Love and Fame Games (Book 1)

13 (Part Two)

Wincing, I turned my head towards where the voices were coming from and saw two guys standing literally in front us at the opposite side of the record bin. They had their backs to me as they were watching the monitor on which Seth and Jordan continued to sing Last Frame.

Seconds later both guys turned their attention back on the vinyls and I could make out their features. One guy had a colorful smattering of tattoos on his arms and neck so I guessed that they were a few years older than Seth and me—UCR students, most likely. The other guy, the one who had just spoken, had no visible tattoos and wore copious amounts of guyliner.

"I know. I'm so sick of this garbage," the guy with tattoos chimed in. "My mom's new boyfriend's kid has been listening to them non-stop since the two of them moved in at home. She's eleven."

The two of them scoffed as if the last sentence explained everything and I found myself missing my good friends from Saint Agnes. Suddenly, those prepubescent bitches-in-training didn't seem so bad.

"Dude's a grown-ass person who still lives with his mom. Why is he so superior?" I muttered.

I wasn't going to mention the basement-dwelling vibe I got from these guys the moment I had laid eyes on them, but they started it.

The guy with tattoos gave the monitor another contemptuous look before he spoke again. "Why do girls that age always go for guys who look like they all blow each other in their dressing room after playing a set?"

"'Cause they don't know how a real man's supposed to look, yet."

"For God's sake," I muttered, mentally facepalming. Of course they'd go there. Why be original when they could just recycle the same tired old comments that had hounded musical acts like Off-Kilter since the dawn of time?

But even as I scoffed and rolled my eyes heavenward, there was a part of me that couldn't help but feel guilty for making Seth wear my hoodie. His getting recognized while wearing it wasn't going to help quell those kinds of rumors, either.

"Maybe we should go," I whispered to Seth who nodded and moved to do as I suggested, much to my relief.

I didn't know what I was so worried about: Only major losers like those two would consider gayness an insult. Seth was nothing like those guys—none of the Off-Kilter boys were. They wouldn't lose their heads over a baseless
accusation, especially if it wasn't even true.

At least, I didn't think it was. Until those off-handed remarks made by a pair of boneheads, the possibility never even crossed my mind. I cast Seth a surreptitious glance. How would one even know about those things for sure, anyway?

More importantly, did I even want to know, when it could put a permanent hitch on some future plans I apparently hadn't completely given up on just yet?

Ugh. The direction in which my thoughts wandered made me shake my head once more. "Don't let them get to you," I said through clenched teeth.

"I'm not," Seth whispered back, unaware that I was talking to myself and not to him. "Haters gon' hate."

The goofy statement took me by surprise, making me laugh. We made our way to Warped's wide open doors and were lucky enough to remain unnoticed by the two guys as we walked past them. Relieved that Seth was able to control his temper and keep his sense of humor in this situation, which was no small miracle, I started to relax.

"I'm telling you, man, you couldn't pay me to be this lame. I'll kill myself first."

We were so close. Only a few more seconds and we would have been home free. But before I knew what I was doing, I had spun on my heel and made my way back. "Hey! Assholes! Come here and say that again."