Maybe (5 page)

I’m not that ballsy, but I like that he thinks I am.

He’s a dick.

I stare into my mailbox in utter disbelief. There, wrapped in a red ribbon, is a set of earplugs.

First, he opened my mailbox, which I’m sure is a Federal offense. Second, he’s an asshole to think that I’d put in some plugs so he doesn’t have to stop his nightly concerts. It’s common decency to let other people who are paying for a place to sleep
get some damned sleep
. Not that I was paying, but the magazine was. If I want to be able to do my job, then I’m not going to let someone else’s nocturnal habits screw up my chances of moving up in the company.

I’m debating whether to have a confrontation with him, but I think better of it. If he’s looking for a war, he just started one.

Laura has a smirk on her face when she sticks her head into my office. “Your interview is here,” she fake-whispers, raising an eyebrow.

“Tell Mr. Macy I’ll meet him in the conference room shortly.”

“Oh God, you’re so proper today, Ms. Portman.”

I wait ten more minutes just because I can, and when I’m sure he’s had enough, I get up and take the small bag that I shoved under my desk with me into the room. Tyler is sitting with his legs spread wide, arms folded, and two fingers twirling the ever-present lollipop. I’m unnerved at the sight of him in a light blue button-up and dark jeans. He’s always so casual. I feel bad now that I see he dressed up a little.

And then he speaks. “Finally.”

My purpose is back, and I give a fake smile. “I apologize. I had a call to take.”

His eyes are trained on my shirt, and I’m about to tell him to stop staring at my tits when he clears his throat. “I didn’t peg you for a Coldplay fan.”

Oh. The shirt. “It’s one of those things. The magazine gets band tees, and they hand them out, depending on your size.” I take my seat and lay my notepad down next to me, taking my pen out and giving it a couple of clicks. “Do you prefer Tyler or Macy?”

His eyes narrow, and he shifts in the seat. “Macy.”

“Any reason?”

“Not that I want to give you.”

“Fair enough. Macy it is, then. Okay. I’m here to get to know you as an artist, so tell me what your motivation is. What makes you tick. Gets you off.”

He chokes a bit and pulls the sucker from his mouth while blinking a couple of times. “All right.”

“First question—when did you stop smoking?”

There’s a long moment of silence before he leans back and drums his fingers on the lacquered table top. “What gives you the impression that I smoked?”

“The suckers. My dad chewed gum. I know a smoker with a new habit on his hands. You fidget, too.” I lift my hand and hover above my crown. “The hair thing.”

He’s staring at me like I might be full of shit, but I’m right and he knows it. “I quit a few months ago. It was an unhealthy coping mechanism that I’ve replaced with Blow Pops, which keep my hands busy and satisfy my cravings.”

“That sounds like you heard it from a therapist, but I’ll take it. Would it be too personal to ask what you were coping with?”

“Do you need to know that for your article? Or are you nosy?”

“It’s my job to be nosy. Want to talk about your family instead? Where you grew up and what age you lost your virginity? Because we could always go that direction.”

He leans back and sighs, leveling his eyes at me. Again, there’s a feeling in my chest that makes me want to take a deep breath, but I exhale slowly through my nose instead. “I went through a bad breakup, just like every other guy on the planet.”

“I get that.”

“It’s not a big deal anymore. Addie, um, Adelaide wanted . . . something else. I wanted this.”

“Addie.”

“Can we not talk about it?”

“I don’t know. Is she who you wrote all those songs about? Shawn gave me the CD, and those are some pretty heavy lyrics.”

His cheeks redden all the way down to his jaw, and he stares at the table while his fingers tap another beat. “How do you know I write the songs?”

I tell him about Shawn’s interview, and he groans before straightening up in the chair. “I’m not a control freak or anything, okay? I just don’t sleep. So I have all these words and notes running through my head all the time, and I put them down on paper to get them out so I can have a little bit of peace every once in a while. It’s nonstop.”

I wait because I know there’s more. There always is.

“I had a hard time being the lead singer, but if Addie was there I could focus on her, and I would be fine. When we split, I didn’t have that anymore. Since Shawn can really sing the hell out of our music, I took a backseat. I prefer it.” He laughs, but it’s not from anything funny. “I have no idea why I told you all that.”

“I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” My smile is meant to be encouraging. “You don’t want to be in the spotlight because you have stage fright. You’re working the reluctant rocker angle, huh?”

He snorts, and his posture relaxes again. “Whatever you want to call it.”

“You know, having a song written about you is incredibly flattering for a girl. If you stop writing about her, you just may take away the power that she still has in the ‘relationship,’ as it were.”

“And who should I write about instead? You?” His eyes smolder, and he leans forward. “Do you want to be my muse, Emily Portman?”

“Macy, I am nobody’s damn muse. I’ve never had a song written about me in my life, so good luck finding anything worth getting lyrical over.” I flick my hand at him in dismissal. “I’m just offering my opinion. Breakups can suck if you hold on, but moving past it can be incredibly liberating.”

He lowers his voice. “Speaking from experience?”

“Are you asking for my story now? I’m not shy. I had a Tim in New York. Things changed, and he couldn’t roll with the punches. I have no regrets because I finished school and landed this sweet gig with the magazine. I travel and hear amazing bands. I get to know people before fame settles in and they become big, fat, money-hungry cocksuckers. And I don’t stay in the same place for too long, so I never get bored. It’s the best job I could have asked for.”

“I bet the musicians you’ve shadowed have loved hooking up with you.” His face is dead serious.

“Wouldn’t know. I don’t date them.”

He swallows quickly and looks away before sitting up straighter. “I need to get back to the building and finish up some work.”

I agree and lead him out of the room. “Oh, before I forget—here are the clothes I borrowed on Wednesday.”

“It’s pretty heavy for clothes.” Reaching in to the bag, he looks at me without amusement. “You actually went out and bought me a drum pad?”

I fold my arms in sweet victory. “I thought maybe you could practice on that instead.”

“Fat chance, Portman. Use your earplugs.”

“How the hell am I supposed to hear my alarm clock, you ass?” I clap my hand over my mouth and try not to laugh. “Sorry I called you an ass at work.”

He pulls one side of his mouth up into a grin and leans forward. “I could always wake you up in the mornings.”

Slapping his arm, I push by him to open the front door.

“You’re making a bigger deal out of this than you should, you know. It’s not like I knew who you were before you showed up. I don’t get that kind of info from the landlord. They don’t tell me what the tenants’ jobs are.”

I frown, but I don’t mean it.

He laughs and holds up his empty hand. “It’s not my fault you chose my band.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have such a filthy name. I probably wouldn’t have picked you otherwise.”

His smile is sly, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Most people don’t get it.”

“Well, I have use of the Internet. Crazy, I know.”

“If it’s any consolation, we were going to name the band after my ex, but See You Next Tuesday was already taken.”

The laugh that escapes me is too loud and too real. “Shut up and get out of here, Mace.”

“Shawn told me to let you know that we’re headed out to the Mooseknuckle tonight for drinks. You can come, if you want. We’ll be there around nine.”

I tell him I’ll see him there and turn to go back inside.

Chapter Eight

From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

She’s frustrating me, but not in the way I’ve been used to. Most girls around here are easy to impress. They’re ready and willing after a show.

She doesn’t want to have anything to do with anyone like me.

And maybe it’s a challenge.

Maybe I like that she doesn’t want me.

It’s not like it will keep me up at night. I have enough bad memories to do that.

—M

Chapter Nine

This bar is crowded, but so is every other place around here. I’m starting to get used to it. My saving grace is that I can see the top of Hollis’ hair glowing orange under the lights. I make a beeline straight toward the table where she’s banging her hand and yelling, “Shots!”

The boys are around the table, laughing at her and doing shots. Tyler winces when he bites into a lime. Jonathan holds another between his teeth, leaning in to kiss his wife. When he comes back up, it’s gone, and Hollis pulls it from her mouth with a high-pitched laugh. Carrie is staring at them like she is daydreaming about setting them on fire. Shawn is nowhere near her, his back turned like she’s not even there.

“Hey.” I wave to the group, and they welcome me in turn. Tyler is setting up another shot and licking his hand for the salt. I’m staring, but I can’t help it. His tongue is really, really red. I know he notices because he looks up at me while he’s bent over to pour the salt, and his eyes angle to stare directly into mine.

“Want some?”

“What?” I have to blink because I’m pretty sure he licked his lips when he said that. I could be mistaken. There’s salt involved, after all.

Hollis leans in. “Do you want some?”

The bass in the bar is loud, but I swear I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“Tequila. Do you want some tequila?” She passes over a full shot, and I wish I could, but I’m not supposed to.

“Can’t. I’m on the clock.”

Jonathan laughs way too loud. “This isn’t a business meeting. You’re not on the clock, trust me.”

I haven’t had a proper dinner, but the thought of loosening up a little overrides my good judgment. I reach for the glass. Tyler slides the salt my way and follows behind with a lime between his fingers. “Lick, swallow, suck. Don’t do it wrong, if you’re used to doing it in a different order.”

“You’re an ass. I’m allowed to say that because I’m off the clock.” Salt and liquor burns the entire way down my throat, and I can pinpoint when it hits my empty stomach. I don’t have enough time to worry about it before I bite into the lime and throw it onto the table with a flourish, holding both hands up like ‘what now?’

The guys are watching with amused looks on their faces. Carrie still hasn’t spoken, but she doesn’t need to since I can read her like a book. Shawn leans over the table and raises his hand at a passing waitress. “She’s gonna need three more.”

It’s a bad idea, it really is, but I’m too far gone. By the time my conscience starts to whisper below the heavy beat and loud riffs, I’m sitting on the stool with my eyes closed and swaying.