Page 14 of Such A Good Guy

He went to get his guitar and into the room to warm-up.

Maybe I was overreacting, I thought. I hadn’t actually seen anything in his eyes, really.

Everyonethought Luke liked them. I couldn’t count how many times I’d had women coming up to me and insisting he was in love with them just because he smiled in their direction.

That’s just how Luke was. He was like sunshine, and everyone wanted that warmth on their skin.

He was simply looking at me like a big brother would. I needed to stop reading into things.

I adjusted my bra strap. God, I’d always been very well-endowed, but why the fuck were my breasts not even fitting in my own bras anymore? They felt so heavy and swollen. I glanced down to see them spilling over the satiny pink cups, the underwire digging into my overflowing curves.

Fuck, this stupid bra was killing me. I reached my hands behind me to undo it, try to subtly stuff it in my purse or something, because it felt like my tits were getting sliced halfway off.

Theyachedtoo. Maybe my period was coming. I had an IUD so my period wasn’t always regular.

I tried to count back when my last period had been as I peeked out from backstage. The Rogers Centre was an absolutely enormous space.

Luke O’Neill had always been one of those charismatic guys it was impossible to take your eyes off of, and the huge concert hall in Toronto was absolutely packed.

I was still twisting at the back of my bra, with my shirt shoved halfway up my back when Luke came up behind me.

“Here, let me help you,” he said. “Bras have shitty design, it’s a feminist issue.”

I felt both his hands on my back. Unlike most guys he didn’t try to be the Olympic gold medalist of ripping it open, just carefully undid each clasp so they wouldn’t scrape me.

Objections were on the tip of my tongue as my skin prickled in surprise to feel his long, strong fingers there, but he didn’t linger enough for me to really say anything.

“I hope you enjoy the concert,” he whispered in my ear.

I felt uncomfortable and slightly nervous.

“Have a good show,” I said.

“Of course,” he said. “You’rehere, aren’t you?”

Then he gave me that gorgeous huge golden boy grin, his smile stretching across his tanned face, and then he slung his guitar around his neck and walked out onto the stage.

I must be overreacting.

Some people just could not turn their sex appeal off.

Luke and I had always had an easy, comfortable relationship, and God knew he was an atrocious flirt.

How could henotbe when he looked like that?

The auditorium flashed bright lights as he walked out on stage, the jeans hanging low on his hips.

Sound exploded in my ears, and I resisted the urge to cover them.

In some ways it was surreal, but in other ways this seemed exactly like where Luke O’Neil would end up ever since I heard him sing for the first time.

He had been visiting during one summer. He always visited during summers, sometimes spending even the entire three months at our house doing music gigs. My brother was kind of a shitty friend in addition to generally being a shithead, and in my opinion he was only friends with Luke to get some of the tail end of the constant attention from women Luke got everywhere he went.

One day he picked up a guitar at a party, and was strumming it lazily.

“You’re pretty good at that,” I said.

“Oh?” he asked.

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