Page 60 of The Darkest Note

I hope he shows up on Saturday, but I have no intentions of meeting him. It would be better if the prince of Redwood Prep left this version of me the hell alone.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

DUTCH

“You want to explain what happened yesterday?” Zane asks, twirling his sticks around. “Or are we just going to pretend that you weren’t eye-banging that redhead from the lounge when we walked in?”

I play a complicated riff and hope my brothers take that as a sign that I haven’t heard them.

If the mysterious redhead hadn’t pushed me away and slapped the hell out of me, maybe they would have walked in on more than an intense stare down and jagged breaths.

The memory of the kiss makes heat swell in my chest and I let an angry note ring. It does nothing to pierce through the haze and rid me of my restlessness.

Mystery Girl did a number on me yesterday.

And I’m not just talking about the slap that almost sent my brain sloshing out of my skull. A slap that came aftershekissedme.

“Just go ahead and smash that guitar into the ground,” Finn yells to be heard over my thrashing. “It’ll be more satisfying.”

I whip my head up and glare at him.

Finn is on a high chair, the bass guitar in his lap. Zane is behind the drums, twirling the sticks and giving me a stupid grin.

“We’re starting from the second set,” I growl.

Then I wait for Zane to tick his drums.

He doesn’t.

I try my hardest to ignore both of them, but when my brothers refuse to play, I whirl around.

“We’ve only got a few days of practice until that stupid dance,” I grumble.

Principal Harris has us do ‘community service’ gigs every once in a while, mostly to punish us for our spotty attendance records. Next weekend, we’re going to play for a high school in an area where we’ll all probably get robbed or shot at.

“We don’t have time to waste,” I add, growling.

“We’re not the one wasting time, Dutch.” Zane points a drum stick in my direction. “You are.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I grumble.

“What happened between you and the redhead?” Zane insists.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t feed us that bull,” Finn gripes.

“Whatever that ‘nothing’ was, it caused you to sprint after that chick like you were trying out for the Olympics. Then when you didn’t find her, you ran about five red lights before kicking us out of the truck and disappearing who knows where.”

I know where.

I texted Christa and told her to get her and that plumped up mouth out to Fourth Base, the lookout point above the town where almost half our graduating class lost their virginities.

My intentions were to screw the redhead out of my mind. Christa’s always a guaranteed good time and I figured I could replace the taste of cherries and innocence with the taste of caviar and rum.

It didn’t work.

I was in deep when I realized that Christa was mewling over me and the only reason I was putting any work in was because I was picturing redhead’s face on top of hers.

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