More to Us Page 7

  "He's not trying to date me. I already told you, he just offered to show me around town. He was just trying to be nice."

  "Oh, please." She rolls her eyes. "I know you're not that clueless. He wants to date you. That's why he gave you his number." The waiter drops off our food and Amber waits for him to leave, then says, "So what did you say when you called him?"

  "I told him I wasn't happy that he didn't tell me he was in the band. He apologized and offered to buy me dinner to make it up to me."

  She throws her hands up. "Kira, that's a date. I told you he wanted to date you."

  "It's not a date. It's just dinner."

  "Where's he taking you?" She grabs the ketchup bottle and shakes it.

  "Some stir fry place. He's into healthy eating." I focus on my salad, avoiding her gaze. "And he likes working out."

  She holds the ketchup bottle over her plate and looks at me. "You're going to tell him, right?"

  I ignore her and take a bite of my salad.

  "Kira." She sets the ketchup bottle down. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

  "What isn't a good idea?" I ask, a sharpness in my tone.

  "You being friends with Austin."

  I set my fork down. "And why is that? Just minutes ago you were telling me to go out with him."

  "Yeah, but I wasn't thinking about how much he works out. It makes sense. That's why he looks that way. But it's not good for you to be around—"

  "Stop." I throw my napkin down on the table and glare at her. "You are not my mother. It is not your job to tell me what's good for me and what's not. This isn't going to work if you start lecturing me."

  "I wasn't..." She takes a breath. "Never mind. Let's just have lunch."

  Why does she do this? Why does she treat me like this, like I need to be looked after? Like I can't take care of myself? She's been doing it all week and I can't take it. I got enough of that back when I lived at home. My parents constantly telling me to take it easy when I tried to work out. I couldn't even take a walk without my mom asking me how far I went and if I was in pain afterward. It was suffocating. I was used to spending my entire day at the gym and my parents didn't say a word about it. But after my injury, they constantly monitored me, going with me to the gym to make sure I only did what the physical therapist allowed.

  Now Amber's doing the same thing. Monitoring me. Always asking where I'm going. Reminding me to take it easy. This can't continue. I'm an adult and if I want to train, I can. I have to. I have no choice.

  My parents have a mountain of debt and it's all because of me. It's my debt, not theirs. And if I don't compete again, I'll never be able to pay them back.

  Amber and I don't talk for the rest of lunch, then as we're waiting for the check, I say, "I'm going out with him tonight."

  "Austin?" she asks.

  "Yeah. So I won't be around for dinner."

  "Fine," she snaps.

  She's angry, but she has no reason to be. If anything, I should be mad at her for treating me like a child, watching my every move, reporting back to my mom, which I know she's doing.

  I don't need a babysitter. I need a friend. And if she can't be that, then I can't live with her. And eventually, our friendship will end.

  Chapter Seven

  Austin

  "Hey." I jump out of my truck as Kira comes out of her apartment building. "I was going to come upstairs and get you."

  "That's okay. I was already on my way down." I hold the door open for her, and watch as she gets in. She's wearing white shorts with a fitted navy t-shirt and white sneakers. I love how she dresses. That sporty, athletic look. Normally, when I take a girl out, she wears a dress and a pair of high heels, which is also nice, but if I had my choice, I'd take a girl in jeans and a t-shirt over a girl who's all dressed up.

  "So you said you have a roommate?" I ask as I get in the driver's side.

  "Yeah. Amber. We've been best friends since we were kids. She's also a gymnast. I mean, she used to be. She's not anymore."

  When Kira told me she's a gymnast, I immediately thought of all the comments Van used to make about gymnasts. He dated one a couple years ago and told Dylan and me how this girl was able to do all these different sexual positions because of her strength and flexibility. I think he made half of it up, but still, it's the first thing I thought of when Kira said she was a gymnast. I shouldn't have been thinking that, but it's where my mind went.

  But then she said she went to nationals and my dirty thoughts were replaced by images of her competing in the Olympics. I know she hasn't done that, but the fact that she competed at a national level is pretty damn impressive. For some people, that might be just as good as the Olympics. I mean, shit, she was there with some of the most elite gymnasts in the country.

  It's too bad she got hurt. It sounds like she really misses gymnastics. But like she said, maybe if she trains hard enough, she'll be able compete again. Maybe she could make the college team.

  "So how was work?" she asks.

  "Good. I painted a little kid's room."

  "I thought you did construction."

  "Our company does both new construction and remodeling, so we do everything from putting up walls to painting trim. We usually hire subs for the paint work, but I did this paint job myself. I'm kind of a specialist in floors and painting."

  "What kind of floors?"

  "I'm good at laying tile and wood floors. I can also lay carpet, but the tile and wood require more skill so I like doing that better. Same with painting. People think painting is easy, but it actually takes a lot of skill to do it right. If you just slap some paint on the wall and let it dry, you end up seeing the roller lines."

  "Who taught you how to do it right? Your dad?"

  "Yeah, but I mostly taught myself."

  "What color did you paint the kid's room?"

  "Fire engine red." I glance at her and smile. "He's only four and really into fire engines. I painted a white stripe along the bottom of the wall like they have on the side of fire trucks. You should've seen the kid when he saw his room." I chuckle. "He was jumping up and down he was so excited. Before I went over there, I stopped and got him one of those plastic fireman hats. His mom said he'll probably never take it off."

  "Is she a friend of the family?"

  "No. I just met her today."

  "And you did all that for her kid? I mean, getting him the hat was nice but it's a little unusual, isn't it? Didn't she just hire you to paint a room?"

  "She didn't hire us. We did it for free. The kid has some kind of rare illness. I don't know what it's called but he's been in and out of hospitals since he was born. We just wanted to do something special for him."

  "How did you hear about him?"

  "From Liza, a friend of mine who works at the hospital. Her sister, Ivy, is dating my brother, Jake. Anyway, Liza is a nurse on the pediatric floor so she was telling me about this kid and that's when I offered to paint his room."

  "Do you guys always do stuff like that?"

  "We do whenever we can. We're a local company and we like to give back to the community. It's not all about making money, you know?"

  "Yeah, but a lot of people don't feel that way. That's really nice of you to do that." We're at a stop light and I look over and see her smiling at me. "What else have you done?"

  "All kinds of stuff. Last month we repaired a roof for an elderly woman who couldn't afford to get it fixed. Back in June, we replaced the siding on some churches. We try to do at least a couple projects a month."

  "And you organized a benefit concert to help pay for some guy's medical bills?"

  "How'd you know about that?" The light turns and I go through the intersection.

  "I read it online."

  I smile at her. "You looked me up on the Internet?"

  "I had to. I had to make sure I wasn't going out with some psycho killer."

  I laugh. "I don't think psycho killers are in bands. Kind of makes them easy for the cops to find. I think they usually hid
e out in dark, musty basements."

  "Well, you could've had some other deep, dark secret."

  "If it was a deep, dark secret, it wouldn't be on the Internet."

  She reaches over and kiddingly hits my shoulder. "Okay, smart-ass. Enough making fun of me."

  "I'm not making fun of you. I just wanted to know why you were looking me up online."

  "I wanted to know more about you. That's all. Everyone looks people up online."

  "I didn't look you up. I couldn't, because you wouldn't give me your last name."

  She gets quiet and looks out the side window.

  "So are going to tell me?" I ask.

  "Tell you what?"

  "Your last name?"

  "No."

  We're at the restaurant and I pull into a spot and turn the truck off. "Why not?"

  "Because I don't want you looking me up online."

  "Why? Are YOU the psycho killer?" I chuckle. "And I let you in my truck? Shit, can I at least have dinner before you kill me?"

  She laughs as she turns back to me. "I'm not a psycho killer. I just like to remain a mystery." She opens the door and hops out of the truck.

  "A mystery, huh?" I ask, meeting up with her at the door to the restaurant. "I like mysteries."

  She eyes me, a slight smile on her face as she walks past me through the door. We're flirting, and yet we're not. I don't know what we're doing. If she just wants to be friends, then I guess that's all we'll be but I'd like to be more than that. I haven't felt this strongly for a girl in a long time.

  We get to the table and as soon as we sit down, some girl runs up to me. Shit. Why now? Why tonight? I'm not going to get anywhere with Kira if other girls keep coming up to me.

  "Austin!" The girl leans down to me, ignoring Kira. "I love your music. Would you sign me?" She shoves a pen in my face.

  I glance at Kira, who looks surprised and a little annoyed.

  "I usually just sign at concerts."

  "Please," she begs.

  "Go ahead," Kira says. Now she's smiling at me, like she's daring me to do it.

  I take the pen from the girl. "Where do you want me to sign?"

  She shoves her tank top down so I can see her lacy pink bra. "Right here." She points to her cleavage.

  I quickly sign my name on the girl, then give her the pen.

  "Oh my God, thank you!" The girl kisses me right next to my lips.

  "No problem," I tell her and she runs off.

  Kira laughs. "The hazards of being in a boy band."

  I smile at her. "I'm not in a freaking boy band."

  "You're in a band with all boys. Isn't that considered a boy band?"

  "I'm in a rock band, which you would know if you'd actually stuck around and listened to my music last night." I pour her some water from the pitcher on the table. "Did you leave because you were mad at me?"

  "No. I would've stuck around but my roommate—" She stops suddenly and clears her throat.

  "Your roommate what?"

  "Nothing. Never mind." She takes a drink of water.

  "Does your roommate not like our music?"

  "It's not that. She just wasn't feeling well so we had to leave."

  "It's too bad you weren't able to stick around. We're playing this Saturday if you guys want to come."

  "Um, I don't know. I'll have to get back to you." She looks over at the girl who was at our table. "So do you always sign girls' breasts?" She laughs a little as she says it. At least she's not mad about it.

  "I didn't actually sign her breast, but yeah. I get asked to sign body parts more often than I get asked to sign pieces of paper. By the way, I'm sorry about that. I should've told her to go away."

  "I don't think she would've left without you signing her. Besides, we're not on a date. I don't care if girls come up to you. I get that's what happens when you're in a boy band." She smiles.

  Her hand is on the table so I pick it up and hold it, just to see what she'll do. "I'm not in a boy band. And maybe this IS a date."

  "It's not," she says, her eyes on mine.

  "And yet you haven't pulled away," I say, gently rubbing my thumb over the top of her hand.

  She looks down at our joined hands. She attempts to tug her hand from mine, but it's a lame attempt, like it's not what she really wants.

  "You won't let me go," she says, her eyes returning to mine.

  "That's something you should know about me. When I really like something I don't let it go."

  "I'm not a thing. I'm a person."

  "Who I don't want to let go."

  She swallows and glances away.

  "Are you ready to order?" the waiter asks, as he sets some chopsticks on our table.

  "I think we need a minute," I tell him. He nods and walks away.

  Kira looks back at me. "What do you recommend?"

  "I never order any of the pre-made stir fries. I always make my own."

  "How do you do that?"

  I hand her one of the narrow sheets from the holder on the table. "You just check the boxes for whatever ingredients you want and they'll make it."

  She hands the sheet back to me. "Will you make me one?"

  "You don't want to pick what you want?"

  "Surprise me. I eat most anything."

  I take one of the tiny pencils from the holder. "You like spicy?"

  "Yeah, the spicier the better."

  I smile at her. "Same here." I check off the boxes for the main ingredients and the sauce, finishing just as the waiter comes back. "We'll have two of these. And an order of spring rolls." I look at Kira. "You want anything else?"

  "No, I'm good." She turns to the waiter. "Can we get separate checks?"

  "Sure," he says. "Your meals will be out shortly."

  He takes off and I say to Kira, "Separate checks? I'd planned on paying."

  "Why? This isn't a date."

  "I invited you, so I should pay."

  "You can pay next time." She picks up her water and takes a drink.

  So she's going out with me again? Does she mean as friends, or more than that?

  "How'd you learn to play guitar?" she asks, setting her glass down.

  "I asked for one for Christmas when I was eight. I started out by teaching myself and then I took lessons."

  "Does anyone else in your family play?"

  "No." I laugh as I imagine my brothers trying to play an instrument. "No one in my family is musical. Except for my mom. She used to play piano. She's the one who encouraged me to play the guitar."

  "She must love that you're in a band. Does she go to hear you every time you play?"

  "She's um..." I hate talking about this. I can't avoid it but I still hate it. "She passed away."

  Kira covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

  "You don't have to be sorry. You didn't know. She had a heart attack when I was a freshman in high school. I went to school one morning and when I got home that day, she was gone. It was that sudden."

  "Austin, I'm so sorry."

  I nod. I never know what to say when it comes to this. Nash always tells me to talk about her life and not her death. It's good advice because talking about her death always chokes me up, even now, years later. Sometimes I still can't believe she's gone.

  "My mom's the reason I got into music," I say. "She always encouraged me. My dad did too but he didn't understand it the way my mom did. To her, music was an outlet. A way to express yourself. I felt the same way. Still do. That's why I play. If I didn't, I'd feel...I don't know...like I wasn't being me."

  "I feel the same way about gymnastics. It's how I express myself. Without it, I don't know what I'd do. I'd always feel like something is missing."

  "But you can't do it forever, right? I mean, when you're in your forties, you probably won't be doing back flips, right?" I smile.

  "No. Probably not."

  "So how do you fill that void?"

  She looks down. "I don't know. I really don't."

  "Sa
me here. I don't want to ever give up my music because I don't know how I'd fill that void." I'm not sure she heard me. She's looking down, lost in thought, so I give her hand a squeeze to get her attention. "So tell me about growing up in Michigan."

  As she talks, I watch her, noticing how she tenses up when talking about her parents, but then relaxes when she talks about her brothers. She must not get along with her parents or maybe she's just mad at them about something.

  "Do you like having three brothers?" I ask. "Or did you want sisters?"

  "I'm okay with brothers. At least I never had to share my clothes with anyone. My friend, Amber, has sisters, and they were always fighting over their clothes. So you have three brothers too?"

  "Yeah. All older. Nash is technically my half-brother. His mom took off after he was born so my mom raised him. He's the oldest, and then there's Jake, the second oldest, and then Bryce and me."

  "Does it suck to be the youngest?"

  I smile. "Shit no. Being the youngest is awesome. My mom spoiled me, knowing I was her last kid. And she wouldn't let my brothers pick on me. But of course they still did when she wasn't around."

  Our food arrives and we continue talking about our families as we eat. Then just as we're finishing up, her phone rings.

  She checks it. "It's my mom. I'm sorry, but I need to answer this. She freaks out when I don't answer."

  "Go ahead."

  "Hey, Mom. Can I call you back later? I'm out with a friend." She listens. "No, not Amber. She's out with Matt. I won't be out late. I'll call you as soon as I get home. Yeah, love you too. Bye." She hangs up. "Sorry about that."

  "It's fine."

  "She's just worried because I've never lived away from home like this. She calls at least a couple times a day."

  "Do you guys get along?"

  "For the most part, yeah, but there's stuff we disagree on. But that's true for everyone, right?" When I don't answer, she says, "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

  "It's okay. I know what you meant."

  The waiter returns with my change. "Have a good night," he says, then walks away.

  "You already paid?" Kira asks.

  "When you were on the phone."

  "But it was supposed to be separate checks."

  "It was, but I paid for both of them. You were busy. I didn't want to interrupt you."