Rock Candy Kisses(8)

By: Addison Moore



Baya and Laney don’t let the moment go unnoticed.

Baya jots something down on her notepad. Cute isn’t he?

I brush her off with a shy smile, but I can feel my cheeks burning right through my denial—sirening out a, hell yes! without my approval.

“Let me get you a soda,” Laney offers. “You want some food?” She looks as if she might be mouthing the words. I can usually tell, but I never mind.

I shake my head again, but she’s saying something and nodding, and I’m afraid she’ll be back with a steak before I know it. Sometimes people go out of their way for me, and Laney has always been like that.

Baya flashes her notepad at me again, Maybe after his set you can talk to him. She bounces on her heels at the thought.

“No way,” I mouth. I type out a quick text. I’ve got enough on my plate this semester. I don’t need to add desperate to the equation. I went on a few dates back at Quincy—all with boys in my class, mostly dances, but there wasn’t a real spark. Dating just seems like a waste of time unless you feel that spark.

Baya makes a face as she glances back at the lead singer. “I don’t know…” She wrinkles her nose as she scribbles out another note. Something tells me that boy knows how to start a lot more than a spark. Maybe you’re right, you’d better stay away. He looks capable of burning down the whole damn building if you know what I mean. She gives a quick wink before disappearing into the crowd.

I lean and press my back hard to the cold wall as the music, the vibration of that beautiful man’s voice, streams through my veins like a long anticipated breeze on a sweltering midnight. The cords in his neck distend as he belts out the lyrics, and in my heart the silence is exchanged for a rhythmic code to the universe. He’s wearing a dull green T-shirt with a faded image of a flag on it, but it’s his muscles, the hard contours of his body, that beg my eyes to stay. He’s muscular but not overly so. He has an overt charisma and charm about him that explains the estrogen bomb going off at his feet as the girls clamor to touch the hem of his jeans like he’s Jesus.

The night goes on with my brothers taking turns checking in on me. Laney brings me a steady order of nachos even though I’ve hardly touched the first. Cheese from a can just isn’t my thing, but I don’t have the heart to tell her. Marley and a few of the girls from our dorm have migrated over, and I’ve gladly shared the mother load with anyone who wants it.

“Can you believe this band!” Marley beams practically shaking me by the shoulders before her expression drops. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” I mouth. “I love them.” Well, the idea of them. They gave me good vibrations, I want to say, but I’m sure the idea sounds a bit too esoteric at the moment—or sexual. Marley has a way of turning even the most innocent thought into a vision of X-rated delight. Before I can say another word, I spot Tristan making his way over. The band cuts out, and the normal vibratory sounds emit from the speakers. I know for a fact that Holt has music streaming from the moment this place opens right up until the crew closes for the night.

I make a face at Marley. It’s too late to text her about Tristan. We’ll have to work out a code for get me out of this predicament.

Tristan gives a quick wave, and I motion for him to introduce himself to Marley. She nods toward him politely and smiles, but I can tell by the look on her face she’s sizing up the situation.

“Oh, you’re that Tristan!” Her eyes grow wide as she realizes it’s the poor boy I expended my very first lie to. I couldn’t feel like a bigger ass if I tried.

“So is your boyfriend here?” Tristan glances around fully expecting to see a living, breathing, male who might actually be in a commitment of some sort with me. I eye Cole for a moment, but that would be weird, and I’d hate to be cut off from my cupcake supplier so soon.

A gaggle of blondes head in this direction, and then I see him. It’s the boy with the eyes, the boy with the band, the boy whose mouth moves like a poem come to life as he leans into the mike, the one whose large and in charge of the 12 Deadly Sins. My stomach does a hard flop reminiscent of the stomach flu. I’m pretty sure hot boys are not supposed to remind you of a twenty-four hour puking session.

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