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Minutes later, I watch Natalie pick at her food before she opts for more numbing. A few shots later, I give up the struggle. Whatever conversation she had with Nate ruined everything we were building up to during the drive and after the concert. Even with the clock ticking and a well-formed bone to pick, I decide to leave it untouched, at least for the night.

THIRTY-ONE

“Not Enough Time”

INXS

Easton

Not long after the last of the drinks are consumed, Natalie’s eyes begin to droop. After paying the tab, Tack and Syd opted to leave us and hit one of the downtown bars for a night ender, while LL remained unaccounted for. At first, I thought Syd would be the one to watch, but as it turned out, when we hit the road, LL became the front runner for the possibility of becoming the most problematic. Since we started, he’s opted to partake more often than not and shows up for band engagements a clammy, shaking mess. So far, he hasn’t missed a sound check or showtime, nor has anyone been forced to summon him, so I’m not touching it for now.

Once alone, Natalie and I head up to our floor in the elevator as easy, liquor-induced chatter and mixed laughter erupt from her—her buzz far outweighing the few bites of pasta in her stomach.

“And when you started playingCult, I totally lost my shit,” she recalls enthusiastically. Safely behind the closed doors, she turns to me and diminishes the foot of space she’s been putting between us since the restaurant. “How do you feel, Easton?”

“Good.”

“No, really,” she grips my T-shirt, stretching it until I give in, and pulls me down so we’re nose to nose, imploring me. I can’t help my grin.

“In comparison to you right now, I think you’ve got me beat.”

“Shut up.” She widens her eyes. “It’s happened, it’s happening! You kicked your fear’s ass, and now,” she gestures a hand grenade toss and makes an explosion sound.

“Not quite kicked, but it feels good,” I admit honestly.

“You’re downplaying it. Tell me all the good parts. Did Stella freak?”

I can’t help my growing smile when I think of Mom’s reaction. “That’s been the best part. She’s pretty emotional. She pukes when she gets excited or upset, and that day was no exception. It was hilarious. Every time she started to talk, she’d gag.” I clear my throat and spout my best impression, “‘Easton, I’m so proud-bleck,’ ‘Easton, I can’t believe—bleck,’ and then she’d run away. I thought we were going to have to sedate her.”

Natalie throws her head back in laughter, and I join her as the elevator doors open once we reach our floor. She stumbles a little with her exit, and I reach out to steady her. “Good?”

She looks at me with ‘touch me’ eyes before blanking them out. “T-those shots are catching up with me,” she laughs. “Sorry, I can usually hold my liquor a little better.”

I don’t bother to call bullshit, but in truth, they caught up with her a few minutes after she took the first shot. I can’t say she isn’t an entertaining drunk because she is. Back at the table, she bombed us with stories that had Tack and me laughing hysterically, which only endeared her to me further while, in turn, frustrated the fuck out of me. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise or pull her chair closer to mine. Things I could have easily gotten away with in Seattle—but didn’t attempt—seem off the table now.

She and Tack went back and forth for most of dinner, acting more like old friends than new acquaintances. I know some of her eager interest in him was an attempt to skirt aroundus. But I found myself becoming increasingly disgruntled as she allowed Tack to monopolize her time just to avoid me.

“I knew all the words,” she speaks up as we head down the corridor full of rooms. “The critics can’t stop raving, Easton. You’re going to be a household name,” she shoots me a fearful look. “Sorry, I don’t mean to spike your anxiety.”

“Well, that’s a hell of an exaggeration, so I’m good.”

“You need a reality check,” she makes another emphatic hand gesture, “because it’s not at all an exaggeration. I’ve read everything, every single review on the web. Even the toughest critics are testifying to your talent.”

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t know.”

“I knew you weren’t reading them!” She shakes her head, “You really have no idea what’s going on out there, but you need to trust what I’m saying and trust the screams in that audience tonight. You’re only going up from here,” she points skyward with her finger.

“You’re so drunk,” I muse.

“I’m a li’l tipsy,” she spouts, producing her keycard from a pint-sized purse. “I can’t invite you in . . . so,” she unlocks her door and opens it a few inches.

“I wouldn’t accept,” I say as she draws her brows adorably.

Crossing my arms, I lean against the jamb. “You look disappointed, Natalie. Tell me, why is that?”

“No, it’s not—”

I turn her toward her door and smack her ass. “Go on, enjoy your denial.”

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