Don't Give Up On Me

1

I am a hopeless romantic.
I always have been. I always looked at my parents relationship in loathe as I always hoped to find a woman who loved me as much mum adored dad.
I would sit up at night as an eighteen year old lad, writing poetry about Scarlett lips and hushed whispers of "I love you." Despite most of my mates being laid those nights I stayed in, only for the pleasure of it.
As a hopeless romantic however I always got burnt. I seem to see the best in people which leads me to take a chance on pretty much anyone.

I always tended to date insecure girls because I wanted to show someone love. I wanted to take a fragile person and show them that it is possible for them to be loved. It of course only resulted in heartache.

Then, I stalked attractive, confident women who often starred in films or photoshoots. I did this for a while.
I dated various women who often wore thongs under their skinny jeans and who weren't afraid to walk up to someone and ask for their number.
I would, again of course, get burnt.

I stayed single for two solid years. I had my band The Script which were only getting bigger and bigger. I am selling out gigs around the globe with my two best mates.
Life is great.
I should let go of this fantasy of "true love". I should be out there living my dream on stage without searching the crowds for a potential girlfriend.

But, when one of your bandmates are happily married with kids and the other has a teenage son and a new relationship; it's hard not to dream about it.

I was miserable with the thought of being alone. That was until I went to the red carpet event. Me and the boys went there for a nomination as 'Best International Band'. Okay, we didn't get the award but I did find something better.

A ebony haired young women in a crimson dress was lined up with me to read out a nomination.
Back stage before going on, I approached her.
She had bold caramel eyes, an instant grin and she was Australian.
She looked me in the eyes and told me she was an Author. Impressed, I then asked her what type of books she wrote. She told me horror.
Horror?!
I expected the beautiful, innocent looking girl to write about love and dreams but no, it was all about zombies apocalypses and haunted houses.
Desperate to swoon her over I rambled on about our band. She didn't seem as in awe as other girls I spoke to were.
Most girls would be eager: "Oh my god, your a lead singer of a real band?! That's so hot."
She had a different reply however.
"I don't really listen to many bands to be honest. I mostly listen to classical."
"Oh," I nodded idiotically.
I knew fuck all about classical music, not that I didn't enjoy it, I was just always into RnB, Rock, soul.
I quickly changed the subject by putting on the charm. It always works.
"Can I just say how gorgeous you look tonight."
Her lips folded to a frown.
"I can tell you're the type of bloke to do this a lot."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, you see a pretty girl and you chat up. Then you go on tour, doing whatever with your band and she's left at home waiting for a text. It just isn't a big deal for you."
I was stunned, admittedly hurt by her words. I felt fire bubble up within my belly.
"I'm not like that at all. You don't know me, you don't know."
Her disbelieved expression caused my face to fluster bright red.

We went out on stage and still as I stood by her, I felt angry. I felt like smacking her over the head with the golden award. I felt like tripping her up when she turned to walk off.
I didn't though.

After we went off stage however I felt her dainty fingers jab me in the shoulder.
"You're right. I don't know you, that was wrong of me to say."
I looked at her and nodded.
"It's fine but really, I'm not like that. At all."
She turned to leave but I leaped in front of her.
"Wait," I laughed. "I don't know you're name."
"It's Alexa."
"I'm Danny." I went to extend a hand for her to take but she walked past me.
"I know." She grinned, knowingly as she disappeared out of slight.

I was trying to forget her. She was quite rude but I loved how open she was. She literally just spoke her mind. So I had my agent contact her to give out my number. It wasn't only to date her or to prove I wasn't a douchebag but I just wanted to know her. I wanted to know how she thought, what made her happy, what made her emotional.
I waited but I never got a reply.

After giving up on searching for her I had found her again, exactly three months later in early September.
She was sat at a far away table in my local pub, in Dublin. She was writing in a notepad. Her hair was wavy and falling elegantly into her olive face. She tucked the runaway strands behind her ear. Her eyebrows were furrowing down at the empty page as she cleared her throat and tried jotting something down. She then changed her mind and sat back up the pen places against her lips.
I approached her.
She was definitely my type of woman. She writes the old fashioned way with paper and pen as I do. She also had a can of Guinness perched beside her on the table.
"Alexa. Hey." I sat in front of her.
Suddenly nerves seeped through me and I gulped loudly.
She was still staring down at her now scribbled notepad.
"It's, uhm...Danny." Shuffling back in my chair, I looked away slightly. "You know, Danny from, we met in-"
"I know." She smiled but her face was strained, her eyes looking distractingly into mine.
I felt my heart shatter.
Am I only annoying her?
I looked back up at her to see her fiddling with her pen against.
"So how are you?" She suddenly asked just as I was about to consider moving.
"Oh, uhm, good. I'm good." I muttered helplessly. "And...you?"
She laughed, seemingly finding my awkwardness funny.
"Great. My writing is just...its pissing me off."
I nodded.
"I know the feeling."
The silence drew in and I then plucked up the courage.
"Can I give you my number?"
"Yeah."
My heart fluttered majestically at her immediate reply.
I grinned goofily to myself as I reached in my jeans pocket to take out my phone.