"Come on, Quinn, we're gonna be late. I need your advice. I'm going for an 'I'm-totally-into-you-but-I'm-not-an-easy-slut' look," Lexi called through the door as I was getting dressed.
"You look hot in anything, Lex, relax," I tried to calm her nerves with positive affirmation.
"Can you come check me? Pleaaaaaase?" she begged.
"Yeah, okay. I'm almost done," I answered, tying up my dirty runners. Track pants, tank top, hoodie, and hair down with a beanie almost covering my eyes. Everyone, leave me alone. I'm not in the mood for fukbois. That's about as subtle as a flying brick, right?
Plodding out of my bedroom, I told Lexi she looked very chic. She looked me up and gave a bit of a frown, trying hard to hide her surprise at my dreary outfit.
"I'm going for the 'don't-effing-come-near-me-or-I'll-bite-your-balls-off' look," I said in the girliest voice I could manage. She sniggered and gave a nod, knowing full well I planned to keep sleazy guys, a.k.a. Mason, away from me tonight.
When we arrived at Jim's tavern, Lexi was a ball of nerves, going through a whole packet of gum before we even got let inside.
"Chill, Lex. What're you so nervous about?" I massaged her shoulders, willing her to relax.
"He said he's playing for me tonight," she covered her mouth like she'd spilled the ultimate secret.
"That's so romantic!"
"I know, right? I'm just really excited to see him after the show. Those lips, man, I've been staring at them all day wondering what they feel like," she drifted off into her imaginary makeout session with Zach, staring into space. I laughed and shook my head at her. Romantic little love bug she was.
To be honest, I was nervous too. Back home, my strict Christian parents would never have allowed me out past 6 p.m. or listen to anything other than old church hymns. Lexi had to explain to me what 'Footloose' was before I understood the joke she'd made, asking me if my real name was Ariel. I felt a little rebellious even setting foot in the tavern, but Lexi had been there for me all summer. I had to at least show the same courtesy of supporting her.
Once we were inside, I saw the band up on stage tuning their guitars and talking about the song list, I presumed. The bar ran along the left side of the room, and small round tables and chairs were scattered evenly in front of the stage. Very cozy.
Mostly younger people were hanging out, making conversation, while others were ordering multi-colored drinks at the bar. The barman was an older guy with a plump middle and smile lines around his eyes. I decided that sitting at the bar with jolly old barman was my safest bet.
"I'm gonna go sit over here, Lex," I pointed towards the stools lined up neatly. It was either the bar or directly in front of the band. The bar felt like the lesser of two evils.
"Okay, I'm going up front so I can perv on Zach," she said and practically ran to the table front and center.
I took my seat on a rickety old wooden bar stool and leaned against the counter for support. I quickly checked on Lexi in the front and shifted my gaze slightly upwards to the band. 'The Amity Project' was plastered all over the drum kit and the big banner behind them. Zach was tuning his guitar while the drummer stretched out his wrists and joints with a series of odd movements. I missed playing.
Before I could continue my train of thought, my breath caught in my throat as I laid my eyes on Mason. He was standing on stage in his ripped jeans and black tank top. His dark ruffled hair falling ever so slightly in his eyes as he stood looking down at his electric guitar, tuning each string. His thick muscles were covered in tattoos, tensing and relaxing with each movement he made. Seriously, who was that muscular at 22? Did he camp out at the gym and live off raw eggs or something?
"He's something, isn't he?" the old barman spoke quietly into my ear. I spun around, embarrassed that I had just been caught ogling the one guy I said I wanted to steer clear from tonight.
"Mason? Hmmph, he's a player," I spat out in disgust. The old man ran his hand through his silvery hair and bellowed a laugh that was hard not to laugh along with.
"What? It's true! You should see him at university. He's with a different girl every second. It's actually quite sickening," I pointed to my tongue as I pretended to gag. Even though I had only seen him with one girl, I already had his character pegged as a playboy.
"You're the first girl who hasn't been taken with him. You and that lady over there," he jutted his thumb across to the right at an older woman with short red hair.
"But she's not into men, if ya catch my drift," he winked, chuckling. I couldn't help but laugh.
"Are you calling me a lesbian?" I tried to say through the sniggers, attempting to keep my face straight.
"Haha, no no, dear, just unique," he smiled with a warmth that reminded me of Father Christmas.
"The name's Jim," he offered his hand for a shake. I took his giant hand and gave it two big shakes.
"Pleasure to meet you, Jim. I'm Quinn," he looked down at my gloves, I presumed, and back up at me.
"Is it that cold out?" he nodded to my hands. I didn't like to explain to anyone why I wore them or why I never wore short-sleeved shirts, so I just made up the first excuse that came to mind.
"They're comfy, what can I say," I gestured a shrug. Jim didn't even check my ID. He just filled up a glass with amber liquid that foamed at the top.
"Thanks, Jim, but I can't drink. I mean, I don't drink," I corrected myself, giving an apologetic smile. His face fell a little. My stomach turned, making me feel horrible for refusing to take the drink he had poured for free.
"But I'll take you up on the pub squash," I grinned, pointing to the keg behind him. His face lit up again, and he set off to fill another glass with the drink I requested. The fear of disappointing people was still a trait in me that was alive and well, unfortunately. When I disappointed someone, I felt like a failure, like the biggest piece of walking crap on this earth. I had to keep working hard, plan everything, know where I was going. Control, control, control.
"You know," Jim nudged me, "he's not as bad as you think once you get to know him." I gave him a reassuring nod. I highly doubted that. I sat with my glass in hand as the band struck their first chord. They started with 'Meddle About' by Chase Atlantic.
Meddle About by Chase Atlantic
I couldn't help but stare as Mason's voice resonated through the tavern, capturing everyone's attention. His voice, a mixture of smooth and rough, carried the perfect amount of passion, making the lyrics come alive.
"We only met each other just the other day, But you already got me feeling some type of way. Now, if I could figure it out I'd take you back to my house so we could meddle about," he sang, his gaze briefly meeting mine as he sung the words like a siren. My heart skipped a beat, my breath caught in my chest, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world faded away, leaving only the connection between us.
I shook myself out of the daze, berating myself for being so captivated by his performance.
'Get over yourself, Quinn. He's probably looking at Jim, not you. Stop being such a hormonal mess.' But deep down, I couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that his gaze had ignited within me.
Mason's fingers expertly danced along the strings of his Gibson guitar, his strong arms flexing as he strummed the powerful chords. The thought of being held in those arms, feeling the strength and warmth radiating from him, invaded my mind. I imagined him enveloping me in a tight embrace, his lips planting sweet kisses down my neck.
'Stop it, Quinn! Mason is trouble.'
As I watched him pour his heart and soul into his music, a side of him I hadn't seen before emerged. There was a sense of calmness in his expression, as if the worries and turmoil of the day had melted away. It was evident that music was his therapy, just as it was mine. Despite our shared love for this art form, I knew deep down that getting involved with him would be too risky.
I had a five-year plan, meticulously crafted to secure my future. Mason didn't fit anywhere in it. I had left behind everything back home for a fresh start, and that's exactly what I was determined to pursue. No distractions, no detours. My path was clear.
As the song came to an end and the applause filled the room, I took a deep breath, pushing aside the temptation that lingered within me. Mason may have stirred something inside me, but I had to remain focused on my goals. I couldn't afford to lose myself in a whirlwind romance, no matter how enticing it seemed.
With renewed determination, I raised my glass of pub squash, offering a silent toast to my future and the strength to resist the allure of the charismatic musician who had captured my attention. It was time to stick to the plan and stay on course, even if my heart longed for a different melody.