First real person story. Haven't done this in a while. Like to give thanks to MariahjilE for beta-ing my story. Hoping to start second chapter today.
"Hey, Brya. It's Ollie. Uh, just wondering when you're coming back. I mean - it's been over a year now. You know that I love you, but I won't wait forever. But, yeah, just give me a call back on 3-"
BEEP! "Message deleted."
Oh, for God's sake. I'd only been on two dates with the guy. He'd been leaving those messages in my inbox, too. He couldn't take a fucking hint. You'd think he would get the message after the first fortnight. And I'm not horrible. Before I left, I did break up with him, if you can even call it that. Two dates and he had started saying "I love you." I told him that I couldn't do it. Also after the first few emails and phone calls, I called him back and said it wasn't happening, that I wasn't coming back any time soon, let alone to him, and he still called me. Serves me right, though. That's what you get when you date a guy whose middle name is Gary. Yeah. I know.
I ran my hand through my hair and chucked my phone back into the abyss of my handbag. Shit, I'd have a hard time finding it later on.
As I got up off the hard hotel bed, I groaned. I had a pounding headache, and I just wanted to sleep, even if it was on the hard hotel bed. Sometimes it was tempting to settle down somewhere. Get a proper bed. A comfy one. Hotel beds were very rarely comfortable, and I should know. I practically slept my way across the seven goddamned seas. But I couldn't even think of going home right now. It still hurt too much. Shoving that stinging errant thought out of my head, I shuffled over to the bar fridge on the other side of the room. I had spent the whole day in bed, watching shitty day-time television and trying to doze off, but, as tempting as it was to crawl back into bed, they needed me down at the restaurant. It was tourist season. Technically – and legally – I was a tourist, too, but I worked here. All these tourists wanted was to see Bourban Street, see the crypts that Anne Rice wrote about and see "a real, live hoodoo lady." Truthfully I had seen all of the above, but come on! – There's a whole different side of New Orleans if people wanted to see it.
Anyway – they needed me in. Two waitresses had quit in the past week, and because of all the tourists, they needed me – headache or no headache. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the bar fridge and grabbed some aspirin off of the small dining table and gulped it down. Sitting down on the bony dining chair, I let the aspirin do its work. A few minutes later, I was starting to feel a little better, so I went and walked over to the set of drawers.
Yanking a drawer open at random, I rummaged around until I found a decent outfit for work tonight. Eventually, I decided on a pair of distressed, dark-wash jeans, and a tight-fitting blue v-neck. Yes, I played up my sex appeal. It got me more tips, so I wasn't complaining, and I would be able to move onto my next city sooner. Rushing into the bathroom, I brushed on a bit of make-up and pulled my hair back into a pony-tail. I ran out of the bathroom, grabbed my favorite tan bomber jacket and my handbag off the table and headed off to work. Another thing I should mention - I work on Bourban Street. Nice, right?
Later that night – four ass-grabs, and countless men talking to my breasts (which aren't that impressive, by the way) instead of my face, I was only two beers into the night. I was working, you know. They didn't want drunk waitresses as well as patrons. Thankfully, my headache had dissipated. After leaving work, I decided to go and hit my favorite bar, The House of Blues. I knew the bartender – and by "knew" I mean we did the messy one night stand thing. It was great, but we left it like that. Luckily, I knew I could squeeze a couple of free drinks out of him. A favor for a friend, that kind of thing. I wasn't going there again. Anyway, another patron had her eye on him, and I didn't want to get in the way.
As I wandered over to the bar, I took my hair out of the pony-tail and combed it out. I preferred to have my hair down. It felt nicer to have my hair streaming down my back. Psychologists would call it protective. I call it natural.
Nearing the bar, I could tell that it was packed tonight, and some loud music was pumping out of the amps. Ah. Live music. I paused outside for a minute. No fucking way! It was 100 Monkeys – one of my favorite bands! I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. I would not go all crazy-fan-girl on them. As long as I had my dignity, I would not make an idiot of myself in front of them. That would be completely mortifying.
Calmer now, I walked in and made my way through the huge crowd of 100 Monkeys fans to the bar. Making my way over, I shrugged out of my jacket and slung it over my handbag. As I approached the bar, Paul – the bartender who I did the dirty with – grinned at me. Thankfully he wasn't leering at my breasts. Yet. Shit, that was going to be a problem.
"A shot of whiskey and a beer." I told him.
He smiled at me again. "It's on the house."
"Thanks."
He quickly pushed a shot of whiskey and a bottle of the local beer back across the bar. I smiled at him friendly – emphasis on the "friendly" – hoping that it looked that way, because I knew that Sara, the girl who was into Paul, was around here somewhere and I didn't want her to get the wrong idea.
After downing the shot of whiskey and a swig of my beer, I glanced over at the stage. The band had just finished Reaper, and was now playing Orson Brawl. I smiled to myself as the crowd began singing along with the band.
Too soon, the band finished the set. The guys were now packing up their instruments. I exhaled slowly again. Now they were going to mingle with the fans. Okay – if I meet any of them, I will not scream. I didn't think I would, but it was quite possible that if I excited myself enough, I would. Thank God my friends weren't with me, because they would. I ran my hand through my hair again, calming myself, and settled myself better on the bar stool.
Now the band emerged from backstage and got off the designated "stage" area, immediately blending into the crowd. Only one headed over to the bar – oh my God – right next to me. Shit, shit, shit! It was Jackson Rathbone. Wow, he looked so much hotter in person. Okay, okay, do not scream, do not go completely fan-girl on him – and do not fall off the damn bar stool! That would be embarrassing. As if to mock me, suddenly my balance veered off slightly, making me quickly right myself. I grabbed on to the edge of the bar. Fuck. Oh my Dog. God. Shit – his hotness is making me go nuts, even in my head.
"I'll take a whiskey, neat." his voice sounded from a couple of seats over.
me. That accent. I ran my hand through my hair again, sighing in order to calm myself. Oh – it worked. Thank God.
"Long day?"
Horrified, I looked over at him. He heard me and was talking to me. "Something like that." By some miracle, my voice was steady. Fuck... His eyes were reallygreen.
He smiled at me – the famous crooked grin. Wow. For a moment, I was speechless – physically, and in my head. Okay, that rarely happens. But I needed to savour this moment. I took another swig of beer. "That was a great set. Orson Brawl is one of my favourites. I love how it gets the audience to participate."
"Thanks. Yeah, that was kind of our thought, too. You know, to get the audience to join in. We love playing music, but we love it even more when we can transfer the love to the people."
I bit back a fan-girly giggle. Thankfully, only a smile emerged.
"What?" the green-eyed god across from me asked.
I laughed fully now. "Sorry, it's just, uh, what you said sounded like it could be a line from 'I Am The Walrus'. You know, that Beatles song?"
He laughed too. "I suppose it does. So, uh, where are you from? Your accent isn't from anywhere I know of."
"New Zealand, yeah," I admitted. "So, as you can tell, we're not all hobbits with hairy feet, but you can never tell."
Jackson laughed again. Wow, I made him laugh. God, I hope that's a good thing.
"I've heard it's beautiful in New Zealand."
I grinned back at him. A safe topic – I knew a lot about my own country. And that sounds like I'm completely stupid and brainless. Thank God I didn't say it out loud. "Unless it's completely changed in the last eighteen months, you are right."
He looked at me oddly.
"I've been travelling the world – you know, seeing everything I want to see before I go and do the whole career thing. It's been a major dream of mine to see Ireland, and that was my first stop."
And there I go, rambling on about myself.
Shit, ask him a question!
But what though…
Just say something.
It's his turn to say something though! I was totally exasperated at my warring subconscious. Do I say something or not?
"That must be a great feeling to be able to sort of run free like that." he commented, pulling me out of my masochistic train of thought.
Oh, thank God. He saved me from myself.
I traced the opening of the bottle in front of me. "Yeah, it is," I said simply.
Okay, now ask him something, damn it. "It must be the same for you, right? I mean, it wouldn't be the same as traveling the world, but it must be awesome to play for a different audience every night."
"You have a definite way with words."
Wow. Major flattery from the green-eyed Monkey god. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. Blushing. Holy shit. Biting my lip, I chuckled self-consciously and took another swig from my beer. After that, the bottle was empty.
"So, where are you headed next on your world adventure?" he asked, getting up off his stool and sitting on the one next to me. Holy Hale. Was this really happening to me, or had I been sucked into a world where men like him talked to me? I honestly had no clue. Jackson turned himself on the stool to look at me.
I then made the mistake of inhaling. Oh my God. He smelled like sweat, hotel soap, cigarettes, whiskey, and leather. Manly. And completely and totally hot, sexy and every other type of word used to describe an insanely gorgeous man. Wow. I inhaled again. Fuck me sideways. And why didn't I like smokers?
Because smoking gives you lung cancer, you idiot!
Oh.
Yeah, oh.
It's still really hot.
It's hot in the room – many people dancing, close bodies equals heat.
Jackson is really hot.
I shook my head clear of my debilitating thoughts and answered Jackson's question. Still can't believe I'm actually talking to Jackson-fucking-Rathbone. "I'm actually thinking of staying in America for a little while longer. And since I've already seen New York and Forks, I may just cruise along. Go where the wind takes me, that sort of thing."
Jackson grinned at me. "Twilight fan, huh?"
A complete and total Twihard. Collected all the books and seen all the movies out so far. There was no way in hell I was telling him about my obsession with it. "Yeah, something like that."
"No L.A yet?" he asked.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Yes, I know you live in the city of angels, pun completely intended on the angel in front of me. Please don't ask me to come and visit you. I may spontaneously combust.
"I've actually already seen some of it. Dipped my feet into the ocean at Venice Beach, walked a whole four feet of the Hollywood stars – and not stars I knew of – visited China Town, and ate at a diner."
We both laughed at my pitiful trip to Los Angeles.
"That's all you've seen of L.A?" Jackson seemed to question my sanity.
I nodded in a half-assed assent. "Well, to be fair, I was only there for a few hours before I had to catch my flight back to New Zealand. By the way, I was fourteen."
This seemed to appease Jackson. "Maybe if you're still here when we're finished the tour, maybe I could show you around L.A."
In my head, there was a long pause. A small voice in the back of my head said weakly "Yep, that did it. I just died and went to Heaven."
"Y-yeah, that sounds great." I stammered, somehow finding my voice.
Holy fucking shit. I just got an invitation to see Los Angeles with an actual angel. Hallelujah, I was going to Heaven! I looked down at my bottle, remembering that it was empty. Bugger it all.
A voice suddenly interrupted my musing. "Two beers, please."
"What?" I looked up from my bottle to Jackson. He was ordering me a beer.
What a gentleman.
A sexy gentleman.
No taking advantage of him now, he was on tour.
No one said I was going to take advantage of him – he could take advantage of me.
The other voice in my head sighed.
He smiled at me. "No lady as pretty as you should have to go without alcohol."
We both laughed, though mine sounded rather breathy, and I knew I was blushing like a fucking school-girl.
Nope, that was what killed you.
Totally.'Okay, for once, the two warring sides of my brain were on the same side. Jackson was starting to be a good thing for my brain.
As Paul slid two beers across to Jackson, not so subtly scowling at him – uh,oh – and Jackson passed the money over to him, thankfully ignoring the scowl that Paul was directing at him, Jackson slid one of the bottles to me and grinned his crooked grin at me. Okay, panties have just disappeared. Completely.
"Thanks." I said, opening the bottle.
He paused for a minute as he opened his own beer, and then looked up at me. "I just realized I haven't introduced myself. I'm Jackson." He extended his hand past his bottle.
"I know." I replied. Jackson blushed slightly. Aw, he actually blushed.
I reached out and grasped his hand. Fuck, this sounds so cliche, but his hand was warm and completely encompassed mine in his grasp. Tingles actually flowed up my arm. "You can call me "B"."
As we let go of each other's hands, he raised a single eyebrow at me in question to the whole "B" thing. Shit, the eyebrow thing. Girls would kill for that to be seen in person. I can't fucking believe it. So hot.
I chuckled once to myself. "When you earn points with me, you earn a letter."
"Do you do this to all the men you meet?" Jackson laughed.
Laughing too, I replied, "Only the good-looking ones," and took a swig of my beer.
Was that cheesy? I think that was cheesy.
It was mysterious. Let's see how he responds.' Both little mini-me's in my head rested their chins on their hands and gazed out of my eyes at him.
Jackson chuckled once bashfully. A chorus of "awww's" eminated from the two other voices in my head. God, I hope I wasn't crazy.
Suddenly another guy from the band – Ben G – came up to Jackson. "Hey, man, we've got to head out early tomorrow so we better head back to the hotel now." He grinned ruefully from beside Jackson. It was a "Sorry-I-have-to-drag-him-away" smile. I bet he had to give that smile to a lot of women. Shrugging in a "Eh, it happens" sort of way, I drank the last of my beer.
"Uh, yeah. Give me a sec, Ben." Jackson said, looking at Ben, and then back to me – rather pointedly, I might add.
Ben nodded. "Right," he turned to me. "See you." Really? I would? He then wandered off into the mass of fans behind us. Oh, God. The fans. I hope I haven't monopolized him. I also hope that they haven't been taking pictures of us to send to the paparazzi or put on Twitter. The paparazzi fucked me off enough as it was, and they weren't even following me. The way they invaded people's privacy and ruined lives.... I was thought-rambling. Back to Jackson.
Yes, back to Jackson. An eerie chorus sounded from my . The two voices were slowly becoming one. Someday I would need to thank Jackson.
It sucked that Jackson had to go. This had been one hell of a night. I was sorry that he had to go so soon. Ah. Thank God for the miracle of cell phones. Just as I pulled my bag up off the ground, Jackson started to speak. "Well, uh –"
"Just a sec." I said, opening my bag, and hoping that I could find my cell phone quickly in the abyss that was my handbag. By some miracle, I found it – of course, after discovering my lost lip-balm. I quickly went to the phonebook, and then held the cell-phone out to Jackson.
He seemed slightly confused.
"We'll trade numbers."
Jackson grinned and pulled out his own cell phone. "Smart thinking."
Ha. I was smart. Fuck my high school teachers.
We swapped cell phones and put our numbers in. Since I wanted him to stay interested, I just put my name as 'B'.
When we swapped back, I saw that he had put himself as 'J. Action'. Hell, yeah! It's not like anyone else would know who that was. Or that anyone would actually go through my phone. It's not like I let that many people look in it.
"It was great meeting you, Jackson." I said, smiling as I slid my phone back into my bag.
He picked my jacket up off the floor and held it out to me. Wow. His mama raised him well. Jackson even helped me into it. It was so sweet and gentlemanly that the voices in my head chorused another round "awww's". I blushed slightly as I turned back to face him.
"It was nice to meet you too. It's not very often that I don't get surrounded by screaming fans. Not that I'm complaining, but..."Jackson trailed off.
I laughed. "It's bound to get on anyone's nerves after a while."
Jackson nodded.
"I better go, and so should you. I mean, it must be hard enough driving in a van full of guys, not to mention falling asleep on the road. You never know what the others will do to you." I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
"That's a good point."Jackson replied. He held out his hand again. We shook hands, and, again, I felt tingles go up my arm. Okay, it was nice, but... I hadn't felt this way in a while. And, to be honest, it scared me a bit.
"Goodnight." he said, as we broke the handshake.
"Goodnight." I echoed.
I smiled at him one last time, and walked out of the bar. When I was about three blocks from the hotel, I heard my message tone from my phone go off. Frowning, I paused on the sidewalk, and dug in my bag to retrieve my phone. The I-D said "." This was kinda weird. He had just met me.
Maybe he wasn't the only one who felt that tingle.
No. That can't be right. If he wanted it to be something, I didn't know if I could do it. Not because of who he was, his status or anything like that. He was just a person to me.
Of course a very good-looking person, though.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Believe me, I know. Holding my breath, I hestitantly pressed the 'View Message' button.
Can I have another letter now? I think I've earned it. :)
- J. Action
A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled out of my throat. That was so sweet and funny. I sent a quick reply back to him.
Yes, you have earned it. 'R'
- B
Seconds later, a reply to my reply came through. If we went on like this, I would never make it back to the hotel, never mind getting to sleep after this. I was so thankful that I wasn't working the morning/afternoon shift tomorrow.
"BR?" There are a lot of variables. I would ask them, but you probably need to sleep. Again, goodnight.
- J. Action
Wow. Another person who didn't do the whole text speak thing.
Goodnight.
-B
I wasn't going to get any sleep at all tonight after going to that bar.
Comments and reviews are like Jackson's handshakes - make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
