Fill Me by Michelle Hazen (books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📕

Jax swaps a glance with Danny—what is that about? “Uh, Jera, the bartender might um...he was kind of only helping me out because he uh...”

“Thought she was hot?” Andy fills in, smiling down at me. “Oh come on, just tell him I’m a friend. Like this one.” He jerks his chin toward Danny, and drops his hand from the small of my back. It immediately feels cold, but maybe that’s just the air drying the sweat in my shirt.

Danny stares at Andy. Hard and motionless; the way you do only if you’re completely socially unaware or you want to start a fight.

I shift my weight. I probably should not have told him about the problems Andy and I have been running into. I mean, some things are too personal. But Danny didn’t get all weird when I brought it up, and God, even Andy can’t talk to me about it without getting all twitchy and defensive. Is it so wrong to just want one person to be able to really confide in?

“Uh, yeah, the bartender tonight is Sam,” Jax says. “He’s met you, dude. With Jera. And he knows you’re dating because he asked me last time we were all in.”

Which means he knows I’m taken, but he was hoping because Andy wasn’t here, I’d let my inner skank take over or something.

I take the Coke from Andy and set it on the floor, where somebody will surely kick it over within a minute or two. I ignore the twinge of guilt at how sticky it will be to mop up—that bartender deserves it for trolling girls who are already taken. I paste a smile on for Andy, because he doesn’t need to know how quickly my temper can flare.

“Hey, that’s free whiskey. Who cares about the bartender?” He looks after the glass like he might go after it, and I step into his line of sight.

“Who cares? Let’s get out of here and party someplace we don’t have to cover good booze with gross mixers.” I turn to Jax. “Your apartment?”

Our lead singer’s family is old money, which means his pad is way slicker than my room at Granna’s house, or the crappy old apartment Danny shares with three roommates.

Jax looks longingly out at the girls on the dance floor. “I thought we might hang here for a while first...”

“I’ve got a key. We could meet you there, if that’s cool.” I need to call Granna and check on her, but I could do that on the way if Andy drove. There was a meeting of the Finance Club tonight, but I really only joined because Mom was so excited about me participating in something non-music related, and the meetings are bullshit anyway. If I don’t tell her I missed one, it’ll be fine. I turn to Danny. “You’re up for it, right?”

“Can’t.” Danny sets his untouched drink down next to mine without looking at me.

“What?” I frown, forgetting about Andy for a second. “What do you mean? Since when can you not party after a show?”

He swallows, and my eyes narrow farther. “I promised a friend I’d cover for them. I could meet you there.” He stares past me to Andy. “Won’t take long. An hour, maybe?” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and judging by the hard lumps beneath denim, they’re in fists. “Forty-five minutes.”

Wow, this is the most embarrassing after-party ever. If we had a couple drinks here, we could probably chat up some people who saw the show, take a small crowd with us, but right now it’s looking like me and Andy and Netflix on the flatscreen.

Woo-freaking-hoo.

Andy rubs a hand down my arm, his touch sending a happy tingle through me despite my embarrassment. “Hey, it’s no big deal. I can’t really stay, anyway. I really did have to study. I just wanted to see you so bad, and I know how much you wanted me to see you play.”

“You have to go, too?” I whirl, the glow of the show ebbing away. I no longer feel like the driving beat behind a great band. I feel like a girl who can’t find anything to do on a Saturday night.

The corners of Andy’s mouth turn down. “I know, it sucks. I need to get better at studying, figure out how to be more efficient or something.” His thumb rubs softly over my elbow. “Walk me out? I can’t go home until I get at least one moment alone with you.”

Is it my imagination or did he emphasize the word “alone”? The sweat on my skin turns clammy. Is he annoyed that Danny and Jax are always around? Does he want to be alone alone? Does that mean we’re okay again?

My stomach knots and I glance away. Jax shifts his beer to his other hand and reaches out to steady me. “Hey, you feeling okay?”

I nod, but somewhere in the movement, my eyes land on Danny’s. They’re dark and still. I wait for him to quirk his eyebrow in our patented, did-you-drink-too-much look, but he doesn’t.

I break eye contact and take Andy’s arm. “I’ll catch you guys later, okay? I’m gonna walk him out.”

“Yeah, uh, see you later, dude,” Jax says, taking too big of a drink of his beer, then glancing at Danny again.

He’s got no reason to be so awkward around me and my boyfriend. And Danny has no reason to be such a dick. Why the hell couldn’t I have been in a band with other girls? They’d understand. An all-girls rock band would be badass. Though there’s no one, man or woman, who could play the bass like Danny.

I’m caught up in trying to remember if there are any girls at school who play drums or keyboard, and we’re outside the bar before I know it, cool spring air crisp against my skin. I shiver.

“Did you not bring a jacket?” Andy wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Here, we’ll be at the car in a second and I’ll turn on the heater for you.”

Wait, I thought I was walking him out. Does he want me to come over to his dorm room? My heart jumps with hope. Last Saturday, his roommate was out of town, and he surprised me with a picnic in his dorm—mostly food he swiped from the caf, but arranged like a five-star restaurant on borrowed platters and plates, on a picnic blanket he spread in the middle of his floor. He even got me the sugared ginger candy that I’m addicted to, and made sure my favorite Moody Blues album was playing in the background.

And after all his efforts to make me comfortable, when our make out session moved to the bed, I still managed to fumble everything.

At the memory of our spoiled picnic, my hand flutters up to my stomach, nausea twisting ruthlessly. Cold air chills my legs, creeps under the hem of my skirt, which suddenly seems way too short. 

“If we’re heading somewhere, I should go back and help Jax take down real quick...” I hitch a thumb back toward the bar, biting my lip. I don’t want Andy to change his mind about hanging out, but I’ll feel guilty all night if I leave Jax to disassemble all our equipment and load it into the truck himself.

“No, I told you, I’ve got homework to get back to.” Andy tugs me into his side and ducks his head to nuzzle into my neck. “But I want a minute alone with my rock star girlfriend first.”

I laugh and blush a little. “I think real stars get to charge more than two bucks a ticket. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

He unlocks the passenger side of his car. “Oh, you didn’t. Don’t worry.” I go to get in, but he nudges me out of the way and sits down himself. I’m confused for a second until he pulls me into his lap, leaning to the side so he can close the door behind us. One of his knees jabs me in the butt as he closes his arms around me.

“Better? Warmer, I mean?” he asks.

“Uh-huh.” My head is bent at a weird angle, crammed up into the sun visor. Which is not helping the hair situation, already desperate from a whole show of head-banging behind my drums. My shirt clings to my skin, and I take a deep sniff, trying to decide if my deodorant is still hanging in the game.

“C’mere,” Andy murmurs, his hands tightening on my hips.

A little zing of pleasure flushes through me. He came. He actually showed up to see our band even though he was busy. I lean in and press my lips to his. It could always be like this: him dancing with the crowd, being there to start up the party after the show.

Noise from outside the car catches my attention. I pull away, glancing out to see people walking between the cars, just outside our window. The bar is starting to empty now that we’re done playing, and the un-tinted windows of Andy’s car form a fragile fishbowl around us.

“Hey, there are people out there.” My voice is distorted because he’s still sucking on my bottom lip.

“You were so hot tonight, babe,” he murmurs. “Up there on the stage, all those people watching you. And it was like...” His mouth moves to my neck, wet and a little careless, like he’s lost in the moment. My pulse kicks up at that. How long has it been since he’s been spontaneous like this, instead of checking in with me about every little move? “It was like you didn’t even see them,” he finishes, his voice an octave closer to a growl than usual.

My arms tighten around him. “Andy...” His hips push up under my bottom, and I turn my head away when a guy in a Baltimore Ravens jersey passes the window. “Can we go to your place? Is Zach home?”

Andy takes my mouth, harder and more completely than he’s done it since our first time. Something pulses in me, way down low, and a trill of hope shoots up through my heart. I kiss him back, but he’s already pulling away, whispering, “I want to do it here. God, babe, that stage...”

His hands yank my skirt out of the way, and I remember to lift up so he can get my panties off. It’s what I’ve been telling him, all these months when I bug him to come see our gigs...there’s something in the air after a show. It’s something that doesn’t exist in everyday life. Maybe it’s the answer.

I twist, bruising my hip on the automatic shifter as I try to kick my panties off over my Chuck Taylor’s. Maybe the after-show chemistry is the ingredient Andy and I have been missing. How perfect would that be? I’m a musician, as addicted to performing as anyone has ever been to drugs.

His zipper zzz’s open and my eyes pop wide. Oh, wow, he really is in a hurry. I glance out the window and accidentally lock eyes with a girl wearing gold glittery eye shadow and a slashed black tee shirt. I glance at the band name on the front without thinking, then cringe as Andy’s knuckles knock my inner thigh when he tries to wrestle his boxers out of the way.

“Andy, people can see us,” I whisper.

He stops for an instant, then his tongue is against my throat. “God, babe, I know,” he groans. “I bet they recognize you, don’t they?”

Okay, as flattering as that is... “Um, except for the maybe-arrested part?” I venture. This lot is not that poorly lit. In fact, I think it might be better lit than the stage was. A terrible comparison considering I was wearing panties then and now I’m... “Ow!” I suck the protest back almost as