Page 93 of Lost Boy
As we peruse the selection of cheesecakes, pies, and crumbles, I can’t help but overhear the hostess fretting over their guitarist canceling for the evening.
“Chauncey wasn’t supposed to cancel without twenty-four hours’ notice, and Mr. Russo will be here any minute! I’m going to lose my job. He won’t care,” she sniffles.
“I can play,” I speak up, forcing myself out of my comfort zone. Even though I’m tired after this weekend, I should probably get used to playing publicly if I want a shot at this music thing.
She blinks tear-filled eyes at me. “Wh-what? Really? You can? Y-you will?”
I glance at Ryder, and his eyebrows have disappeared behind his curls.
“Yeah. Just give me fifteen?” I need to figure out a way to sneak the joint in my pocket. I need to calm these nerves creeping in.
“Oh. Thank you. Seriously, you’re a lifesaver. And you’ve got thirty. Just go to the stage and say you’re subbing in for Chauncey. The band will get you a guitar, and you can decide what you want to play. It’ll be an hour set, and be sure to see Jenn the bartender before you leave. I’m Haley if you need anything in the meantime or a drink in between songs. Anything.”
“I’m good. I’ll just have some dessert to go.”
“Whatever you want. On the house.”
She looks at me expectantly, like I’m supposed to tell her my order here and now.
Okay.
“Uh. Tiramisu and apple crumble.”
“No cheesecake? The triple fudge is what we’re known for.” She seems extremely eager for me to try it. I can’t say no.
“Okay, sure. And that too.”
“You got it.” She winks and a smile spreads across her face. It’s nice. She’s pretty. But I feel nothing. Nothing at all.
I glance quickly at Ryder, and my stomach flips at the tender look in his eyes. Like he’sproudof me. And I haven’t even played yet. It makes me uncomfortable yet turns me on a little, too. An awkward feeling, for sure.
“Looking forward to seeing you up there,” Haley says before hurrying away to seat the people that just walked in.
Was she flirting with me?
Whatever.
“Look at you, Rockstar! I’m gonna find a front-row seat. I can’t miss this.” Sofie wanders away, leaving me standing with my boyfriend in front of a glass display of desserts.
“I need to smoke,” I blurt out, the anxiety taking over. The negative thoughts are telling me I’m just a screwup and I’ll only fail.
“You don’t need that, Blue. You got this. I’ve heard you. You’re amazing.” Ryder glances around, lowering his voice. “I wish I could kiss you to take the nerves away.”
“I wish you could too,” I murmur, hating all the hiding but understanding why he’s not ready to be out. We just met, really. “But I still need to smoke, or I won’t get through an hour-long set. No way.”
I see the flash of disappointment in his eyes, and a twinge of pain hits me deep, like when he told me not to get drunk in front of Sofie, and I sort of did anyway.
I don’t like it, but I step away from him and head for the back exit. Thirty minutes is plenty of time to go to the shore and smoke a joint.
I feel itchy and restless, like my skin is too tight for my body, and I can’t stay still. I anxiously tap my painted fingertips against my thigh as I power-walk to the exit.
I need to calm the storm that’s raging.
When I reach the shore, I spot a large rock and wander over, digging the joint and lighter out of my pocket. I perch on the edge, not wanting to get dirty or sandy.
As I attempt to light up, a deep voice startles me, and I fumble the lighter, dropping it right into a small puddle of lake water.
Fuck! Just my luck! There’s no point in fishing it out. It’s fucked.
