The Beautiful Truth

** 19

Barton was a nice enough guy, he guessed.

No, actually, he was more than nice enough—he was really cool, which made him equal parts difficult to like and difficult to hate. It's a good thing Talyn never planned to admit this to anyone, including himself outside of the deepest, quietest part of his subconscious, he told himself, because he'd sound like a schizophrenic. Or something.

Anyway, the guy was nothing like he expected. Despite having seen pictures of him through the band's MySpace page, and on YouTube, and most recently, on Sawyer's Facebook page, he'd still pictured the guy as a gangly, whiny emo kid from San Francisco, with dark hair and a vampire-esque complexion in stovepipe jeans and a threadbare undershirt...at least this was the type he'd liked to kid her about before he actually got here and saw how many normal looking people lived in San Francisco.

His thoughts digressed, as he stood back watching her and Barton finish a highly competitive game of darts. He had politely declined, not wishing to be the crowd in their game...Ordinarily, he probably would have tried to pick up Micki, but she seemed completely absorbed with Alex...or her tequila and tonic. It was difficult to tell now.

The highlight of his night thus far had been Seth—the drummer that Sawyer had warned him about. The guy had no problems voicing his opinion, and even less of a problem with being tactless. He was on his umpteenth double vodka, and showed no signs of easing up any time soon. He was a riot. It was, Talyn thought, like watching a train wreck in super slow motion. Except this train was exceptionally sarcastic and brutally honest.

No, wait, who was he kidding. The real highlight of his night was seeing Sawyer come back from the bathroom, all ready to go. They went back to her dorm after touring the Berkeley campus, and fifteen minutes later she'd traded her favorite jeans and vintage Cal t-shirt for this tank top that draped over her skinny frame as though it had about seven layers and a long sweater that looked like it was made out of gauze and silk. Those stupid skinny jeans he hated on so many girls at USC looked awesome on her. He caught himself staring at her, and the way her hair was draped over her shoulders as she waited for Barton to finish his go at the dartboard.

Suddenly, he felt like an outsider. Well, obviously, he knew, he was an outsider here. He was the competition's QB, after all. But where he had always felt like he belonged when he was with Sawyer, now, seeing her here with all her Berkeley friends, he felt like he didn't anymore.

It wasn't as if she was trying to exclude him. Not at all. She was just different, and he knew it was because here in San Francisco, on the Berkeley campus, no one knew her, or her family, and unlike the small town where they were from, there probably wasn't anyone that talked about her or spread rumors about her life. Where he'd always had football to lean on, she'd never had the luxury of such a cover. But here, she was free, and he could see it on her face, and the way she carried herself—relief.

And it made him happy for her, but lovesick for the girl that had only seemed happy when it was, for the most part, just their world.

"Ooh," Micki exclaimed, sliding off her stool by the bar. "Look, apparently it's—" she paused as if trying to stifle the hiccups and nodded toward the far corner of the bar. "It's Open Mic Night! Barton!"

Talyn laughed softly and leaned on the bar next to Alex.

"Looks like she's in it for the long haul again," Alex sighed, turning around to face the counter with him. "Try not to knock into her tomorrow if you get pushed off the line. It'd be like a wrecking ball."

Talyn laughed again. "You're a good man, lookin' out for that one. I don't know her well, but I imagine it's a full-time job."

Alex smiled. "I try. She reminds me a lot of my sister...I mean, she doesn't look like her. Just...acts like her sometimes."

"Gotcha," he said, noticing how carefully Alex chose his words.

"Can I get you something, hot stuff?" the pretty bartender leaned over the counter seductively to ask.

Backing away ever so slightly, Talyn replied. "Just another water. Thanks."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "You look kinda familiar. Do you go to school over here?"

"Nah," he shrugged.

"But he'll be at the game tomorrow," Alex offered, shooting him a joking look. "You should look for him. You going?"

"Can't, gotta work," she sighed. "I'll try and spot you on TV, though, huh?"

Talyn could only give both of them his best smirk. "So it's Open Mic up there?"

"Ah, yeah, you gonna play us a song?" the bartender asked hopefully.

He tossed her a grin and headed for the stool, and the banged up guitar in the corner.