Page 113 of Hot Mess
“When will I see you next?” he asked me.
“Next week,” I told him, in my pleasant-professional voice. My non-personal voice. “When the rest of your new furniture is delivered. I’ll be there to help get everything set up properly. I’ll be in touch about dates and times.”
“Good. I hope the new bed comes in by then,” he said, never taking his eyes off mine—and turning it personal? Flirting with me…? Right in front of my sister.
Reminding me that he’d never actually agreed to being “just friends”?
“It will,” I said, as my whole body heated with discomfort… and something else. “Have a nice day, Ashley.”
“You, too,” he said, just standing there, staring at me.
I gave him a weird, awkward wave, then turned and bolted for the door.
I could practically hear my sister’s eyes roll behind me as I worked the key into the lock. “See ya,” she told Ashley.
I didn’t wait to hear his response.
Chapter Fifteen
Ash
The next night, I headed down to the Back Door. Dirty little hole in the wall rock ’n’ roll bar, about a ten minute walk from my place. The Back Door had been an institution in the local rock scene for years, since long before I was sneaking in, back in high school, to see bands.
Xander was back in town, and I’d asked him to meet me there around nine.
I got there right on time, but I didn’t see him when I walked in with Haz. It was a Monday night. Some local band was playing to a room that was half-full and half-interested.
And for a moment, I felt crazy grateful to Summer for saving me from ending up there with them. Because there was a part of me that was afraid that was exactly where I was headed, no joke—until she reminded me that I was a rock star.
Like if Dylan Cope or Zane Traynor were the north star, I’d be one of those other stars on the little dipper—the ones you can barely see but pretend you can. But still.
A star is star.
I wasn’t about to backslide from where I’d climbed. I’d rocked my way up here, and I wasn’t letting go so easily.
I texted Xander and put back a beer while I watched the band. But after the manager, Snake, swung by to check on me, he told me where to find Xander.
He was downstairs, at Misty’s—the strip club.
Shoulda known.
I headed through backstage with Haz and down the back stairs, emerging into the totally different vibe of Misty’s. The shiny room, the shiny girls, some dirty 2Pac song rolling through the room.
Xander was sitting in a booth against the back wall, facing the stage but about as far from it as you could get. Didn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying the show. There was a blonde kneeling on the seat next to him in shorts that were basically panties and a skimpy bra, her silicone tits inches from his face as she talked him up. Trying to sell him on a lap dance or something; he already had a drink in his hand.
When he saw me coming, he lifted his chin. “What’re you drinking?” were the first words out of his mouth.
“Canadian,” I told the girl.
“I’ll send your waitress over, sweetie,” she informed me, letting me know that what she was selling wasn’t alcohol.
“Tell her I want a Canadian,” I said as I slid into the booth.
She gave me a fake smile and sauntered away. Haz settled in against the nearby wall.
“How’s it going?” I asked Xander when we were alone.
“Good. You?”
