch their warm-up.” Jonah took a hesitant step toward our huddle, as if he wasn’t sure he was welcome. Which was ridiculous.

“Have fun and call me when you are on your way back, okay?” Beck tipped my face up with an index finger under my chin, giving me the sweetest, lingering kiss. His tongue barely grazed my bottom lip when he stepped back.

Jonah cleared his throat, and I started. Dang, I was still just a rookie, so lost in the residual feeling, I was left staring at Beck, who had a too smug smirk on his face.

“Yeah, uh, I’m ready, Jonah.”

Now even Jonah was silently laughing at me. Great.

“Alright, Beck. I’ll see you later. Have a good show.” Jonah put his arm around my shoulders at the same time I accidentally stepped back and bumped into him. He immediately dropped his arm and winced as if I’d burned him.

He’d never been touchy-feely, but he had never treated me like a pariah either.

“After you.” He motioned for me to walk out before him.

“Don’t forget. Call me. I might not be able to answer if I’m playing, but I won’t worry about you if I see you’ve called,” Beck tossed over his shoulder as he walked back to the Lincoln. It really was a tossup what he loved more, working on cars or making music.

The beginning of the ride was awkward.

I drove, and Jonah stared out the window. The soft music in the background did little to cover up the uncomfortableness filling up the cab. In true Astrid fashion, instead of trying to ask random, pointless questions, I left the silence between us. If he wanted to talk, I’d let him make the first move.

Between worrying over Thatcher’s cryptic messages and anxiousness over how Beck’s video was doing, I was perfectly content to stay in my own headspace.

Miles flew by, and before I knew it, I was asking Jonah to help me navigate toward the ice rink. This was apparently a nice-sized arena with lots of parking and seats available. The Pepsi Center of the high school hockey league. Rhys had been excited just talking about how much nicer it was than his normal arena.

“Well, we’re about forty-five minutes early. And that’s until they unlock the doors to the public.” I sighed as I whipped into the closest spot to the entrance. “Aha!” I pointed to the far side of the parking lot to a small restaurant almost blocked by the building. If I had taken a spot even a couple of spaces over, I never would have noticed it.

“What?” Jonah raised a hand to push his glasses up, but quickly dropped it when he realized he wasn’t wearing them. I smirked to myself. Little by little, I was pulling him out of his shell.

Me. Astrid, the awkward girl with peeping Tom tendencies. Funny how I was becoming this different, better person with these guys.

“Looks like a small Mexican restaurant over there. How do you feel about some queso and chips?” I wiggled my eyebrows like I’d offered up the chance to do something scandalous.

He laughed as he opened his door. “Sure. I’m game.”

It was early afternoon, just after the lunch rush, so there was no wait for a table, which worked out perfectly since we had to be back at the rink soon. The Mexican restaurant actually turned out to be an American hole in the wall, serving hot dogs, hamburgers, and malts. How I misread that, I had no idea.

There was actually a retro charm to the place, if you overlooked the rundown, greasy spoon feel. Allowed to sit anywhere, we picked a table off to the side. That was a nice thing about Jonah—for all his time in the spotlight with school and clubs, he hated the attention almost as much as I did.

“Cute,” Jonah said as he examined the miniature teal jukebox on our table with a critical eye.

I laughed softly. “It is cute. Pick a song. Does that play for just us or the whole place?”

Dutifully selecting a song, he leaned forward to catch the light melody of a fifties hit “Why Do Fools Fall in Love.” “Table.”

“Thanks for that.” I snorted.

“What can I get you?” a cutesy girl with a high swinging, blonde ponytail asked in between smacking her gum. She was very reminiscent of the 1950’s, minus the poodle skirt.

“Just water, chicken fingers, and onion rings.” I looked to Jonah next.

“Water, the Daddy O burger with everything, and fries.”

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