Page 98 of Becoming Us

Everything had felt easy since Atty and I decided to have sex. He was more relaxed. I wasn’t being obsessively clingy. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and I could finally call him my boyfriend out loud instead of just in my head.

A glass landed against my elbow, the chill biting at my skin. I flinched.

“There you go,” Ezra said.

“Why are you being extra bratty today?” I asked, squinting at him. “I’ve literally said nothing but hello.”

“You looked too happy.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Hey.” Atty’s voice made me turn.

“Hey,” I echoed, caught off guard. “I thought you were busy.”

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, sweet and unexpected.

Sliding onto the stool beside me, he stared with that eager, excited-puppy look on his face.

“What is it?” I asked, laughing.

“I have a confession—kind of. I ambushed you today.” He scratched the side of his nose, sheepishly.

“Ambushed?”

“Yeah. After I saw you play last week, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. There’s a waiter here who’s in a band. He mentioned they were looking for a drummer, but it wasn’t a sure thing. I didn’t ask right away, but then I saw you play…”

“That’s sweet, Atty. But I’m not really a band guy.”

“I know. But I think you should reconsider, because you’re amazing at it, Noah. And I’m not just saying that because I’m easily impressed with anything you do—you really are. Watchingyou play was like seeing a whole different side of you. I really think it would make you happy.”

How the hell was I supposed to say no to that?

“I’ll talk to him,” I said, already caving.

“Actually…he told the lead singer about you. The guy doesn’t take auditions from just anyone, but he’s curious and wants to meet you. He’s on his way here.”

I blinked. “What?”

“His name’s Paxton Avila. I told Jenny—the hostess—to send him your way when he arrives, okay?”

“Atty—”

“I have to get back, but good luck.” He kissed my cheek again. “You’ll come over after I’m done?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

He gave me one last smile and disappeared back into the crowd.

Beside me, Ezra made a sound like a whip cutting through the air.

I arched an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Just saying.”

“Hi, you’re Noah, right?”

Once again, my attention shifted to the newcomer. Right off the bat, you could tell he was a singer. He had that low, raspy register that practically oozed laid-back energy. Kind of tall—though, to be fair, my standards were skewed thanks to Atty. Brown hair, brown eyes, tattoos scattered across his arms, neck, and hands. Nothing too flashy about his outfit—just a black T-shirt and shorts. He looked a little out of place for a beach club, but somehow perfectly cast as a frontman.