Chapter 1 - Connor
There are exactly two kinds of people.
The ones who know what they want – and the ones who pretend they don’t.
I’ve never had that problem.
If I want something, I take it. Simple as that. No overthinking, no second-guessing, no sitting around waiting for the universe to drop it into my lap.
It’s worked out just fine so far.
Most people, though… they complicate things. They hesitate, circle around their own thoughts like there’s something noble about holding back.
There isn’t.
It’s just fear with better branding.
I’ve seen it enough times to recognise it immediately – the way someone looks at you a second too long, the way they laugh at things that aren’t funny, the way they act like they don’t care when they very clearly do.
It’s predictable.
Comfortably so.
Which is probably why I don’t realise it at first.
Not really.
Because when He looks at me, it doesn’t feel like that.
There’s no hesitation in it. No calculation. No quiet, careful distance people usually keep when they don’t want to give themselves away.
It’s just… there.
Open. Unfiltered. Almost stupidly honest.
And for the first time in a long while, I don’t quite know what to do with it.
I notice it the first evening.
We’re just standing there, talking about absolutely nothing, and when I glance over at him, he’s already looking at me.
Not subtly, either.
Just… looking.
Like he forgot to stop.
I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to play it off, to look away, to make some stupid comment.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he smiles – small, almost like he didn’t mean to – and takes a sip of his drink like that somehow fixes it.
It doesn’t.
And I find myself watching him a little closer after that.
Not because it means anything.
Just because I want to see if he’ll do it again.
"Chico! Are you coming or what?”
My little sister bursts into my room without knocking, glaring at me like I personally ruined her life.
“Why?” I ask, pulling away from the girl I’d been kissing on my bed.
“We’re going to the concert,” Tracey snaps.
“What concert? Can I come?” Lisa asks hopefully.
I roll my eyes and stand up.
“No, you can’t. I promised my sister I’d drive her. Sorry, I forgot to mention it.”
I slip into my shoes and grab my Torinet.
“Hurry up,” Tracey calls from the hallway. “I don’t want to be late.”
I follow her downstairs, ignoring the protests behind me.
“We’re leaving,” I call toward the living room.
Mom doesn’t react. She is sprawled across the couch, drunk as usual.
Dad disappeared years ago. Honestly, good riddance. The only thing he had ever done around here was beat Mom.
Until the day I got old enough to hit back.
That was when I started training.
Years later the results are obvious – and they are also the reason I rarely have trouble picking up girls. It even earned me my nickname.
Chico.
The guy who gets all the chicks.
Personally, I think the name is stupid. But once something like that sticks, there’s no getting rid of it.
Maybe it also has something to do with the way I look: Dark brown hair. Soft, dark brown eyes and a cheeky smile. Apparently that combination works pretty well on women.
And I have put in enough hours at the gym that the rest of me doesn’t exactly look bad either.
“You’re twenty-three and you still drive like a grandma!” Tracey complains the moment we turn the corner. “Step on it!”
I roll my eyes and accelerate.
She has been talking about this concert for weeks.
Three singers.
Harry. Zaid. Cilian.
Apparently, they are the hottest new band in England right now.
Personally, I don’t really get the hype. But Tracey is fifteen. Which means tonight I’m playing chauffeur.
When we arrive, the place is already packed.
“So half of London decided to come tonight,” I mutter.
Tracey practically bounces beside me in line.
“I’m so excited!”
“I could wait in the car,” I suggest. “This is really not my scene.”
She turns toward me with a look that clearly says I’m an idiot.
“You got the ticket from me. So you’re coming in. Besides –do you really think I can survive in there alone?”
She is small for her age. Tiny, actually. If the crowd gets rough, she’d disappear in seconds.
I sigh. “Fine.”
Eventually the doors open, and we are pushed inside by a wave of screaming teenage girls. The air is hot and suffocating. I honestly have no idea why London needs a building with a roof that could trap this many hormonal teenagers in one place.
Tracey grabs my hand and drags me forward through the crowd. Being tall and built has its advantages: People tend to move out of the way.
Even when they complain, one look at me usually shuts them up. But when we get close to the stage I stop.
“This is close enough,” I shout over the noise. Tracey nods.
“Are you embarrassed the band might see you?” she teases.
“Maybe,” I admit with a grin.
When the lights dim and the crowd explodes with screams, I lift her onto my shoulders so she can see better.
Behind us someone complains but I ignore it. My little sister deserves to enjoy the show.
To their credit, the band knows how to work a crowd. Even I have to admit that.
Harry handles most of the talking between songs, Cilian plays guitar, and Zaid has the kind of voice that makes the entire room go quiet when he starts singing. At least… it would be quiet. Except for the two girls behind me.
“ZAID! ZAID! OH MY GOD, ZAID LOOK HERE!”
I clench my fists.
Concerts already aren’t my favourite place.
But if there is one thing I absolutely hate, it is not being able to hear anything because someone is screaming directly into my ear.
“OH MY GOD, HARRY I LOVE YOU!”
That is it. I spin around.
“Could you shut the hell up for five seconds?” I snap. “Some of us actually want to hear the music!”
The girls freeze. Around us people stare. But the screaming stops.
Satisfied, I turn back toward the stage and notice that Harry is staring straight at me. Great.
Tracey leans down from my shoulders and whispers in my ear.
“You’re cool, Connor.” She hugs me tightly.
I’m not sure why, but somehow the rest of the concert suddenly feels a lot more interesting.
