Thomas & January (Sleepless 2)

I smiled at him. “I don’t drink. Still underage.” I held up my black x-ed hands in proof. “I’m in line for water. Boring, I know.”

This usually worked, but not with this guy.

“That’s cool. What are you doing out here tonight?”

“Oh, I’m here for The Belle Jar. I helped them clean up a few songs for tonight’s show. There’s a Seven scout in the audience for Circumvent tonight and I want them at their best. They’re brilliant.”

“Very cool. So, you’re a musician?” he asked as we inched closer to the bar. It was still ten feet away.

“Yeah, a pianist.” I turned my head away and fought a private grin.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, confused.

“Oh, nothing. I-well,” I said, facing him, “it’s just, I threw away a full scholarship to Berkeley for music to stay in town and help other musicians become successful. It just dawned on me how ironic that was. I find that hilarious.”

“That is...funny,” he said, not finding it funny in the least.

“I know it’s not funny, ha-ha, it’s funny, ridiculous.”

“Ah, I see.” He looked around a bit, decided he was bored enough to continue the conversation and asked, “So do you like Circumvent?”

“Yeah, I mean, I wouldn’t dare step on an Austin staple like Circumvent’s toes but, yeah, they’re okay.”

“No, really, tell me. I don’t know about them. First time seeing them, actually. Enlighten me.”

I bit my bottom lip, contemplating ragging on this band that was merely okay. “You tell anyone I thought this, I’d have to kill you, capiche?”

“Lips are sealed,” he said, leaning closer.

“Circumvent,” I began, “have an incredible base which is fairly impressive, but I believe that’s because of longevity mostly. Their talent is mediocre, their songs catchy but a bit too commercial, and their stage presence lacks. They’re just, ‘meh.’ They lack the talent to really push themselves over the edge, to put them in a position to gain a national following.” As I spoke, the guy was leaning closer and closer to me. He looked at me like he’d just noticed me. “What?” I asked.

“What are you doing for a living right now....?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I’m January.”

“I’m Jason,” the guy said, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Jason,” I said, taking his hand before dropping it. “I’m, uh, currently unemployed,” I said, laughing.

“Cool, cool. Don’t go anywhere after the show, okay?”

“Uh, okay,” I said, eyeing him strangely.

“I’m not a freak. I promise,” he said. “Just hang around in the crowd after the show. I’ll find you.”

“Why?” I asked him as he stalked off outside, forgetting why he was standing in line.

“Trust me. It’ll be worth sticking around for.”

This equally intrigued me as well as frightened me but not enough that I wouldn’t find out what it was all about.

After I got my water, I headed back up front and squeezed my way through the crowd back to Sunny’s side, but she was nowhere to be seen so I stood lamely by myself. I didn’t care that much actually because I wanted a good “seat” for The Belle Jar. I wanted to be near the stage because there was a chance I needed to help cue Will on bass as he kept missing his new entrance on their third song.

Pampered Life shot out like a rocket from the beginning and blanketed the crowd around me, making everyone stunned by the power of it. It wasn’t long before everyone realized that The Belle Jar was a force to be reckoned with. I was so proud of them, riding high on their talent right along with them.

Seemingly out of nowhere, my breath was wrestled out of my chest when I saw him inch closer to the stage, a quiet towering figure, eyes intent on the stage. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Breathe, January. Breathe. He watched The Belle Jar with rapt attention. As I looked on him, my feet pushed themselves closer on their own accord. I was being pulled toward him by an unseen force. I found my feet planted right next to him but couldn’t bring myself to look up at him. He was too magnificent to behold, really. He smelled so delicious I could have eaten him with a spoon. He was all man, no boy in him at all. I peeked briefly at his hands and guessed he probably played the bass judging by the size and location of the calluses.

I wanted to take his hands in mine and study them for hours, rub my thumbs over the worn bits of skin and warm them with my touch. The attraction I felt for him was heady and nothing like I’d ever felt for anyone before. My eyes followed his heavily clad feet, up his worn jeans, and around his wallet chain. I froze, not wanting to take it further, not wanting to know what I’d do if I went any higher.