Page 8 of Elusion

I wait for the standard answer ofI like everything, but she asks, “General or specific?”

“The more specific, the better.”

“Eighties hair bands, nineties grunge, late-nineties alt-rock.” She pauses, really thinking it over before adding, “With a guilty pleasure of anything two-thousands pop.”

“Where have you been all my life?” I ask.

I expect a flirty response or maybe even a blush, but the same fake smile from the coffee shop appears. She straightens, and without another word, she tries to step around me. Damn it. I keep going in the wrong direction with her.

“Hold on, we’re not going back to this.” I sidestep to place myself between her and any potential exit. “The polite-smile-and-not-talking thing. I’ve invested too much time to go back to that.”

She laughs once, clearly annoyed. “Too much time? We’ve had maybe seven minutes of interaction.”

“Interaction, yes. But I spent time yesterday morning tracking you down at the coffee shop. I spaced out through classes both yesterday and today, trying to figure out why you wouldn’t talk to me.” I tick off the interruptions to my life on my fingers. “I scoured social media last night, trying to track you down.” And a little earlier, but she doesn’t need to knoweverything. “A complete failure, by the way. And since you walked in tonight, I’ve been practicing talking to you in my head.”

She stares at me, not giving off any clues to what she’s thinking. It drives me crazy that I can’t read her, and I’m about to ask, but music floods out of the house. She looks at whoever steps out behind me.

“Ready, Jordan?” Johnny asks.

“Really not a good time, John,” I say, not taking my eyes off her.

“Yeah, we don’t care. Oh … hey, Callie.”

As the noise dampens, her attention shifts to me. “You told your friend my name?”

“No,” I lie. A smile plays on her lips, and I need more time with her. “Can I borrow your scarf?”

She hands it over without any questions. Hoarding all her winter wear lowers the chances of her disappearing while I play the rest of the show. Not a solid plan, but it’s better than nothing.

“We have another thirty-minute set before I’m finished for the night. And then I’m going to win you over.” I slowly back toward the door and push it open. “Drink. Stay. Good Callie.”

“You’re going to win me over?”

“Yeah, you don’t want to miss it.” I step into the house and wink at her before shutting the door.

I need a new strategy. An idea that doesn’t rely on my no-longer-foolproof system. I glance around the party for inspiration, but instead, I find Benji.

He shoulders into me as he walks by. “You finally decide to lean in?”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“The hat.” He gestures to my head with his beer cup. “You decided to stop fighting it and lean in. Make it work for you.”

Brilliant.

I grab his face in my hands, the purple scarf rubbing against his cheek. “Benji, you fucking genius.”

Yesterday’s degenerate stares back at me in the mirror. Thankfully, pink emphasizes my green eyes because, for the second time in two days, I’m donning a towel, a frilly scarf, and the now-iconic hat. At least I’m wearing my own underwear this time. I imagine the grand finale will include someone ripping off the towel since my friends are obnoxious. But to be fair, I would do the exact same thing to any one of them.

“All right, Waters. Let’s go make her smile.”

I burst through the bathroom door and dash down the stairs. The crowd parts, and I barrel-roll onto the stage to cheers and laughter. As I throw the guitar strap over my head, I scan over the faces. No sign of Callie. If she doesn’t walk through that door, then all this is for nothing.

Johnny counts us in, and I check my finger position. With the first strum, my eyes lock on her coming back inside. I’m still in the game. I keep a vigilant watch on the stairs, waiting for her return. Lucky for everyone in attendance, I can play our set comatose because anything happening anywhere other than the base of the stairs fails to register at all.

At the end of our first song, her hugging-in-all-the-right-places sweater rematerializes. She looks everywhere but the stage while she maneuvers through the room. Damn it, woman. I’m playing up here without clothes on for her, and she still manages to evade me.

After pushing through the crowd, she reaches the best weapon in my arsenal. The friend. Felicia grasps Callie’s chin, twisting it in my direction. I put on what Gavin calls myget somegrin and zero in on her. It takes a second, but she smiles. Real. Incredible. And, no joke, I develop tunnel vision. She demands my attention, and I have no idea why. All I know is she needs to smile again.

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