The Girl in the Painting

Me: How about you get some sleep, and we’ll chat tomorrow? I know you have to be exhausted.

Matt: Okay. Talk to you tomorrow, my beautiful girl.

Me: Sleep well, Matt. XOXO.

I feel a little guilty about forgoing the call, but Matt’s exhausted and I’m going through something. The last thing I want is to make him start worrying I’m sick again while he’s so far away. I just got him to stop asking me to go to the doctor.

There’ll be plenty of time to talk to him tomorrow after I’ve spent the evening with Ansel as friends. I know I’m in a relationship. He knows I’m in a relationship.

Everything will definitely be different tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, when I finally have my needlessly guilty conscience persuaded, my sister calls me. I stare at her name flashing on the screen, but I don’t answer. Instead, I tap decline on the call, put my phone on silent, and slide it into my purse.

I’m avoiding her. But what if she would have asked me what I was doing tonight?

I haven’t even told her I’ve been spending time with Ansel Bray, so dropping the news of his brother’s concert would be a little too reminiscent of a bomb.

The reporter in her would have all sorts of questions, and I don’t have the kind of time to devote to the call that it would take to answer all of them.

Plus, she’s shameless when it comes to celebrities, and she’d end up wanting to come along. Ansel and I really need the time alone to find our friendship groove.

I will eventually tell her. I silently resolve my guilt. Just not right now. Just not today.

And, lucky for my subconscious, I don’t have the opportunity to think any more about why I’m avoiding everyone because two knocks against my door grab my full attention. Molly’s in the middle of her dramatic flip through the pages of her book, trying to tear the pages apart because of how much she feels like it sucks, but I grab the remote and flick it off without hesitation.

When I open the door, Ansel stands across the threshold, a soft smile on his lips and a lightness to his brown eyes. The way the moonlight hits them tonight makes me wonder what color his eyes used to be.

He greets me with a gentle hello and a friendly hug, and it takes all of my willpower not to shove my nose into the leather of his jacket and inhale the familiar, delicious scent I’m coming to find is his signature. A heady combination of mint and leather and soft vanilla, and my nose is a fucking fan.

“Excited to see New Rules?” he asks, and I smile like a loon, equal parts thankful for the distraction from my annoying thoughts and eager to see his brother’s band play.

“You have no idea.”

Instantly, all of my doubts and concerns and second-guessing pretty much go poof and disappear into thin air.

We don’t waste any time at my apartment, and once I grab my purse and lock the front door, we’re walking out into the frigid February air and into Hank’s Escalade.

It’s all very friendly, very laid-back, and I mentally give myself a little pat on the back.

As the car rocks us with the gentle lullaby of the road, I let go of all the tension I’ve been holding. We’re going to see New Rules at Rookwood Music Hall, and I can’t think of any other place I’d rather be.

Our commute isn’t too bad, a brief twenty minutes or so, and once we reach the venue, it isn’t long before we’re inside and Ansel is playing his “I’m related to the band” card. I cling to his arm in an effort to play a card of my own—I’m with him.

“Are you ready?” he asks as we step past security and head toward the backstage area of Rookwood Music Hall.

“Uh huh.” He doesn’t miss the ridiculous smile all but tattooed across my face, but honestly, I’m pretty sure the astronauts on the International Space Station don’t miss it either. It’s been forever since I’ve done something this fun, this young. I’m prepared to go full fangirl.

The building is a relic, a bit old and rickety around the edges, but that only seems to add to its charm. Rookwood Music Hall is a shrine to famous musicians who started their careers in this very building, their memorabilia cluttering the walls around us, and I have to fight the urge to squeal as Ansel leads us toward a room in the far back.

The instant we step inside, I nearly have a stroke.

New freaking Rules is standing right in front of me.

Bram and Lee and Nix and Tom. The entire fucking band is in this room, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. This is a band I’ve been following for the past six or so years. I fell in love with their indie rock vibe and haven’t stopped listening to them since.