Page 6 of Falling for the Guy Next Door

I hadn’t expected him to react that way. I was glad I never had to see that ugly side of him again. I climbed in the car and started it. I startled when he knocked on the passenger window. “Come on, Layla. You’re making a mistake. Let’s talk about this.”

I discreetly brushed away a tear, worried he’d think it was because I was hurting from the breakup, but it was from his harsh words. I shook my head and put the car in gear. The traffic delayed my dramatic exit. I didn’t look his direction, but I could feel him staring at me through the window. Finally, there was a gap between cars, so I shot into the hole. Again, traffic really ruined my big exit at the stoplight, but at least I was on my way. I got far enough that I found the courage to look up in the rearview mirror.

Dustin was still standing there, fists down at his sides, flared nostrils and an expression that was half rage, half hurt. I should have stopped this sooner, but three months was hardly a long commitment. I’d ended it abruptly, but I was sure once he got over the sting, he’d move on to someone else. For the first time since I’d told him it was over, I felt the tension leave my body. My hands shook slightly as I gripped the steering wheel, but it was finished, and I was relieved.

A text came through as I reached home. It was from Dustin. “This isn’t over. We’ll talk after you’ve cooled down from your tantrum.” I jumped out of the car and ran to the house.

I was shaking again as I shut the door behind me. Ella was sitting on the couch, typing away on her laptop. She looked up and immediately pushed aside the computer. I ran straight into her arms and sobbed. I was too shaken to spit out the words.

“Does this have something to do with Dustin?” Ella asked.

I nodded against her shoulder.

“Did you break up with him?” she asked.

I was still unable to speak. The words were caught in my throat. I nodded and showed her his last text. She stared at the phone for a long minute, then looked up. “This is just his male ego talking. I’m sure he was hurt. He’ll realize it’s over soon.”

I shook my head, sniffled and finally got the words out. “I thought he’d just say ‘whatever’ and walk away, but he followed me, insisting we should talk about it. I didn’t think we were together long enough for that kind of reaction, so it scared me.” I lifted my hand to show her how badly I was shaking. Ella took it and pressed it between hers. I could feel the adrenaline and angst floating away, standing in my cozy cottage with my sister.

“Let me make you a cup of herbal tea. In the meantime, block him so he can’t call or send texts.”

“Good idea.” I sat down on the couch with a plop, as if my leg muscles had given out on me. “At first, I wasn’t even going to break up with him, then he got rude and that cruel streak I’d seen a few times came out, and next thing I knew I was telling him it was over. I wasn’t mean. I just said we both needed to go our own ways. He was angry and hurt and all the things that might come after dissolving a long-term relationship but not a short one.” I shook the whole scene out of my mind. “You’re right. I’ll block him and that’s that.”

Ella filled the kettle. “You’ll be fine. Like I said—you hurt his ego, and some people have a hard time dealing with that.” She came out and sat next to me on the couch. I rested my head against her shoulder. “I knew I’d feel better once I talked to you. Thanks, El.”

“Look, Layla, I know this has been hard for you, all of us having boyfriends, but you know you’re still top priority in all our hearts.”

“I know, El. You guys are top priority in my heart, too. And since I’m now giving up on men completely, I’ve resigned myself to becoming the one unattached Lovely sister. Men are not worth the stress.”

Ella shrugged. “Well, some of them are.”

ChapterFour

Nash

Isat in the back room tuning my guitar. Betty, the manager of the Comstock Bar, was a grumpy woman who’d barely acknowledged us when we arrived. She’d pointed out the cramped back room for us to get ready and where we could sit for breaks between sets. Betty wasn’t the only grump in the building.

“If you’d move to the left, we could fit it through the door without me having my arm torn off,” Seth growled at Bosco as they carried Ronnie’s drums into the bar. Everyone had been disappointed ever since we’d had to turn down a European tour, one with expenses paid and plenty of publicity for the band. That had been my fault. There wasn’t any way I could leave the States and leave my sister solely in charge of our mom. In a way, it was for the best. We’d all been arguing a lot lately, and it seemed there just wasn’t enough friendship glue left between the four of us. Bosco, or Alan Burke, as his parents called him, and I had been friends since high school. He was an amazing bass guitarist. He stumbled upon Ronnie at a party. She’d filled in for the band’s drummer that night and blew everyone away. Seth joined us when we advertised for a keyboardist. He also had a great singing voice. I’d told Bosco they should move Seth into lead vocals and go on that European tour without me, but he insisted it wasn’t Moonstone without me at the microphone.

We’d been playing as a band for six years. It felt like the end of an era, and I wasn’t all that sad about it. Moving around from town to town, sleeping in crummy motels and eating diner food was fun for a few months, but after a few years, it became drudgery. In our twenties we’d all dreamed of becoming the next big rock stars, flying around in private jets with nonstop parties and trashing swanky hotel rooms. None of that sounded appealing anymore. Though I wouldn’t turn down a private jet.

Ronnie carried in her cymbals and set them on a stack of crates. Their clang echoed off the walls. “There’s a line around the parking lot to get in,” she said cheerily and slipped right past her two bandmates struggling to get her drums through the narrow passage. Ronnie stopped in front of me and tapped my chest with a drumstick. She had red hair that was cropped so short it looked like the top of her head was on fire. Both earlobes were lined with tiny gold hoops, and she had a dragonfly tattoo on the side of her neck. “I’ll bet they’re here to see the hunky lead singer.”

“Yeah, won’t they be disappointed when they see him in person,” Bosco chided. Ten years ago, Bosco was built like a tank—buff, with a neck that matched his head in width. He’d played football in high school, but much to his dad’s disappointment, he’d quit football to follow his musical dreams. Once he’d left behind the gridiron, he let the muscles go, too. Now he was tall and lanky, and he could move around on stage as if he had no skeleton to hold him back.

Betty, the owner, came marching to the back of the bar. “I thought you’d be set up by now. There must be two hundred people waiting in line to get inside, and my capacity is only three hundred.” She was growling about it and weirdly smiling at the same time, so I couldn’t tell if she was happy or angry about the long line. “Hurry and get set up. In twenty minutes, I’m going to open doors and start letting people in.” With that, she marched back the way she came.

Bosco looked over at me. “That was strange. I couldn’t tell if we were in trouble or if she was about to sign us to a month-long gig.”

“Actually, we’re already signed up for a month,” Ronnie said as she scrolled through her phone. We’d handed Ronnie the job of arranging gigs mostly because the three of us couldn’t be bothered with the mundane task. Sometimes she forgot to keep us in the loop, but since none of us wanted the scheduling job, we never complained. Bosco didn’t look pleased. His dark brows lowered, reminding me of his dad whenever we were in trouble for something back in high school and he was gearing up to lecture us.

“When did we agree to a month-long gig? I was hoping to spend a week in Hawaii at the end of the month,” Bosco said.

“Well, if you don’t want me to be in charge of scheduling anymore?—”

Bosco shook his head. “Never mind. Whatever. Hawaii will still be there after the month is up.”

We set up the stage. It was a nice one, wide with good lighting and plenty of space for our sound equipment. With all of us working together it didn’t take long. Betty, seeing that she was about to make a fat profit for the night, gave us each a free beer, and we returned to the cramped back room to hang out until it was time to start.

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