Cross Me Off Your List (18 page)

Noah drags himself over to the table where
Alessandra waits. The least he could do is force a smile. There are
still cameras in here – too many for comfort, actually.

“So, Nat didn’t want to come tonight?” I ask,
completely inappropriately.

Benji shoots me this strange look like I
shouldn’t even be asking him that.

“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging it off.
“He’s like the only member of our entourage. He just does whatever.
I don’t keep up with where he goes or what he does.”

“I just thought maybe–”

He cuts me off. “Look. I get it. Nat has a
thing for me. He doesn’t hide it. He tells me to my face what he
wants to do with me. It’s not a secret,” he says.

He doesn’t seem mad, and he’s not really
being rude, but I feel like maybe he’s had this conversation more
times than he’d like. I shouldn’t have opened up this can of
worms.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s none of my
business.”

Benji shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he
says. “Nat’s actually an okay guy, when he’s chill and not being a
diva. Because he’s Noah’s brother, he doesn’t have a lot of real
friends. People use him to get close to his brother. And when the
guys are out with their girlfriends, I hang out with Tank and
sometimes Nat. It’s better than being alone all the time.”

Should I feel guilty for thinking that Nat
and Benji are sort of cute together? I honestly don’t even know if
Benji likes girls or guys or both, but Nat’s admiration and lack of
hiding it makes it hard not to wonder if there are Winterini
shippers out there.

Benji gives me a super fast history lesson on
Sebastian’s Shadow, and I’m sure I won’t remember it in half an
hour. Derrick Harper is their super serious lead singer. He writes
ninety percent of the lyrics and is one of the best front men
you’ll ever find in a band. Benji hints that SAS could take some
notes from him on engaging the audience in ways other than
screaming like wild cats.

Jeremy Meeks, bassist, tends to fall under
the radar. He’s married with a toddler at home, so if he isn’t on
stage, he’s with his family. Benji hasn’t even met him before.

“The shorter kid in the black skinny jeans
with the emo hair and eyeliner – he’s the drummer. Pip Dawson.
Pretty popular with their fanbase,” Benji says.

I can see why. He’s absolutely adorable. He’s
the kind of guy that girls who are “too cool” for SAS tend to like.
If you Googled ‘scene kid’ or ‘emo boy,’ he’s most likely the first
picture that would pop up.

“He has the personality too, though,” Benji
adds. “He’s pretty vocal online, is always in the band’s YouTube
videos, you know, the whole works. And he feeds off of Nolan
perfectly.”

Nolan Broussard, rhythm guitarist and
screamer of the band, stands next to Chloe across the room.
Actually, he sort of bounces, like he’s had a few too many drinks
from Starbucks. Even without the bouncing, you’d still notice him.
He has a wrap-around smile and turquoise hair – like bright
mermaid-fin kind of turquoise. The color may not even be the worst
part. It’s the hairstyle that’s reminiscent of a cockatiel that
bothers me more. Why couldn’t Nat tag along? I need that ‘gay best
friend’ cliché standing next to me, not Benji Baccarini.

“Nolan is what holds this band together,”
Benji informs me. “The fans love him. Other bands love him.
Everyone just loves this guy. He’s goofy, a lot like Tate, and he
makes all of their videos hilarious.”

“So he’s the one guy they can’t afford to
lose,” I state. “He makes the band?”

Benji quickly shakes his head. “Anyone is
replaceable in the world of music,” he says. “But it does kill the
dynamic and things are never the same. Trust me, though. We’re all
expendable as far as the industry goes. We’re reminded
frequently.”

Seriously? Management tells them that they’re
replaceable? Sure, there are tons of other people out there who
would work equally as hard as these guys, and yeah, there are
people with huge dreams who’d love to be as famous as Benji, but it
sucks to actually be told that someone else could be
you
.

“And last but not least, unless you’re Milo
Grayson, is Isaac Torrey – guitar mastermind, secret producer, and
musical genius,” Benji says.

Secret producer? I wonder if a particular
Branson sister maybe slipped that secret to Benji.

“So do you plan on recording with him or
something?” I ask. “Is there a solo record in your future?”

Benji scrunches his nose but shakes his head,
although I’m not sure I believe him. “Just nice to know people in
the business who are there for the love of music and not the
industry and all its red tape,” he says. “C’mon. I’m going to
introduce you and make good impressions and all that stuff I have
to do.”

We walk across to where the band is mingling
with fans, signing CD covers, and taking pictures. Chloe is lost in
conversation with Nolan when we approach.

“Dude, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,”
Nolan says, leaning across the table to give Benji one of those
secret guy handshakes that just looks stupid in reality.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Benji says. “She’s
here with Noah.”

“Ahhh. No wonder you brought her over,” Nolan
says, slowly nodding the entire time like I’m not in on the
secret.

“Marisol,” I say, reaching over to shake his
hand.

“Nolan,” he says. “Your boyfriend Noah
doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m trying to steal his bestie from
him.”

He immediately wraps Chloe up in a bear hug
and squeezes her. I wasn’t aware that she and Noah were that close.
He said they became friends during lockdown, but besties may be a
bit of a stretch.

Isaac glances over and cracks a smile, but
then he tells Nolan to chill out because anything he does will be
blown out of proportion. It makes me wonder if that’s why Isaac is
standing a few feet away from Chloe, so the photographers can’t
snap something and twist it.

Benji quickly introduces me to Isaac before
moving along to tell Derrick that the lyrics on track number eight
are absolutely brilliant.

I stand around awkwardly while Benji finally
meets the bassist, but it’s over pretty quickly and we sit at a
table with Jules and Sebastian’s Shadow’s drummer Pip.

“Enjoying your night?” Benji asks, but his
question is aimed at Jules rather than anyone else.

To my surprise, Jules nods and says that’s it
has been great to hang out with another band. Part of me thinks
he’s saying it because he’s chilling with their drummer, but this
sparkle in his eyes tells me otherwise.

“Aralie’s getting to hang out with Tate,
which is rare for her because of how clingy Darby is,” Jules says.
“Milo has someone to sulk with, and I get to hang with Chloe and
her favorite band, so I’m not going to complain about the date
swap.”

Benji hangs around a little long, but I make
my way back over to the table where Noah waits with the model. Even
after I sit next to him, I find my eyes wandering back to
Sebastian’s Shadow and how the smile on Chloe’s face seems much
more genuine tonight than it was when we were at Lights Out trying
to score Benji a spot in the VIP section.

Noah gives me a half-smile when I look back
at him. “How’s the rock band?” he asks.

I shrug. “They seem excited about their new
album,” I reply. “Benji thinks the lyrics of track number eight are
genius, and the blue-haired guitarist said you hate him, but other
than that, it was pretty calm and boring.”

Noah smirks. “I hate him, eh? Yeah,
whatever,” he says.

I laugh at his reaction. “That’s about what I
figured,” I say. “I should’ve known he was just making up things
when he said Chloe was your best friend.”

“Well, she is one of them,” Noah says, taking
me by surprise.

He realizes it too by the jaw that I just
dropped on the floor.

“I spent most of lockdown hanging out with
her,” he says. “I was the only one who knew about her and Milo.
Tate knew about Aralie and Jules. Benji was the only one who wasn’t
in on a secret.”

No wonder he’s probably planning a secret
solo career with Isaac as his wingman. His own band keeps him out
of the loop.

“Why would Jules tell Tate and not Benji? And
why the hell is Tate Milo’s bromance and you’re not?” I ask,
realizing how little I know about Spaceships Around Saturn.

Noah holds up his hand. “Whoa. Slow down,” he
says. “You’ve only been around for a week. You still have a lot to
learn, in time. It’s okay.”

I lean back in my chair, exhale a sigh, and
fold my arms. Why does this feel like the first night all over
again? I still know nothing about this band.

“Let’s walk outside,” Noah says, standing and
pushing his chair under the table. He holds out a hand, so I’d look
like a bitch if I didn’t accept.

He tells Tank that we’re stepping outside for
some fresh air and asks him to keep Big Tony occupied so we can
have a private conversation.

We step down the hallway and walk out onto a
balcony with small tables and metal chairs like a coffee shop
patio. Noah motions for me to sit, and I do it, somewhat
reluctantly.

He sits across from me. “You want a Saturn
lesson, then here you go,” he says. “We didn’t choose our
bromances. The fans did. They chose them based off of our first set
of promotional photos. Milo is my best friend in the group. If
anyone is left out, it’s Tate, but he’s like everyone’s kid
brother, so it works just fine.”

I feel the need to withdraw from this
conversation. I’m not some clingy, psychotic girl who has to know
every detail of a guy’s life. Yes, I feel completely out of
alignment with this Saturn ordeal, but it’s his life, and it’s not
my place to ask for all the details of every moment.

“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him.
“Really. I just felt sort of on the outside, and it freaks me out
when I’m in public and don’t know what to say. I’d be so
embarrassed if the media found out that I didn’t even know who you
were until a week ago.”

“It’s okay,” Noah says, reaching across the
table for my hand. “That’s why we’re crash coursing. I want you to
know the basics that any Saturnite would know.”

So he takes me back to the beginning, back to
when he auditioned on a Canadian show equivalent to X-Factor or
American Idol. He met Tate while standing in line. Noah advanced to
the next round; Tate didn’t. Once Noah was eliminated, he checked
in with his new friend, and they decided to audition again –
together, as a group.

“It worked for One Direction, so why not?
Maybe it was crazy, but we manufactured a group ourselves,” he
says.

He explains that Tate knew Benji as a local
coffee shop musician who was waiting tables and doing open mic
nights, hoping to catch a break. Through Benji, they met Milo, a
barista at the coffee shop where Benji performed on weekends.

“Benji and Milo had actually talked music a
lot, written a few things together, so they were a good fit,” Noah
says. “Milo knew Jules. They met at a tattoo parlor.”

Milo was in for his first tat, a string of
music notes that are now wrapped from his forearm to his bicep.
Jules was adding to the barbed wire fence tatted around his bicep.
Jules told Milo there was nothing to the inking process, and they
talked about music while Milo lost his tattoo-virginity.

“So when we needed a final guy to balance us
out, Milo mentioned Jules, even though he doesn’t have the
strongest voice,” Noah says, shrugging. “That’s where we screwed
up, I guess. We should’ve been a four-piece.”

“That’s harsh,” I say. I actually feel for
Jules. He just wanted to make music and chase a dream like the rest
of them.

Noah sighs and looks out across the city
lights and the dark sky. “I know. It’s pretty bad to say,” he
admits. “It’s just how I feel. I wish I didn’t. I wish we had that
perfect harmony and all got along, but it’s not always
perfect.”

“How did you guys come up with the band’s
name?” I ask, hoping to redirect the conversation.

Noah laughs. “That was all me, honestly,” he
says. “When we auditioned as a group, we didn’t have a name, and
they advised us to get one before the next meeting. I was so happy
we got through, I was being stupid and said this was more exciting
than flying spaceships around Saturn. Then we decided that’s what
we’d be – Spaceships Around Saturn.”

That’s when he admits that SAS had the same
fate as practically every other group to ever compete in a music
competition. They came in third. Luckily, a girl who knew people at
a record label watched their journey and suggested them when the
label needed new acts. I personally think this girl deserves a cut
of the royalties. Noah can’t remember her name, though. He swears
it’s Nadine or Nadia or something like that.

“I have better stories,” he says. “But I’ll
save those for later. I figure Big Tony will be out here in a few
minutes, so we better get back. Tank can only keep him busy for so
long.”

I stand and push my metal chair under the
table. Noah wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to
him as we head back inside.

“There is one thing you know that the
Saturnites don’t,” he says. I don’t have to ask. He reads my face.
“You know what the rest of my mermaid tattoo looks like.”

Having someone bang on your hotel room door
when you were out way too late the night before is not the way to
begin your Friday morning of your spring break week. The door is
bolted, and the ‘do not disturb’ sign is out, so whatever crawled
into that maid’s panties needs to let it be. She can beat the door
down for all I care. I’m sleeping in.

I turn over and bury my face into my pillow.
Please, shut the hell up and stop banging on my freaking
door.
I came back to room 322 last night so I could sleep as
long as I wanted. I adore Noah, but I needed some Marisol time
after that release party. I don’t know why the Crescent Inn staff
wants to crash my solo party.