Page 85 of Drive
Some people believe intuition is the sixth sense, a gift from the soul. And while I think that’s true, my theory goes a step further. Having your heart splintered heightens that sense. Because on instinct alone, you’re constantly looking for the pieces.
But theories always have to be proven.
I pushed through the crowd of thousands that September with Oasis singing “Wonderwall” at my back while I choked on the dust that surrounded us. I was dripping with sweat as I pressed on through the sea of swaying bodies, my useless press badge around my neck. There were far too many competitive and recognizable papers covering Austin City Limits, and even those more reputable rags had limited backstage access. But I’d scored a ticket onSpeak’s dime, and so hadJJ, who I’d lost after the first few hours. We’d already split up the performances we would cover pre-show. We had a game plan and twenty-eight artists to cover in the three-day festival. Lexi and Ben had come the night before, and we’d had a blast, despite the heat and shitty conditions. That night, I was alone, and though the music was worth the amount of dirt I was steadily inhaling, the heat was a different story. Indian summermy ass. It was Texas. Fall lasted a week before freezing set in. It was obvious the heat had no plans of leaving as I dug through the sweaty faces of the mob. Not to mention Hurricane Rita was off the coast and tossing winds toward the festival, turning it into a desert storm. By the second night, I was just fighting to get through the shows and breathe. Exhausted by the struggle. Ten thousand plus people screamed around me as I shoved my way through the unfazed fans lit by stage lights. I was near panic and desperate for space.
“Excuse me,” I said, nudging my way through as they pressed back against me. Overheated and anxious, I kept my head down and plowed through using my elbows. Almost to the edge of the mass, I felt my body stiffen as a whisper crossed my consciousness. Despite the heat, a chill ran down my spine.
Look up, Stella.
I did.
And I met the eyes of Reid Crowne, who was staring directly at me, a mere foot away. I felt the jolt hit me from head to Converse as he watched me watch him while the crowd moved in slow motion around us. My steps faltered and my lips twitched with the introduction of a smile that fell away as soon as I realized he was standing behind a woman. I didn’t recognize her, and his arms were hooked loosely over her shoulders. She was swaying in front of him as Liam Gallagher sang about a woman who may be able to save him. I closed my eyes, as I had a hundred times before, sure I was imagining things, and opened them to see he was still there.
Reid was back in Austin.
With his arms around another girl.
My phone rattled in my pocket, and I ignored it as I stared him down. His gaze was hot on me as the blonde jumped up and down, a smile on her face, her hands tapping the protective arms around her.
She smiles a lot, I’m sure. Probably doesn’t ask a lot of questions. Good for you, Reid.
Something in his expression told me he never expected to see me there. It was a fair assumption considering the amount of people we were surrounded by.
This is the part where you move on, Stella.
But that didn’t seem right. Everything about it was all wrong. I wiped my face of all debris, including the damn tears I let him see fall, and started to push again, making my way through the heavy crowd. My heart flipped like a gasping fish while I walked through the sparse amount of people hitting the vendors before I ran straight into a hard chest.
“Sorry,” I said, stumbling into the wall and gripping his arms to regain my footing before I took us both down.
“No problem.” We both looked up, and I instantly recognized the gorgeous, deep-blue eyes of Nate Butler.
“Fancy meeting you here.” He chuckled as he studied me, his brows pressing together upon further inspection. I was a literal hot mess, and I was sure my lips were still trembling. “You look hot, and not in a good way,” he said as he pulled me to stand next to a vendor cart and ordered a fistful of waters before he fed them to me.
“Drink slow,” he said as he watched me suck down two without pause. I wet my hands and patted my face with the freezing water. Narrowing his gaze, he reached for me, and with his thumbs, swept the mascara from underneath my eyes.
“Why do I have a feeling this tar on your face isn’t running because of the heat?”
“What?” I said, the worst actor alive. “I’m having a blast!”
“Okay,” he said with a lingering glance that read of a call of bullshit before he glanced over to a friend I hadn’t even noticed was standing there.
“Stella, this is Marcus.”
Marcus was pretty, not Nate pretty, but close. Tall, with mocha skin, and rich caramel eyes. Nate turned his attention back to stare down at me proudly. “Stella writes forSpeak.”
“Sup,” he said, looking at me like the wet mutt I was.
“Hey,” I said as I looked over to Nate with reassurance. “I’m good now.” Nate gripped my arm and spoke to Marcus. “Go meet up with the girls. I’ll catch up later.”
“The hell? No, man, nuh-uh. You aren’t leaving me to that,” he protested.
“No,” I whisper-yelled at Nate, “don’t do that.”
Nate ignored me as I let my eyes roam over the plain T-shirt he wore that was stretched by his broad chest. It was the first time I’d seen him without a suit. His pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke. He had on camouflage shorts and brown boots. He looked fucking hot. His thick, sun-licked, more-red-than-blond locks were pushed back with sunglasses he hadn’t needed in hours. He had that quarterback-turned-surfer vibe while at play, and the deliciously-decisive-shot-caller look at work. Both rocked me senseless. I would have appreciated it a lot more if I didn’t feel the suffocating need to glance back at the crowd behind him and look for the bastard whose lasting effect was ruining it for me.
The whole situation was surreal. And I felt like I was going to faint.
When Nate turned back to me, I kind of did.
