“I’m sorry about that,” Jax said with an apologetic smile on his lips.
“It’s okay. I…” I paused mid-sentence, unsure whether he needed to hear about my regular run-ins with the paparazzi and creepy fans of my ex.
The silence that swelled at the table felt heavy. Like my head.
Jax cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I’m not a stalker or anything, but I heard about you and Frankie Blade.”
My pulse jumped. “Oh.” I bit my bottom lip and continued to stare.
“It’s none of my business,” Jax said, then went on, “You don’t have to tell me anything or explain anything. I’m just really glad you texted.”
“It’s over,” I said quietly.
He tilted his head in question.
“Between me and him,” I explained. I had no idea why I was telling that to my tattoo artist. Except that I needed to vocalize it to someone other than my mirror reflection, to manifest my break-up as something real. Frank and I weren’t anything anymore. We parted ways over a month ago. Because I was suffocating him with my goodness, because he couldn’t keep his promises, because he was like everyone else—a rich ass who didn’t see how lucky he was, a selfish child who was wasting the second chance he’d been given.
“I like you, Cassy,” Jax said quietly. “I really do. You’re funny. You’re smart. You know what you want.”
“Except when I need a new tat.” I stifled a giggle.
“Well, for that, you have me.” He smirked.
“True. Sometimes I get tired of making all the major decisions.”
“I know you’re probably not in a good place right now, but I really want this to work.”
My throat was tight with sudden panic. I wanted it to work too. I’d never had a boyfriend before Frank. Men came and went. Kind of like tampons. Or seasons. Now that I’d gotten a taste of a real relationship, I wanted someone to cuddle with, someone as uncomplicated as Jax. Someone with a job, someone who liked rock music, and someone who wouldn’t scream, drunk-drool, and embarrass me in front of hundreds of people.
Was that too much to ask?
“Why don’t we pretend we just met,” I said, reaching for my glass to finish my drink.
“We can do that,” Jax agreed. “Whatever pace you want this to move at.”
“You’re very…” I stopped to look for the right word, but my brain was a spinning inferno. “…nice.”
His features remained calm, but his eyes changed. There was a shift in the air. I felt it with every numb cell in my body. I didn’t know what it was. Apprehension. Malevolence. My drunk mind couldn't process his signals correctly.
We talked some more and ordered dessert. Our conversation revolved around Jax’s work on the TV show and my larger than life documentary project that was failing miserably. We left late. I was inelegantly drunk and my mouth refused to stay shut. The streets were filled with people. Nightlife was at its peak. We drove along the busy stretch of Sunset Boulevard, top down and radio up.
“Thank you for tonight,” I said when the car came to a stop at a red light.
“Thank you for coming.” Jax turned his head to look at me. His face was a pleasant blur. I felt his palm slide over mine. He laced our fingers together ever so carefully. My body drew tight with awareness, but there were no sparks and electricity like with Frank, and I wondered if the fuck like a rock star expression implied that regular people didn’t click with each other the way rich, famous, and shamelessly hot did. Although I had to admit, Jax was insanely handsome. He’d caught my attention the moment I met him, but then again, we’d met before Frank came along.
A commercial replaced a Five Finger Death Punch song on the radio.
“Have you ever been to a car show?” Jax asked, his voice meshing with the hum of the traffic.
“A long time ago.”
“Would you like to go with me sometime next month?”
“It depends on when. If it’s after the screening, I’d love to,” I yelled over the noise that swirled in the intersection.
The first beats of the next song poured at us from the speakers. It took me a few moments to recognize the melody. My spine stiffened when Dante’s guitar pierced the air. I wanted to pull my hand out of Jax’s grip, but my body was so numb from all the drinks I’d had earlier at the restaurant that I just sat there like a statue, holding my breath, until the light turned green and the car moved.
The song was from the new album. Hearing Dante and Frank together felt strange. They didn’t even speak anymore, yet millions of people were probably eating, kissing, or making love to their music right now. It was a moody ballad. A little dark and dramatic, but with a touch of tender light. The notes filtered through me, healing and hurting. Eventually, the music and memories became too much.
“Do you like Slipknot?” I asked Jax after I lowered the volume. My voice and my hands shook.
We were on the freeway. The wind swept my hair against my cheeks and stung my bare shoulders.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He nodded and flashed me a grin.
I docked my phone and opened my heavy metal playlist. A wall of angry sounds hit us a moment later.
“You’re my kind of girl, Cassy.” Jax laughed.
I smiled and let the song carry me into dark bliss. The ragged rhythm of my shattered heart matched the drums, and the hum of my pulse followed the bass thrum. When all else failed, music always came to my rescue. Music was my one true love, my driving force, my best friend, my pillow to cry on, my punching bag. Unlike people, music was always there when I needed it most.
My
