Page 14 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)
Four Years Ago, April
A laugh like a melody I can’t get out of my head
McLaren Clan
Rion
Attention siblings. Easter will be at my house. Easter Day, noon, don’t be late.
Aspen
or what
River
Why not mom and dad’s?
Lily
Because he’s trying to do something nice, asshole
Me
I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it. I’m swamped with school
Lucas
I’m only coming if you make deviled eggs
River
I’m only coming if you promise there will be no deviled eggs
Rion
We’re not making deviled eggs. If you want some, make your own
Lucas has left the chat
Lily has added Lucas to the chat
Lily
Aspen?
Aspen
fine, I’ll be there.
Lily
It’s been forever since we were all together
Me
I just said I don’t know if I’ll make it.
G emma hunched over in her seat, grabbing at the stitch in her side.
Considering the bar crawl was on its fourth bar in less than two hours, we were both heading in a direction well beyond our limits.
The other bar crawlers in Gemma’s classes shared in the irresponsibility as the group of thirty grad students rounded up to walk to the next bar .
Spring semester at Sumner U had gotten off to a busy start.
Weeks went by in a flash with the steady stream of homework, reading assignments, projects, quizzes, and exams keeping us slammed around the clock.
The Friday before Spring Break was always reserved for certain disciplines’ annual bar crawls, with marketing students being some of the rowdiest. We journalists didn’t do a bar crawl, but Gemma stated I was an honorary marketing student by proxy and insisted I join. Who was I to argue?
After ordering yet another vodka cranberry at the new location, a hole-in-the-wall dive bar that reeked of cigarette smoke and old leather, I took a seat on a rogue bar stool next to where Gemma and one of her classmates racked up a game of pool.
It was a horrible decision. My alcohol-riddled mind swam and began to wander a moment later.
I thought about school, the end of the second semester, how graduation was going to be there before I knew it.
Where would my journalism degree take me? Would I be able to put my music minor to use somehow?
Whenever I spent time perusing the internet for open positions in the area, a sense of dread would wash over me.
Nothing stuck out or sounded like a good fit.
And anything that sounded half-decent seemed above and beyond what I thought I was capable of.
Imposter syndrome blocked any feelings of hope or excitement for my future, like a dark cloud on a sunny day.
Then, my thoughts drifted to Nate. Because of course they did.
We’d grown close throughout the semester, meeting up every few weeks for study dates that sometimes turned into other kinds of dates.
Okay, more often than not, they turned into other kinds of dates.
But outside of hooking up, we’d developed a friendship, too, falling into a rhythm so easy and seamless that it was a little scary.
I spent countless hours over the spring semester curled up on Nate’s couch with my laptop resting on its arm while I worked on assignments.
Meanwhile, he would be hunched over his electric piano, bulky headphones wrapped around his head as he tapped away on the keys.
Sometimes, we chatted while we worked; other times, an hour would go by without saying a word to each other.
“Parallel play,” he’d jokingly called it.
There were stretches where Nate and I didn’t talk for days, sometimes weeks, at a time, but we always seemed to pick up where we left off.
The first time it happened, I resigned myself to the belief that our little fling had run its course.
He had inevitably grown bored of whatever we were doing, as guys in their twenties did, and I probably wouldn’t see him again, save for the group setting with Gemma and Grant.
And I had to be okay with that. I was mildly sad, but I told myself it was fun while it lasted.
Until a week later, when Nate called me out of the blue to tell me he was back in town.
Crescent Light had apparently had a few shows in New York and New Jersey, so they’d been on the road playing gigs almost every night.
Any spare second during the day was spent catching up on classwork, sleeping, or writingnew music.
Another time, we were going on almost a month without talking, but then he texted me.
Nate
What’s your favorite candy?
Me
Random. Sour gummies, why ?
Nate
I just realized I’ve never asked you
I giggled at the spontaneous questions, but they slowly became a semi-regular thing. Very rarely did they start a conversation. They were merely thoughts that popped into his head, and he simply had to know the answer right then and there.
Nate
When’s your birthday?
Me
September 2nd, yours?
Nate
November 22nd
End of correspondence for the next week.
The disappearing act was something I grew to expect.
It was almost always music-related, or that he’d gone to Connecticut to visit family.
Sometimes, he would simply be buried so deeply in music or schoolwork that nobody would hear from him.
I took comfort in the fact it wasn’t just me who would be left wondering why he was MIA.
Hell, sometimes I got so busy juggling classes and homework that I didn’t have anything left for a social life, either. But when he disappeared, there was no telling how long it would last. Currently, we were around two weeks.
In any “normal” relationship, I might have general knowledge of his schedule, and we might be in regular communication, texting or talking on the phone almost daily.
But this wasn’t a normal relationship. It wasn’t a relationship at all.
I wasn’t his girlfriend; he wasn’t my boyfriend.
We didn’t owe each other anything. It was the beauty of whatever we were doing.
We were friends. Sure, we usually had sex when we hung out, but “friends” was the closest thing I could call it.
A mutually beneficial situationship.
Crack !
Gemma’s pool stick sent the eight-ball careening into a corner pocket. I adjusted on my barstool, stretching each leg out to ease the pins and needles in my feet, but the sensation of swaying back and forth stayed long after I stopped moving.
My thoughts were already on Nate, though, and the vodka cranberry I drank as I spaced out only encouraged them further.
On the night we met, he made me feel alive. Electric. But he was so unlike me. He was careless energy without the irresponsibility one would expect of someone like him. I was all perfectionism, self-doubt, and anxiety. He had a weightlessness I wished I had the capacity to feel.
“I think I’m going to head out,” I shouted as I stood, head spinning. Gemma nearly whacked her partner in the head with her pool stick as she swung around to hug me.
“I love you! Thank you for coming with us, okay? I love you so much,” she slurred again as she planted a wet kiss on my cheek.
“Mhm,” I mumbled back, “love you, too.”
I made it a few steps out the front door before I had to rest against the side of the building. The cool stone against my back grounded me as my body swayed.
I wonder if Nate’s in town.
No, he’s probably not.
Didn’t he mention a Crescent Light show? Or something about going to the campus studio to record? Or was that last week ?
Before I could think better of it, my fingers typed his name into my phone and pressed the call button.
He picked up on the third ring. “Hey.”
“Oh,” I stumbled on the uneven concrete but regained my footing before tripping altogether. “Hey.”
“What’s up?” Amusement and concern mingled in his smooth voice.
“Oh, you know. Just left a bar crawl with Gemma.” I pointed with my thumb at the building behind me as if he could see it. “Currently stumbling home. Classic Friday night.”
He chuckled, and I imagined him shaking his head. “You aren’t stumbling home by yourself, are you?”
Maybe it was the vodka cranberries, but I decided now was an excellent time to flirt. “Well, I wouldn’t be by myself if you came to pick me up.” I cringed as the words left my mouth.
“Yeah? Where are you?”
Less than ten minutes later, Nate’s black car pulled up to where I waited on the sidewalk.
When I caught a glimpse of his face through the window, my heart skipped a beat.
I never got used to seeing him. It didn’t matter how often we hung out—if it’d been three days or three weeks—I still got giddy and nervous from all the happy, lovely feelings.
Heat already pooled in my belly as I thought about all the things I wanted him to do to me.
Like clockwork, excitement was quickly replaced by trepidation.
All of the same questions flooded my mind.
What are we? What are we doing? What does he want?
What do I want? I was perpetually caught somewhere between I need him and I need answers .
As always, I ignored my doubt in favor of riding the high.
He held a steadying hand out from the driver’s seat as I climbed into the passenger seat with what I’m sure was ballerina-like grace.
Feeling bold, I leaned across the middle console to kiss him.
It took a beat for him to realize what I was doing, but he cupped my cheek in time for our lips to meet, deepening the kiss for the briefest moment.
The second his skin touched mine, I wanted more. Infinitely more. But he pulled away, holding my chin with a featherlight touch.
“What was that for?” he teased.
“Can we go back to your place?”
It was probably a good thing he kept his hands to himself, thrumming his fingers on the wheel as he drove. Who knows what I would have done in that state had he reached over to rest a broad hand on my thigh?
That was another thing about Nate.