“Maya Parker,” I say. I can feel my palms sweating and resist the urge to wipe them on my jeans.
Also, I think I’m the only girl here wearing jeans, and definitely the only one wearing sneakers.
Which is fine. I’m not trying to impress anyone. Even if now I wish I had spent a little more time on that makeup refresh.
Kevin gives what looks like a shy smile. “I’m glad you got my note, and that you and your friends could make it.” He gestures with his chin to the “bar” in the back. “Can I get you a drink?The Pedialyte’s a particularly fine vintage, I hear.”
Shit. He’s actually really charming. But I look over to where Shane and JT are holding court, girls all dancing up against them to prove their innate sexability, and maybe he expects that I’ll be giggling all over him soon, fighting to hold his attention from the girls who even now are looking this way, clearly debating how best to pounce.
“I’m not going to be your chosen harem girl for the night,” I blurt out, and then inwardly cringe. Because probably there was a better way to put that. “It’s just not me. So.”
He gapes. “What? Myharem—”
“Right.” I wave a hand towards his bandmates and the groupies.
He looks cautiously amused. “Explain, please.”
“Do I need to? I mean, the hand-picking girls from the stage to sleep with, like you guys are kings surveying your domain, and girls actually, like, fighting for this honor in some epic flashing contest. And that’s not even counting the bouncer who only cares about passes if you aren’t a size two double D, and—”
Before I can finish the verbal avalanche that is sounding way more passionate than I mean it to, those girls looking this way decide to do their pouncing.
“Kevin!” one of them shrieks, while the other just envelops him in a hug.
“Come dance!” a third says.
Kevin is still staring at me, a little stunned, and I flush, but pride compels me not to look like I’m backing down.
“I—” he starts, and then gives a nervous laugh to the girls around him. “Hi, hey. Yeah, maybe later, okay?” He extricates himself from the hug, and the girl wanting to dance pouts, but then one of them yells “Lando!” and they reform around a new target—the drummer, I think, who has just walked out of his room.
Kevin takes a step toward me, closing the distance that the girls wedged there. “Wow,” he says. “That’s definitely a . . . stance. ‘Kings surveying our domain?’” He eyes me like he’s not sure how seriously to take what I’m saying.
“It’s just kind of degrading, don’t you think?”
He flicks a glance over to his swarmed friends. One of whom, Shane, has Leigh pressed up against him, his arm slung around her shoulder. Miranda, however, doesn’t seem to mind—she’s already making out with JT in a chair.
Damn. I may disagree with my girls’ goals, but I admire their ability to achieve them.
“Your friends seem okay with it,” Kevin says, and I’m a little impressed he knows which ones my friends are, out of all these girls.
Was he really looking over at me that much?
There’s that flutter in my chest again, and I fold my arms, like that might keep him from knowing. And for all my speechifying, I find myself wondering when I got so defensive, so protective of myself. I look down at the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes.
“Look,” he says with a sigh. “I just wanted to invite you to a party, get to know you. I’m sorry if that offends you.That wasn’t my intention.” He sounds sincere about it, if more than a little dejected.
I cringe. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You meant it, though.” He doesn’t sound judgmental, just like he’s stating a fact.
I suck in my lips. “I did. But it’s not like I’m opposed to a cute guy inviting me to a party—” I flush even deeper.Oh my god, Maya. Have you forgotten how to speak?“I promise I do have social skills,” I say, though I think at this point I’m trying to convince myself as much as him.
His lips twitch upward. “Any chance I’m going to get to see those?”
He says it with this perfectly dry delivery, and even through my embarrassment, I can’t help but genuinely laugh. He grins, and wow, that smile.
And maybe I don’t want to be some rock star’s hand-picked conquest, but I’m also not ready to walk away fromthat.
I glance at the ad-hoc bar. “It’s possible, I suppose, that with the right balance of electrolytes, I might turn into a socially functional person.” I pause. “Or I might rant at you about, I don’t know, the deficits in our country’s educational system. It’s always a gamble with me. But if that drink offer is still good . . .”
