But she’s not wrong about Finn Turner. He’s super hot…and currently lip-locked with a blonde with killer purple streaks. I finger my own pink in my nearly black hair. Maybe I should try purple next time.
“You zoned out again, Tatum,” she gripes.
“Sorry. Sorry. Go ahead. I’m listening.” Though I’d rather not be. I take a bite of my cheesecake and try to focus on her talking about her new professor who she also said she would totally do.
I love her, but I swear she has a one-track mind. I smile and nod at all the appropriate times, downing bite after bite of dessert to keep from having to respond with what I think she should do about trying to seduce him. A terrible idea. Obviously. But there’s no point in telling Ana that because she’s going to do what she wants regardless.
I wonder what that would be like. To make a decision based entirely on how you feel at any given moment. It takes me months just to decide what color I want my hair. And even that breaks me out in hives sometimes. I’m definitely not a living-in-the-moment kind of girl. Losing my virginity was even a planned moment.
“Hello, you did it again.” Ana gives me an exasperated look, waving her hand in front of my face. “Where did you go off to this time?”
“Sorry,” I mumble again. “Professor Mason, is it?”
Ana rolls her eyes. “Catch up, Tatum. I just asked you if you’re busy tomorrow night.”
“Why?” I ask her, narrowing my eyes. There is no telling what she wants to drag me along to. I learned the hard way that I need all the deets up front.
She smiles like she has the best secret in the world. “I may or may not have scored some backstage passes to the Gravity concert tomorrow.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say, dropping my fork. Then I look around in embarrassment when I realize how loud I was. More than one person is looking my way after that outburst.
“Oh my god, Ana. How?”
“Cydney’s friend that works at The Garden.”
Ana’s older sister has the hook up with her friend that does VIP something or other at Madison Square Garden. We occasionally get the leftovers when she has extra tickets no one else wants. But Gravity? There’s no way there should be leftover anything when it comes to that band.
Just the thought of the lead singer, Evan Anderson, is enough to send my pulse into overdrive. I’ve only been the biggest fangirl ever since I was fifteen. Well, at least in my own head. I don’t act like a fangirl. But inside I want to rip off those clothes and explore all that ink that covers his body, then lick him from head to toe.
Ana laughs. “I know exactly where your head just went.”
My face burns. So maybe a small part of me gets the allure of Ana’s sexcapades, but only in the context of Gravity, specifically Evan.
“I am so there,” I say, a huge grin on my face. Day. Made.
“Hang on there, babe.” She wags a finger in my face. “These passes are conditional.”
I immediately go on high alert. This cannot be good. Like, at all.
“How so?” I ask slowly.
She sits back and purses her lips, folding her arms over her chest and studying me for a moment before she speaks. “If you have the opportunity to meet Evan Fucking Anderson, you’re going to make the most of it.”
I’m not sure I like where this is going. “Again. How so?”
“Do your damnedest to get him to take you home with him. Or to his hotel. Whatever.” She waves her hand like the location doesn’t matter. As if that would be what has me looking at her like she’s lost her mind.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Ana. Come on.” I know she’s joking. She has to be.
But my friend looks dead serious.
“Nope. That’s part of the deal. Take it or leave it.” To make matters worse, she emphasizes her point by pulling out two tickets and waving them in front of my face.
This is the exact kind of thing I don’t do. Make crazy, impulsive decisions. The idea of just going up to Evan backstage and trying to seduce him has me practically spitting out the sip of water I just took to buy myself time before I answer.
“Come on, Tatum. Live in the moment.” She says it like a taunt. Like she can goad me into it because she knows that I hate the part of myself that analyzes everything to death. Sometimes I wish I could live in the moment.
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” she continues, still waving those tickets around. Then she plays dirty. She pulls out her phone and opens it up, tapping until she pulls up a picture that she turns to show me.
It’s so ridiculous I can’t keep the laughter from bubbling out. It’s a glued together collage of a snapshot of fifteen-year-old me and a magazine clipping of Evan. I don’t know when she took a picture of it, but I need to get that off her phone the next chance I get. Like I said, closet fangirl right here.