Cherry Bomb [h.s]

3

May 26
Los Angeles, California
1:54 pm

I can't believe I actually said yes.

Los Angeles International Airport was filled with the hustle and bustle of people traveling for business, vacation, and weekend trips. Parents struggling to keep their children from running off, business men and women talking on their cell phones, a few groups of middle and high school students on school trips. Everyone was in their own little world, on their own mission. And so was I.

I scan the crowd as I walk towards Exit C, but I don't seem to see the person I'm looking for. I sigh and pull out my phone to send a text.

Spencer
- I'm here

I look back up, hoping to maybe see someone checking their phone. Sure enough, through the sea of people walking, jogging, and even running by, I see a tall man standing still looking at his phone, then at the crowd. His long waves brush his shoulders as he scans the vast expanse of people. His stark eyes stop on me for a second, then move on.

I stride over casually and stand next to him, close enough to catch just a hint of his cologne. His arms are covered in tattoos, parts of them disappearing behind the sleeves of his black shirt which is unbuttoned and tucked into his jeans. From where I stand I can catch a glimpse of a butterfly tattoo on his chest.

"Looking for someone?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah I am actually," he replies, his British accent perfectly complimenting the voice that's a mix of dark smoothness and deep raspiness. "He says he's here, but I don't see him anywhere." He continues to scan the crowd, not even bothering to glance at me again.

He?

"Hm, who exactly are you looking for?" I ask, already amused, yet annoyed, with this man.

"This guy named Spencer Jameson. He's supposed to be this insane rocker dude. I don't know how you can help me though," He finally turns his head toward me again.

His eyes quickly look me up and down, registering my seemingly casual fit of no makeup, black converse, jeans, and thin blue sweatshirt. Definitely not an 'insane rocker dude.'

"I suppose you're right," I tell him, "I mean, I don't see this insane rocker dude anywhere."

He huffs and runs a hand through his hair, then taps a few buttons on his phone and holds it up to his ear.

"I swear to God this asshole better not be at the wrong entrance or some shit," he mumbles under his breath, "I'm already doing his probably shitty band a huge favor..."

I raise my brows at this as my phone begins to ring.

"You might want to get that." He tells me, nodding his chin towards my bag which holds the ringing phone.

"Oh, I'm sure it's no one important," I tell him, then just watch as his anxiety and anger grows.

I let my phone ring as I watch the man in front of me frantically scan his eyes around.

After a few more moments, my phone goes to the voicemail box I never set up, and we go back to hearing the chatter of strangers around us.

"Shit, voicemail." He says. He taps a couple of times on his phone, then immediately holds it back up to his ear. His hand closes into a fist, his knuckles turning white. Damn, he must have a really short temper.

Within a couple seconds, my phone begins to ring again. I can't help but let a little bit of a smile slip through my otherwise aloof expression.

"Okay seriously can you get that?" He half asks, half demands, "I can't listen to that annoying ringing. Especially when I'm trying to call someone myself, you know." He huffs again and turns away slightly, plugging his other ear with his pointer finger.