Page 72 of Strange Lad

The freckles on Lex’s face are like tiny red beacons of rage as he glares at us. “Do you evenwantto make it big? You lazy fucks.”

“Cut it out, man!” Devon roars. “This is why we avoid you. You’re impossible to please.”

Lifting his chin pompously, Lex agrees, “That’s true, but it’s why I’m good at my job. Higher expectations equals better results. Look at the success of this tour that, might I add, none of you wanted to do.”

We share a collective guilty look.

“Put your big, metal heads together and make something. Because this,” he waves his finger at all of us, “isn’t going to do it.”

Showered? Check.

No longer contagious? Check.

Nervous as hell for some ridiculous reason? Bet your ass.

I hover near my car, staring down the walkway that leads to Oli’s little studio, and gulp. It’s warm as shit today, so I’m kind of sweaty, which is ruining my shower. The good news is that I spent copious amounts of time making sure my curls were super soft and formed. I even wore my fancy pants. Nice dark denim with no holes or hot sauce stains anywhere. These are my ‘I’m going on a date’ pants. Not that this is a date.

He doesn’t even know I’m here.

Technically, we aren’t supposed to hang out today.

Technically, I’m supposed to be at home writing lyrics for songs I haven’t made up yet. That plan lasted a whole two minutes before I started getting ready, determined to woo Oli into kissing me. It’s not like I’m inexperienced here. I know how to work it. I might be rusty because it’s been a while, but I can make it happen if I put my mind to it. If he flat-out says no, I won’t argue. I’m simply tired of waiting for him to make the move.

Maybe he’ll want to play our watered-down Trustfall game again. I have all sorts of sexy ideas for that.

No amount of pep talking or faux confidence is making the flipping stop in my stomach, though. It’s doing a goddamn gymnastic routine in there. Because if this works, and we do kiss,I’m going to be so much worse. I can feel it. That makeshift cork clogging up all my needs and desires will come shooting out like a volcanic eruption. He’s never going to get rid of me.

Fuck it. I’m doing this.

Throwing my shoulders back, I leave my car and march down the walkway. Dodging the overgrown palms, I plant my feet at his front door and knock. I could just let myself in, but I don’t want to freak him out like last time. About thirty seconds pass before he opens the door. Surprisingly, he doesn’t look upset that I’m here unannounced. I’ve done that before, too. Many times.

“Hey,” he says brightly, pulling me in for a weird side hug. We’ve been doing those lately.

I return the pitiful embrace. “Hi. Are you busy?”

“Kinda.”

We part, and I look over his shoulder into his space. “What the fuck is all that?”

“I didn’t buy it,” he immediately defends when I slither inside to get a good look at…everything.

He’s got a guitar rigged up to an amp, some pedals, a hoard of tab sheets, and an ancient-looking CD player connected to over-the-ear headphones. I arch an eyebrow at him, wondering what he’s up to. To my knowledge, Oli has given up playing the guitar. I’ve never heard him play, but Phoenix swears up and down that Oli was born to do it.

“Where did it all come from?” I ask him.

He smiles shyly. “It’s mine. I had Nyx get it for me out of storage.”

“Seriously?”

He nods and walks over to the coffee table to stack up all the sheets of paper. “I’ve never been able to read sheet music, but I could read tabs. Turns out, I still remember how.”

“Will you play for me?”

Pausing his shuffling, he shakes his head. “Not yet. I—I’m working on something.” He stuffs the papers in an old manilla envelope, then moves the CD player to the room's far corner. “How’s the writing going?”

“Bad. I have literally no ideas.” Because all I can think about is kissingyou.

“What about everyone else? Isn’t it like…a collective effort?” I go over to his couch and plop down on it. When he faces me, I notice him quickly double-take at my outfit. “You look nice.”

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