Page 103 of Between Never and Forever
“What makes you think I’m looking for Ms. Loveless?”
The girl fidgets a little with the hem of her shirt and shifts her weight between her feet as she lets out a little laugh.
“Aren’t you all?”
I don’t answer. I blow a harsh breath through my nose, nod in thanks, then turn on my heel and head to Sav’s trailer.Aren’t you all?What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
I keep my head down and avoid eye contact. I walk right past everyone and keep my feet pointed in the direction of the cast trailers, until I’m stepping up to the one with Sav Loveless brandished on the door. I raise my hand to knock, but my knuckles never connect.
Instead, I drop my hand back to my side and listen.
Music. An acoustic guitar. And Sav’s voice.
She must be playing inside, and I’m frozen in place, rocketed back to a dark corner in a dingy D.C. dive bar. My heart races, my throat tightens, and I have the urge to sink further into the shadows so I can listen safely.
Just one more, honey
Just one more
Whiskey and orange
What are we waiting for?
Your spicy lips.
Your citrus tongue.
My drugged regrets
What have I done?
I avoid this song at all costs, yet I could still recite the lyrics from memory. I can still close my eyes and picture her up on that stage, holding a beat-up guitar and wearing a ripped Joan Jett shirt and a short denim skirt.
I wrote this one for a guy I thought I loved, she’d said to the crowd, and itawwwww’d in response before she started singing. Every word was a vise around my heart, my windpipe. Every note was a knife to the chest.
Streetlamp silhouette,
wore my shoes out on that pavement.
Thought you were my safe place, baby,
look how wrong I’ve been.
“She’s good, isn’t she?”
Paul Northwood’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn slowly to find him standing only a few feet away, carrying a craft services bag. I look from his face to the bag and back to his face. He grins and lifts the bag up.
“Came to see if she’d want to run lines. Brought her and Red some lunch.”
The muscle in my cheek twitches with the need to sneer. I don’t like that he knows Red’s name. I don’t like that he’s bringing her lunch. I don’t like that the scene he’s likely wanting to run lines for is the one I’d interrupted earlier.
“How’s your girlfriend, Paul?”
His smile falters, caught off guard by my question. When he doesn’t answer, I raise an eyebrow.
“That model,” I clarify, and his brow furrows.
“Oh, well, she and I aren’t together anymore,” he says slowly.
