1
I wonder why they make subways so sad; I wonder why more than half the people on the train have such hollow faces. Maybe the two things are connected, or maybe it’s just me, seeing the world in shades of grey today.
I’m on my way to a “grunge rock” concert to see a band whose name I can’t even frankly remember. My cousin insisted so much that, after the last few times I bailed on her, I didn’t have the heart to say no again.
But what was I thinking? I’m exhausted and a bit stressed from work. I look down at my All Stars—my favorites. At least I did one thing right today by wearing them.
How many stops are left? I check the digital board: five more. Damn, did this place really have to be on the other side of the city?
Fortunately, it’s not cold out; the leather jacket and green T-shirt were a good call.
Four stops left.
A girl gets on and slides into the seat next to me. A notebook slips from her lap, landing right in front of my sneakers. I pick it up for her.
“Thanks,” she says, flashing a smile.
It’s a stunning smile, and I can’t help but return it.
She’s striking—long, wavy black hair pulled back into a soft ponytail. Her dark brown eyes look clever and amused. The fire-red jacket she’s wearing suits her perfectly; she’s a beautiful woman.
Maybe she’s my age, I think, looking closer. No, maybe a couple of years younger. She seems like someone who really has her life together.
Three stops.
I turn my attention away from her, run a hand through my bangs, and pull the concert flyer from my pocket.
“Hey, I’m going there too,” the girl beside me says cheerfully.
“Oh, really? Do you know the band?” I ask.
“Yeah, they’re one of my roommate’s favorites. They rock,” she says, squinting her eyes with a smile that says this-is-something-you-definitely-can’t-miss.
“I’m Nina, by the way,” she says, reaching out a hand.
“Allie,” I reply, shaking it.
“Never been to The Jump?” she asks. She’s definitely a sunny person.
“No. In fact, I was just trying to figure out where it was on this map,” I say, glancing at the flyer that might as well be written in Aramaic.
“Well, if you want, we can go together. It’s right near the subway stop and my place.”
“Okay.”
“You have fantastic eyes, you know?” she says, studying them. “What color are they?”
“Thanks. Sometimes they’re grey, sometimes green or blue. It depends,” I answer.
Finally, we hit our stop. It took almost no time for “my stop” to become “our stop.”
As we get off, Nina starts telling me about the club; this girl seems to know everything about everyone.
“Are you a student?” she asks.
“No, I’m a graduate. Working now.”
“In what?”
“Marketing and Communication.”
“Cool! And what do you do for work?”
“I organize events. You?” I ask. I’m not a woman of many words, at least not at first. I’m naturally shy, but there’s something about Nina that makes me feel at ease.
“Super cool!” she chirps.
Everyone always says that.
“I study fashion design,” she concludes.
I don’t have time to comment because Nina starts waving her hand, shouting, “Charlieeeee!”
We’ve arrived. There’s a bit of a queue outside, and I spot my cousin Lauren with her friends. I wave to her.
“Bye, Nina,” I say while she’s busy kissing this Charlie guy. “See you inside.”
“Okay!” she says, smiling at me before turning her full attention back to Charlie.
Twenty minutes in line and we’re finally in. The place is nice—very rock ‘n’ roll. It has a great bar, and I’ve always loved a good bar counter. The place is packed; people are crowded onto the floor in a sea of jeans, T-shirts, and leather jackets.
I’m in the right place. Then I look at the crowd—average age: 20-22. Hmm, maybe not exactly the right place. The lights go low; a young, “super-rock” guy gets on stage and announces the band. Screams and applause erupt from the audience.
I wait five minutes, just long enough for the band to start their set.
“I’m heading to the bar,” I shout to my cousin over the music.
I make my move and manage to snag a stool in a perfect spot—the most tucked-away part of the bar with a full view of both the floor and the stage. I order a beer. I don’t really feel like drinking it, but a mojito feels out of place here.
The band is actually good; solid rock. I’m not an expert, but I’m enjoying it. I spot my cousin in the middle of the floor—she’s having a blast, dancing and jumping around. Personally, I prefer the bar. I’ve never loved crowded spaces, and I haven’t danced in years. How sad is that?
I’m halfway through my beer, perched on my stool, when a voice cuts through the noise.
“Hey, Allie!!”
It’s Nina.
“This is Charlie, my boyfriend,” she says as she introduces him.
I shake his hand.
“And this is Julien, my roommate.”
Julien greets me with a simple nod and offers his hand.
Moment of panic: he is beautiful.
I swallow hard, the “hello” dying in my throat.
I just shake his hand.
Why does the tongue always freeze up like that?
Why do you suddenly feel like you’re burning with embarrassment?
I’m sure my cheeks are bright red; they never are, but that’s certainly how it feels.
Damn, a handsome guy shouldn’t have this much power.
The interaction only lasts a second.
He doesn’t say a single word.
This “I’m-handsome-arrogant-and-mysterious-so-leave-me-alone” vibe usually annoys me, yet at the same time, it draws me in like a moth to a flame.
“What are you having, Nina?” Charlie asks, pulling my attention away from Julien.
Julien moves away, sliding to the other side past Charlie, putting distance between us. He’s tall and lean, but not too thin.
I study him closely: his hair is slightly wavy and worn a bit long, falling just below the ear. It looks dark brown. I think his eyes are brown too, but it’s hard to tell in this low light.
His nose is straight—not too short, not model-perfect, but exactly right for his face. And his mouth... his mouth is fantastic. Lips made for biting.
I really need to change my perspective; he’s going to think I’m some high schooler with a crush. I look around, still in a flutter of excitement and nerves, searching for my cousin. She’s heading toward us.
“Hi, Nina!” she says, surprising me.
“Hi, Lauren! How are you?”
They start chatting; it sounds like they know each other from university. I can’t hear much over the commotion.
I take a sip of my nearly finished beer and my gaze falls back on the bar. Or rather, on Julien’s hands resting on the counter. They are beautiful hands—large and confident.
I look up, and he’s staring right at me.
Oh god, how embarrassing. I quickly turn toward my cousin’s friends, who are giggling among themselves. Of course, they’re staring right at Julien too. Devouring him with their eyes is a better way to put it.
I look back at him to see how he reacts to a group of beautiful young girls looking at him with such blatant admiration, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.
He just drinks, sets down his glass, and looks at me again. Then he turns and disappears into the crowd.
What a talkative guy—there goes my sarcasm again.
He’s definitely strange. Extremely charming, though; the kind of person you could easily lose your head over. The girls watch him leave, whispering comments about his body.
I take a look myself. There’s nothing else to say. The girls are right; they’re all pretty, and now they’re launching themselves onto the floor, ready for the hunt.
I wonder which one Julien will choose. You can usually tell a lot about a man by the type of woman he leaves a club with.
I’m about to order another beer when Nina and Lauren drag me onto the floor. The dance floor—the last place I wanted to be. Someone saves me. I was perfectly fine at the bar; I don’t even know these songs.
I try to smile and move a bit, but when the girls start screaming at the top of their lungs, I start to make my move.
Yes, I’m sneaking away. Ignobly, I might add.
I turn to head back to the sanctuary of the bar, and there he is.
Right in front of me.
Mr. Handsome-and-Brooding.
He’s only two inches away.
