Page 441 of Not Over You

The truth is, I planned on making tonight up to Callie, but I won’t lie, I’m glad she showed up.

“Date night” became a thing when she and Jordan first got together. Not between them of course, but me and her while Jordan goes to hang out with Callie’s best friend, Felicia. We haven’t missed one in two years, and thanks to Callie’s stubbornness, the streak continues.

I love her for it.

“Of course not, Calico.” I throw my arm around her and tug her closer, scowling at one of the guys the Nymphs brought with them. He’s been watching her since we got here—the smirks he’s throwing her way setting off my protective side.

“I love it when my girl comes to shows.”

I make sure to say it loud enough the fuck hears, and his gaze meets mine. In one look, I let him know what happens if he doesn’t stop looking at her.

When he turns away from us, Callie rolls her eyes at me. “Okay, boyfriend. I think he got the message.”

I laugh, but she should be used to it by now. She’s my responsibility when Jordan’s not around. If that means scaring assholes away, then so be it. It’s been a joke between the three of us for years now, Callie’s our girlfriend.

But only one of us gets the benefits.

She’s still shaking her head over it when I spot Charlie on her way toward us. My smile fades as I watch her navigate through the crowd while the music roars around us. She used to watch Mike and me play, swaying her hips to the music, right next to the stage. I see the same look in her eyes now. An artist appreciating art, her soul open and free.

I get an elbow in the ribs a second later, and I glance over to Callie, a goddamn cheshire grin on her face. “Down boy,” she says.

Guilt sinks through me to my bones, but the chill leaves when Charlie reaches us. She stares up at me with amazement. “I’m obsessed with them.”

Her eyes fly to the stage where the band’s finishing their set.

“They are pretty great.” I take a second to enjoy the pride washing through me as I watch the punk girls I found in a little dive bar. The confidence they’ve grown over the past few months is incredible, and every song they write is better than the last.

Once they finish, the three of them bound off the stage, leaving the guys they dragged along to tear down for them. I get all but bombarded, glitter and perfume everywhere as they rush me.

“Did you hear? I hit that riff like a bad bitch.” Jaelyn tugs on my sleeve, bouncing on the balls of her feet so hard her short pink hair bobs along with her.

“The crowd was eating it up,” Bianca says. “And I saw at least one guy I want to actually be eating me by the end of the night.”

Her sister’s remark has Cys cackling, and the other two join in, three tiny little things with six-foot attitudes. Bianca plays bass, her blue hair long with black bangs. Jae kills the guitar, giving Jordan a run for his money. They match tonight, both dressed in ripped neon shirts and short black skirts. Cys is the drummer, a combination of her sisters but with a far more mellow attitude. She has her silver pixie spiked tonight, a plaid dress paired with a black leather jacket and aviators.

I give quick intros before the Nymphs rush off for the bar, dragging Charlie and Callie along with them. Sighing, I tag along, knowing my night is about to be interesting. Luckily, within an hour, backup arrives.

When Callie rushes across the bar, I simply tip my beer back, knowing Jordan’s arrived. No matter how many times these two do the time apart thing, they attack each other when they reunite. It would be cute if it weren’t nauseating.

“So,” Cys says, scooting into Callie’s empty seat beside Charlie. “Benji tells us you paint.”

Charlie shoots me a quick glance. “Not recently.”

I tip my head to the Nymph. “Cys has a little studio setup in the basement of their apartment complex. If you’re up for it, I’ll take you by sometime.”

Her eyes all but swoon at the thought, and she whips around, asking a million questions about the space and what Cys creates. I smile, watching them, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“I paint as Cyssi Hunt.” Cys sends me a conspiratorial look, and when I glance at Charlie again, her jaw has fallen open. Then she’s looking at me, amber orbs mesmerizing.

“Cyssi Hunt? The painting I sent you.”

I shrug with a shoulder, and the smile she gives hits me in the chest. Her lips purse like she wants to yell at me, but then she turns back to Cys to praise every damn brush stroke the woman’s made.

The Nymphs eventually peel off from the rest of us, each claiming their conquest for the night. Unlike with Brana, I don’t feel a need to play babysitter. They’ll be up and practicing by noon, hungry for it in a way they need to be.

We pile into the Uber at the end of the night with Jordan and I both a little past buzzed. I can’t remember the last time the dude let loose, so I needed to be there for him, shot for shot. Best friend duty and all.

“You encouraged this,” Callie says as we walk in the front door. “So, you’re on Mission Omelet with him.”

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