Aw shit… here we go again…

…

APRIL

I've been studying for my business ethics class for hours. I haven't taken any breaks, not even for Twitter, and I still don't understand half of what's going on. This is a problem not only because I have an exam tomorrow but because, as a business major, these are things I really should understand.

I sigh deeply and flip through my textbook, trying to find a bit of information that I can latch onto. Back when I started, I didn't think business would be that difficult of a major. But I guess, at Harvard, everything is difficult.

I massage my temples and close my eyes for a minute, but I'm disrupted by the sound of my phone ringing with an incoming FaceTime call. When I open my eyes, I see it's one of my two best friends - Stephanie.

I glance at the clock, wondering if I should take the call. It's 6:32pm, and I still have four more chapters to get through. Knowing me and Steph, we might end up talking for hours, so I let her go to voicemail.

That method doesn't work, though. I didn't have much faith in it, anyway. Because all she does is call again - and she won't stop. She's relentless like that. I might as well just pick up. My brain could use a break, anyway.

The screen comes to life with not only Steph's face, but the face of my other best friend, Izzie, right beside her. "Hey guys," I say, lackluster with my cheek resting in my palm.

"Hey, gorgeous," Izzie says.

"Why'd you send me to voicemail? Whore!" Steph says, laughing.

I hold up the notebook that's in front of me, covered in notes with lines highlighted in a myriad of different colors. "I'm studying," I say.

"Ugh, boring," Izzie says. "For what?"

"Business ethics," I say. "Test tomorrow, bright and early." I let my head fall into both hands and my hair forms a curtain in front of my face. "I hate my life."

"Come out with us, then," Izzie says.

"I can't," I say.

"You didn't let me finish," Izzie says. "We're going to Beat Brew Hall."

"We're gonna go hear this band play," Steph cuts in. "Iz has the hots for the bass guitarist."

"No," Izzie said. "I heard the band's really good." She pauses. "And he's super hot. So what?"

I giggle softly and shake my head. "I can't," I say. "I have too much to do. I only have a B in this class, and-"

"Wait, did you just say you have a B?" Izzie asks. "That's above average! Honey, you're fine."

"You haven't met my dad," I say, doodling on the margins of my notebook as I speak. "I really can't afford to get anything less than an A- on this exam."

"You'll do great on it, you always do," Steph says. "It's been proven that live music breaks are good for the brain. If you've been studying all day, you probably aren't even retaining the information anymore at this point."

"Live music breaks, huh?" I say with a smile.

"Well, the last part is definitely legit," she says.

"Guys," I say, sighing. "I really wish I could. But I just…"

Interrupting my sentence, I hear the doorbell ring. Together, Steph and Izzie's eyes light up. "Come get the door," Izzie says.

"Surprise!" Steph follows up. "Let us in!"

I hang up the phone and rise to my feet, groaning the whole way. Steph is probably right - my brain is fried and I don't know if it's soaking up much of anything anymore. But I feel like I should at least try to stay here and study tonight. It's a Sunday - not a great night to go out and listen to a band I've never heard of play at a noisy bar. Especially not when I have a test tomorrow.

I leave my room and find my roommate, Amelia, heading to the door as well. "It's for me," I say. "Steph and Iz."

"Oh," she says. "I thought you were studying."

"Yeah. Me, too," I say, then open the door. "Hey."

"Hey!" they sing, arms open wide to hug me like we didn't just see each other on Friday.

I notice that Amelia's school things are out on the coffee table, so I usher the girls into my room to give her some peace and quiet. "Nerd alert," Izzie says under her breath, referencing my roommate.

"Come on. I was studying too," I say. "It's Sunday."

"Nerd alert, times two," Izzie says, which makes us both laugh.

"Okay, we need to get you cute," Steph says, rifling through my closet. "You know I think you look adorable in anything, but the loungewear look will not fly tonight. If this guy is as hot as Isobel here says, then he better have some hot ass friends."

"Guys," I say, flopping onto my bed with my arms spread wide. "I really shouldn't go."

"We'll get you home early enough to keep studying, alright? How's that for a compromise?" Steph asks. "It's not even 7 yet. We'll get you back here by 10 - 10:30 at the very latest. Sound good, grandma?"

"That's grandmother to you," I grumble, sitting up to see what clothes she's pulling out. "And fine. But no later than 10:30."

…

When we get to the bar, there's already a band playing as Steph orders us drinks. Me and Izzie find a high-top table and sit facing the stage - luckily, we have a pretty good view.

"So, what's this super-hot guy's band like?" I ask. "And how did you hear about him?"

"Insta," she says. "Then I did some Facebook stalking. His name is Alex, and he's been playing the bass for his whole life, basically. He's so cute, April. Wait 'til you see him." She points at me. "And I'm sure he has some hot bandmates."

"I'm not worried about that," I say. "At all."

"Maybe you should be," she says, taking a sip of the drink that Steph arrived with.

"Maybe she should be what?"

"Worried about getting laid," Izzie says, the straw still between her teeth.

"Excuse you. I get laid regularly," I say defiantly.

"Once a week," Steph says. "I saw it written on her calendar once. Friday nights. So, I guess she is freshly fucked."

"April," Izzie says, holding back laughter. "Do you seriously plan out when you have sex?"

"I have a busy schedule!" I say, smacking them both. "Leave me alone. I don't tell you how to live your lives."

"I'll get out my planner, and maybe you could start," Izzie says, and I can't help but laugh.

"I hate you both," I say, sipping the rum and coke that Steph ordered - she knows what I like.

To put an end to my grumbling, the MC comes out and announces the next band - Half Alive.

"OMG, shut up," Izzie says. "They're coming!"

"We weren't even talking," I say.

"Shut up!"

We watch the band, Half Alive, take the small stage, and I resist saying something quippy about their stupid name. It's obvious that Izzie is having a good time listening to the music they're playing, even if it's not quite my style. I like seeing my friends happy, and I guess I'm glad I came out tonight. It's a nice breather. And a little alcohol never hurts when it comes to calming my nerves for a test.

"Aren't they good?" Izzie asks, leaning over to me during their third or fourth song.

I nod enthusiastically, taking a long sip of my drink.

"Right? Alex invited us backstage after they're done."

My eyes widen and my brows come together as I turn to look at her. "Wait, what? No," I say. "You said 10:30."

"It's barely even 10!" she says. "It'll just be for a second."

"Alex wants you to come backstage. Me and Steph don't need to tag along."

"Um, yes you do," she says. "I can't go by myself! I'll freak out. Please." She presses her hands together in a prayer position. "I'm literally begging you. I won't force you to come out with us for six whole months if you do this one thing for me."

I groan and roll my eyes lightly. "Fine," I say. "But only for a second. I have to get home, Iz."

"I know, I know," she says. "Thank you! You're the best."

After the band finishes their set, Izzie wrangles me and Steph and shows us the way backstage. It isn't so much an official backstage as it is a storage area, but I keep my mouth shut.

"There they are," Izzie says, jittering beside me.

"Chill, Iz," Steph says. "They're just people."

"Sure, sure, whatever," she says, then clears her throat. "Um… hey, Alex. It's Izzie. From Instagram?"

A smooth smile finds its way onto Alex's face as he lights up with recognition. "Hey," he says, then pulls her into a one-armed side hug. "You made it."

"Told you I would," she says. "You guys were awesome."

"Thanks," Alex says. "Here, let me introduce you to the rest of the band."

While Izzie and Steph pretend not to freak out over this barely-famous band, I hang off to the side and check my phone. It's 10:30 already, which makes me sigh. I don't say anything aloud, though. I'm not that much of a killjoy.

I let myself scroll through Twitter - something I didn't get to do earlier - and get lost in the timeline, laughing to myself once in a while.

"Too cool for us, huh?" a voice says, and my head snaps up from my phone. "Whoa, sorry," he says, whoever this is. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," I say, slipping my phone back into my purse.

"Alright," he says, half smiling. "Someone on your phone must be pretty damn funny."

I shrug a little. "Just Twitter," I say.

He nods and eyes me, sizing me up or checking me out - I can't tell. "I'm Jackson," he says.

"April."

"April showers," he says. "Let me guess… spring birthday?"

"April 23rd," I say. "My parents weren't very original."

He laughs and gestures towards a leather couch. "Wanna sit? Looks like your friends are gonna keep you waiting for a bit."

I glance over to Izzie and Steph who are both deep in - seemingly flirty - conversation with two of Jackson's bandmates. I sigh, give in, and say, "Sure."

We sit next to each other, but not too close. He smells like sweat and cologne, and the two scents mix together to form something that's too intoxicating to go unnoticed.

"So, what'd you think of the show?" he asks.

"It was good," I answer, but it comes out too quickly.

He chuckles. "Not your type of music, huh?"

"No, it's not that…" I trail off.

"Oh, we just suck then?" he says, grinning.

I can't help but return the smile, tucking my hair behind one ear. "You don't suck," I say, cheeks heating up. "You were really good. How long have you been playing guitar?"

"You didn't answer my question," he says. "You really didn't like the show, huh? Damn. I'm about to cry in the shower later." He covers his eyes with one hand and pretends to be emotional, and I laugh.

"No, no, I liked it!" I say, reaching to pull his hand down. As soon as our fingers touch, my whole body jolts. And with the way that his eyes instantly meet mine, I have a feeling I'm not alone in that.

I try to take my hand back, but he holds on - just for a second - swiping his thumb over my knuckles. I let him, and I like it.

"You were good, I swear," I say, my hand in my lap once again. "It's just not the music that I normally listen to."

"And what do you normally listen to?" he asks. "Taylor Swift?"

"Hey," I say. "Don't judge a book by its cover." I pause for a moment, smirking. Then, I say, "Yes. I've loved her since 2006 and I'll never stop."

"Oh, damn," he says, dramatically throwing his head back. "I've gotta compete with T. Swift now. I'll never win this one."

I giggle, blushing again as we turn to face each other on the couch. After he picks his head up, we lock eyes and stay there for a moment, not saying anything. It's not awkward or uncomfortable, though. If anything, it's hot.

"So… yeah," I say. "I've loved her since I was 8 years old. And I'm 22 now, so… that's over half my life."

"That's dedication," he says. "So, if you're 22… does that mean you go to school around here?"

I'm proud of my school, but whenever someone asks me where I go, I always find myself harboring a deep sense of embarrassment. It feels like I'm bragging when I say it aloud. But it's not like I can lie about it - we're at a bar in Cambridge. He probably already knows, or at least assumed.

"Yeah," I say.

"Harvard girl, huh?" he asks, eyebrows up.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

He shakes his head. "For you, no," he says.

"Just for me?" I ask, smiling. "What about the other Harvard girls?"

"Take or leave 'em," he says, eyes drifting over my face until they dart to my chest, then dart back up again. Surprising myself, I don't mind that he looked. I'm wearing a low-cut black top that puts what little cleavage I have on display, so at least it's doing its job. "I got a thing for the brunette ones, though."

For a second, I'm confused. Then, I realize he's still talking about me because my hair is brown. Still, sometimes, I forget.

"Well, joke's on you," I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder to leave one side of my neck bare. His eyes land on it and don't move. "Brunette isn't my natural hair color."

"No way," he says.

"Uh-huh," I say. "I dyed it last month. Just to experience something new, I guess. I'm actually a redhead."

"Tell me these curls are natural," he says. "Curly-headed girls...mmm."

"They are," I say, unable to contain my smirk. There's a ball of heat in my gut that's making its way lower, no matter how much I try and cool it down. His eyes, every time they land on my skin, singe. "You have a thing for curly hair?"

"I might," he says, eyeing mine.

"You can touch, if you want," I say. My heart is hammering against my chest plate, and I wonder if he can tell. It only speeds up when his fingers graze my clavicle on the way to touch a perfect curl, pulling it gently and watching it reform its original shape.

"They bounce right back," he says, pulling on a different curl before tucking it behind my ear and removing his hands. I'd be surprised if my chest weren't red and exuding heat right now - I feel like I'm about to explode.

"So…" I say, clearing my throat to try and clear my head. "How long have you been playing guitar?" He never answered my question earlier, and he is the lead guitarist. "I always wanted to try, but I never did it. It seems so hard."

"Nah, it's easy," he says. "All it is is a few notes. You just have to know how to put them together."

I tilt my head to one side, studying his face. "I like that," I say.

"I've been playing since I was a kid. Maybe 8 or 9, somewhere around there." He swipes a hand through his hair. "It makes me look a lot cooler than I actually am."

I lean against the couch and keep my eyes on him. "What do you mean?" I say. "You're cool."

"You think so?"

I nod, pressing my lips together to calm my smile. "Yeah, I do," I say.

"I'm gonna run with that, then," he says.

"I mean, you play electric guitar and you're in a band," I say. "What's cooler than that?"

"I don't know, Harvard girl," he says. "You tell me."

I snort. "I'm a business major. I wouldn't know cool if it hit me on the head."

"A business major, huh?" he asks, eyes roaming my face. "I would've never guessed."

"Yeah, well," I say, eyebrows up as I avert my gaze.

"I don't usually get business majors at my shows," he tells me.

"Your shows?" I echo. "I thought you were part of a band."

His eyes flit to the group on the other side of the room, then back to me. "Everyone knows I'm the one audiences show up for," he says.

I laugh, letting my shoulders bounce. "You've got a big head," I say.

"So I've been told," he says, voice low.

Our eyes meet and I know he's trying to make some sort of innuendo, one that makes my mind go to a place it really shouldn't be. My face flushes and my chest gets warm again, and for a second time, I find his eyes resting there. It only makes my skin glow hotter.

"Yo, Jackson," one of his bandmates says. "We gotta go."

Jackson gives his friend a curt nod, then turns back to me. "Closing time," he says.

"Wait," I say, surprising myself. "Do you play here often? Are you staying in Cambridge?"

He shoots me a grin and a sly expression. "Questions, questions," he says. "We'll probably be here again. Not sure when."

I try to play it cool. "Alright," I say, leaning back and waiting for him to get up and leave.

"You gonna come see me?"

I shrug one shoulder. "Maybe," I say.

"Now you wanna play coy," he says, then takes my hand.

I can't ignore the chills that run up and down my spine as he holds my palm gently in his own. Though his fingers are calloused from playing guitar, his grip is strong and dry. He pulls out a marker from his back pocket and takes off the lid with his teeth, holding it there as he writes a number on the top of my hand, right under my knuckles.

"Call me," he says. "I wanna see those curls again."

I tuck one behind my ear and glance at his spiky, all-caps handwriting. "Maybe I will," I say, uncrossing my legs and standing up as he does. "Maybe I won't."

"Nah," he says. "You will."

…

"Oh. My. Fucking. God," Steph says as we're on the sidewalk, walking home. "I kept looking over at you and that guy - what was his name?"

"Jackson," I say.

"I kept looking over at you and Jackson and seriously thought you were about to fuck right there on that couch. It was that intense. Like… holy shit, April. He's so into you."

"Psh, no," I say, waving my hand. "I'm sure he acts like that with every girl who comes backstage."

"He didn't act like that with us," Izzie points out.

"Well, you guys were talking to other people!" I say. "He's just a flirt."

"A flirt who you have the hottest of hots for," Izzie says.

"No," I say, but my rebuttal isn't very strong. We all know it doesn't hold much weight.

"I can't blame you at all. Did you see his biceps?" Steph says.

"His biceps? What about his fingers? I was thinking about them doing something a little different than playing guitar."

"Izzie!" I say.

"What? He's gotta know how to work those things. I'm sure he's multitalented."

"Oh, my god."

"Tell me I'm wrong, April! Tell me I'm wrong!"

I burst out laughing, head thrown back and everything. "Okay, okay. I can't. You're definitely right. God, he was sexy."

I lift my hand to brush some hair away from my face, and Steph notices the number scrawled on the back of it. I watch as her eyes catch it, then we make eye contact. I know exactly what she's thinking, because I'm thinking it, too. I have been all night.

"So, what does this mean for…?"

I cut her off. "Nothing," I say. "It means nothing. Nothing is ever gonna happen between me and Jackson."

I take a long look at my hand, at the numbers that he'd written less than an hour before while holding my hand so gently in that strong grip. I know what I have to do, so I do it. I wet the fingers of my opposite hand and run them over the marker, smearing the phone number past the point of recognition.

Then, I say, "I'll probably never see him again, anyway."