JENNIE
The sun was glaring, and my palms were sweaty as I thumbed out the message on my phone.
Jennie: Are you on your way?
The sidewalk outside the Bridgestone Arena was full of people streaming up the concrete steps into the main entrance. The crowd was jovial, and the fans were a wide range of ages. Occasionally, some guy would give me a second glance, as if wondering about the girl waiting in the shadow of the tall, silver building while constantly checking her phone.
My feet hurt, and I shifted uncomfortably on the heels I'd let Lilith talk me into wearing.
When I'd climbed into the Uber and headed for the concert, I'd felt awesome. My skinny black pants fit perfectly, and no tan lines were showing in my blue sleeveless top. My hair was cooperating too, letting me curl my brown locks into soft waves with volume, instead of the flat, stick-straight way I normally wore it. I'd watched YouTube tutorials on 'date night makeup' and followed painstakingly along, so I was confident my makeup didn't look like it'd been applied by a drunken clown.
But the Uber had dropped me off at the Nissan gate outside the arena more than thirty minutes ago, and I wasn't feeling awesome now. Lisa and I were supposed to meet here at six thirty, and the opening act of the concert had started at seven. I'd hung out in a state of annoyance for the last ten minutes, but as the clock continued to tick along, my irritation turned.
I looked back at the texts I'd sent her over the last thirty-five minutes.
Jennie: I'm here!
Jennie: Nissan gate. Standing next to the Jack Daniel's sign.
Jennie: We said 6:30, right?
Something was wrong. Why wasn't she responding? She wasn't on-call with the hospital, so that couldn't be the problem.
A sensation of cold shivered through me, despite the July heat and humidity. Had she forgotten, or had she changed her mind? I abruptly felt like a fool, standing on the sidewalk in the most sexed-up outfit I owned, waiting for a woman who clearly wasn't going to show.
How much longer should I wait, and . . . did I really want to go into the concert by myself, now that my evening had been ruined? I stared up at the series of doors, debating what to do. Lilith would say "fuck her," go inside, and have the time of her life. I wasn't angry at her, but mad at the situation. If she'd gone with me, I'd never have invited Lisa and—
My phone vibrated.
Lisa: I'm so, so sorry. Was on a post-op phone call that would NOT end. Ordering my Uber now.
She was still at home? It was all the way on the other side of town. I squeezed the phone so tightly in my hand, I worried I'd break it. If I was being reasonable, I knew it wasn't her fault, but it was hard to be reasonable when I was hot, had aching feet and a stomach that had been churning with anger for the last twenty minutes.
Lisa: Where are you? Still waiting outside?
I stabbed the screen with my fingers.
Jennie: Yup.
Lisa: Go on in, don't wait for me. I'll be there in 15.
Jennie: I have your ticket.
The dots blinked across the screen, then vanished, and finally . . .
Lisa: Shit. You want to meet at the lounge by the entrance? You won't have to wait outside.
I glared up at the large windows opposite me, and my irritation burned hotter as I watched the people inside the air-conditioned building, laughing and sipping on drinks. I didn't want to have to remind her, but she'd obviously forgotten.
Jennie: I'm not 21.
More blinking dots appeared and then disappeared, and I pictured her swearing to herself.
Lisa: Traffic's moving fast. I'll be there soon. Again, I'm sorry.
Jennie: K.
I wasn't sure what else to say. The situation sucked, but I should have expected it. Lisa's job was demanding, and she'd spent more than a few dinners on the phone with patients or the hospital while Felix and I ate.
Scalpers tried to sell me tickets while I waited, anxiously watching the cars that pulled up with the Uber sticker in the window. Even though the concert had started a while ago, people were still arriving in droves, not interested in the warm-up acts.
A pack of guys, who looked only a few years older than me, meandered down the sidewalk, and their slow, steady approach put me on alert. A hyperaware sense of anxiety kicked in. I stared at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact. I'd been to enough parties at Vanderbilt to be wary of a group like this. Toxic masculinity mixed with pack mentality was a dangerous combination.
"Hey," a male voice said. I hoped it wasn't directed at me, and glanced at my phone, even though whatever was on screen wasn't registering.
"Hey," the guy said again, louder and closer. He had to be talking to me.
The pack had stopped moving, and the tallest one of the group was staring, an interested expression painted on his face. As he took me in, I had no choice but to evaluate him as well. He wore a gray t-shirt and ripped jeans, but they were the expensive kind where the rips were intentional. He was okay looking. His nose was a little long and his eyes matched his dull colored shirt, but my instincts were immediately to run.
"You out here waiting for me?" he said. The corners of his mouth turned up in a teasing smile.
"No, sorry."
I tried to look beyond him to reinforce my lack of interest, but he didn't move. He just stood there staring, and I reluctantly turned my attention back to him. His half smile had deepened into a wide grin.
"What's your name, gorgeous?"
I blinked. Did he really just say that? Even though it was technically a compliment, the way he'd delivered the cheesy line was anything but flattering, and I felt my expression sour. "My name is 'Not Interested.'"
His friends snickered, but the guy was unfazed. If anything, it seemed to egg him on. He stepped toward me, invading my space. He was close. Too close, and I backpedaled—only the wall was there, hot against my back.
His friends kept their distance. Most seemed uninterested in what was going on, but it was hard not to feel intimidated with the tall guy looming over me, and the way his smile reached his eyes, it was clear he knew it. He saw how nervous he made me and enjoyed it.
He was scary.
"Why not?" he asked, looking smug. "You got a boyfriend?"
I'd been raised by a strong, feminist mother, and since I was literally trapped, this guy had activated the part of me which was all teeth and claws. "Does that make a difference?" I snapped.
My question caught him off-guard, but he recovered and looked at me like I was being silly. His tone dripped with condescension. "Of course, it does."
"Why?" I lifted my chin and narrowed my gaze, giving him time to come up with an answer, but he stumbled. "Is it," I continued, "because that means I belong to someone else?"
Confusion threaded his eyebrows together. "Uh . . ."
"I already told you I wasn't interested, but, no. You won't respect that. You'll only step off when you think I'm another man's property." I straightened my shoulders and tried to stand as tall as possible, pretending I wasn't feeling threatened. "I'm not interested in you, or being anyone's property. Goodbye."
I heard one of his friends make a sound that was half-gasp, half-laugh, but I didn't take my attention off the guy peering down at me. He wasn't hiding his displeasure at being called out in front of his crew, and my stomach tangled into a knot. He looked pissed, and . . . shit, had I just poked a bear?
"Hey, is this guy bothering you?" a familiar voice said.
Relief swept through me as my gaze landed on Lisa. She looked amazing in jeans and a black button-down shirt that fit her perfectly. But her attention wasn't on me. Her intense, severe expression was directed at the guy in my face. The guy glanced at Lisa, then back at me, and threw his hands up in the air as he moved backward.
"No, I was just trying to pay her a compliment. Tell your daughter to chill out, bro."
I cringed, but Lisa didn't miss a beat.
"She's not my daughter, bro." Her tone was dark. "You heard her. Get lost."
The guy scanned Lisa with a skeptical look, then shook his head and gestured for his friends to follow him as he moved off. "Whatever."
As soon as the threat was gone, it flipped a switch in my body. I was supposed to be annoyed with Lisa for making me wait, but the feeling had evaporated, and now I was just overwhelmingly happy to see her. Her concerned eyes landed on mine. "You okay?"
I shrugged one shoulder, pretending it was no big deal, even though my heart was still pounding. "I'm fine."
Her expression was fixed. "That was impressive."
"What?"
She shifted toward me, placing a hand on the small of my back and drawing me near. The warmth of her touch made the space between us feel intimate. Like it was just the two of us in the evening shadows.
Her gaze captured me and refused to let go. "What you said to him. How you put that jerk in his place."
I couldn't think straight when she was this close and I could breathe in her cologne. "I'm not an object," I said and made a face. "I mean, I'm not going to be treated like one anymore."
The statement hung for a moment. She knew who I was talking about and nodded slowly in understanding. "Is it okay if I tell you that you look amazing, though? Because you do."
I softened. "Thank you. I'm glad you're here."
"Me too." Her posture relaxed, and she motioned toward the entrance. "Ready?"