K. Linde - Take Me for Granted

I wandered into the garage, and everyone seemed to have calmed down by the time regular band rehearsal was supposed to start. They were seated on the couches. McAvoy had his laptop open. He was the tech-savvy one of the bunch, and we generally just left him alone when he got in the zone. Miller looked up when I walked in, but Vin didn’t even spare me a glance. He must really be pissed.

I took a seat next to McAvoy. I decided to take a direct approach. “Sorry about last night.”

“What the fuck happened?” Vin asked. He looked like he’d doped up on steroids this morning, and he was even more of a loose cannon. “You just fucking left us out there. We had three more songs to go, and you ditched us! What the fucking fuck kind of band member ditches his band onstage with no motherfucking warning?”

“I know. I should have told you guys.”

“You fucking think? You humiliated us out there!”

“I didn’t humiliate you,” I argued. “We played the majority of our set. No one even knew the difference.”

“Hollis knew the difference,” Miller cut in. “He was pretty pissed.”

“Fuck Hollis,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’m so tired of these label people thinking they can mold us into these perfect shapes. They can’t define us by dangling a contract in front of our eyes.”

Vin cursed under his breath, but Miller was the one who spoke up, “Hollis isn’t trying to fit us into a certain mold. He’s been pretty lenient as far as I’m concerned, and I like him. Now, after that performance and your argument, we might not get signed.”

“Good. I don’t want to get signed,” I said without thinking.

The silence in the room was deafening. Even McAvoy stopped clicking away at his computer to look up at me. All of the guys stared at me with a range of shocked expressions. I’d never voiced that thought out loud to anyone before. I hadn’t even really thought about it much until recently. After the Frank Boseley incident, I’d been feeling more and more constrained by the pressure of fitting into a traditional record mold. Then, with the added fear of losing Ari, it had only amped up that feeling.

“You what?” Miller asked.

“I don’t want to get signed.”

“Since when?”

“This whole experience is ruining me for wanting to sign with anyone.”

“Is this about Ari?” Miller asked, just laying it out there.

“Oh, come on, man. Just forget that girl,” Vin complained.

“I’m not forgetting about her!” I yelled back at Vin. “Can we just drop the subject?”

“You just dropped a bomb on us, and you want to just walk away from that?” Miller asked in disbelief.

“Guys,” McAvoy said, speaking up, “you might want to shut the fuck up and look at this.”

“At what?” I asked. I leaned over his computer and tried to make out what I was looking at. It just looked like a spreadsheet with random words and numbers on it.

“Well, we sold about ten-thousand more copies of our ‘Life Raft’ demo than we’ve sold of every other song combined.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since…today,” McAvoy said.

I looked at him, stunned. “How is that possible?”

“I can only assume it’s because of the show last night.”

My mind ran away with me. Ten-thousand more copies. Of course it had to be that fucking song. It had to be that one. I didn’t ever want to sing that song again at this point, but it was the one that over ten-thousand people had purchased within twenty-four hours. Fuck!

Aaron finally coaxed me out of bed a couple of days later. He insisted I come out with him. The last thing I wanted to do was party.

I’d been sulking around the house exactly like the lovesick puppy I was. My mother had seemed concerned and tried to get me to see a doctor, but I wasn’t sick. I’d just shooed her away and closed the door. She’d never seen behavior like this from me before, so she was rightfully worried. There wasn’t much she could do at this point though.

Even if I didn’t want to go out with Aaron, I was kind of ready to get out of the house. Sitting around in my room all day meant that I thought about Grant all day. I figured it might be good to get him off my mind.

Around ten o’clock, we arrived at Le Petit Parlor, a ritzy French bar that catered to an elite crowd. I’d been here a couple of times before but mostly with high school friends, who I preferred not to see tonight. The room was extremely dark with red velvet booths that were dimly lit and a small dance floor in an adjoining room. Unlike the Princeton crowd I was used to, the people here were drinking scotch rather than beer and Grey Goose or champagne rather than hunch punch. I’d dressed the part in a fitted knee-length dress, matching my eyes, and pumps.

Aaron didn’t hesitate when we entered, and he walked us right over to a booth where six of his friends sat around a bottle of scotch. He wrapped an arm around a girl sitting with them. She was clearly not Sarah, the girlfriend he’d brought with him to the Christmas party. I frowned, unsure what to make of that.

The guys were all smoking cigars, and my nose crinkled at the smell. Aaron made no introductions as I’d known everyone, aside from the girl, since grade school.

“I’m going to get a drink,” I said after a minute.

They already had scotch, but I wasn’t going to drink that. I wouldn’t get carded here anyway.

“All right,” Aaron said with a nod.

I made my way to the bar. The bartender smiled at me and passed over a flute of champagne without me asking for it. I had wanted something stronger, but this would do. Maybe if I had four or five more, they would numb the pain or something. I handed him my credit card and told him to leave it open.

“Let me get that,” someone said, coming up next to me.

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” I turned toward the person who was trying to buy my drink and froze.

Henry smiled at my stunned look and switched out our cards with the bartender. “Good to see you again, Aribel.”

“I thought you were in Paris, not just a French-themed bar.”

He chuckled. “I was, but I came back on New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh, right,” I said, snippets of our conversation coming back to me.

“How have you been?”

He gestured for me to walk with him, and I complied.

“Fine.” Hardly, but he didn’t need to know that. “How was Paris?”

“Enchanting. Have you been?”

“Mmm…yes. Lots of museums.”

I noticed he was walking me away from where Aaron was seated, but at this point, it didn’t really matter. Henry was handsome and intelligent, and he’d just bought me a drink. I wasn’t going to think about anything else right now.

“Ah, you’ve only seen a tourist’s view. I can show you a side of Paris the tourists never see,” he said with a charming smile.

We took a seat at a small empty booth in the back of the room. He started chatting some more about his Paris trip just as a waiter came to our table. To my surprise, he dropped off a bottle of champagne. I hadn’t even realized that Henry had ordered the bottle.

Our conversation moved from Paris to his time at Harvard to the work that he did for my father. I drank one glass after another, finding myself enjoying the conversation more and more, as the night went on. My head felt as light as the bubbles. The room was suddenly so loud that I had to lean in to listen to him talk.

And God, he had a nice mouth with perfectly straight white teeth and full lips. I bet he was a great kisser. Something was nagging at me, telling me that I shouldn’t even be thinking about that, but I pushed that thought away. I’d been so sad for so long, and I just wanted to be…carefree. Not a word I’d ever use to describe myself, but I could be that tonight, right?

Henry made some joke that I honestly didn’t even follow, but I giggled anyway, and he only smiled wider. I glanced up into his blue eyes and saw something that should have made me back off, but I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe…predatory. But that was ridiculous! This was Le Petit Parlor, not some backroom at The League. Plus, I hadn’t had that much to drink anyway.

A waiter came by and took the bottle of champagne.

I started to protest, but Henry put his hand out to stop me. “Would you like another?”

“We weren’t finished with the first one.”

He smiled at me, and his hand landed on my knee. “We could get another, or we could have the bottle I have chilling at my place. It’s not too far from here.”

“I mean…I’d have to let my brother know.” I knew I sounded like a kid, but I had driven out here with him.

Henry chuckled. “He already knows. It’ll be fine.”

“All right,” I said softly.

I stood to leave, but he pulled me back down toward him. I was nearly sitting on top of him at this point, and good Lord, did he smell good. He was wearing some really, really fancy cologne. He’d probably picked it up in Paris. It was intoxicating, and I was already drunk.

One hand held my leg tightly in his grasp while the other moved my chin up until I was looking at him. There was that look again, but I had no time to think about it as he dropped his lips down on mine.

He was kissing me.

No, I was kissing him back.

No, I wouldn’t do that.

But he tasted so good, and he really was as good of a kisser as I’d thought he’d be. My head swam with the energy of it all.

Yet, something wasn’t right. It wasn’t Henry I wanted to be kissing. It was hot. He was hot. But it just didn’t feel right. Kisses were supposed to feel like a burst of electricity mixed with fireworks and crackling infernos coursing through my system. The intensity and passion was supposed to radiate from me until I couldn’t breathe or think about anything but that moment.