Page 82 of Drive
Nate emailed me with good feedback on my columns and set up a date for us to meet atSpeakto discuss my future.
He kept it professional, and I breathed out a sigh of relief when I wasn’t pressed for more.
Fall began despite the clinging summer temperatures.
Football season arrived, which meant better tips.
And Lexi and Ben fell in love.
Though I was powering through my life as planned,Iwas still in love with Reid Crowne.
And I fucking hated Dave Grohl.
Why? Because on every corner, I saw a scruffy-faced, ear-length, dark-haired guy with a T-shirt, jeans, and a metal chain wallet.
And my heart would stop.
And my throat would knot.
And I would shed a tear when the face, which wasn’t Reid’s, turned my way.
The Sergeants still played every week for money. And being the self-absorbed asshole I was, I couldn’t force myself to a single show. I took the low road, because it felt better to wither there.
Lexi was a lifesaver. She put up with my self-indulgent shit for weeks before she ever suggested we go out. My answer was no, and her consolation was Ben. It worked.
Life was marching on. It was as if he never existed. No one talked about him.
But Ifelthim. Embedded. Our seven minutes on a loop, our song cut short.
***
On the day I walked through the doors ofAustin Speak, I was more determined than ever to forget my heart and follow the music. With a one-track mind, I greeted Sierra, who waved at me enthusiastically while she explained on the phone that Nate Butler was in a meeting. I had on new purple Converse with Eminem’s “Till I Collapse”lyricsscribbled all over the sides, but had settled on a lightweight, black V-neck sweater and black slacks. I’d cut a few inches off my ornery hair and flattened it until it lay like silk over my shoulders. I was still resistant to makeup, aside from heavy mascara and lipstick.
“Hey, you,” Sierra greeted with a warm smile. “He’s expecting you. Good job, by the way. You made one hell of an impression on him.”
“Thanks.” Even though I knew thatimpressionwas questionable.
“Miss Emerson here to see you.”
Though I kept a straight face, I started to shake inside the minute Nate opened his office door. He gave me a smile and ushered me back.
Nerves firing off, I walked past the noisy desks and avid attention of those behind them until I reached the safety of his door.
Get a grip, Stella.
“Hello,” I said with a smile as Nate stood at his desk, looking me over with surprise before he smirked, satisfied when he saw the shoes.
“Good song.”
“The best.”
“Shut the door,” Nate said without further scrutiny. “Have a seat.”
I shut the door as he began typing furiously, a single earbud tucked discreetly below his coppery, slicked back locks. Briefly, I wondered his flavor of music. He didn’t strike me as a rap guy, but edgy rock ’n’ roll didn’t exactly fit him, either. I bit my lip as he pounded away on his keys, his lashes dancing above his pronounced cheekbones. He seemed taller, broader,more. The man was larger than life, and as he looked over at me with paralyzing blue eyes, I had no doubts he knew it.
“Good job, Stella,” he said as he pushed away from his laptop and set his arms on his desk. “I mean that.”
“Thank you,” I said hoarsely then cleared my throat.
