Better Than This

24

"And this is one of our laundry facilities. We have four on site."

The laundry room consists of one long row of washing machines with two walls of stacked dryers and a folding area and sink in the back. Three worn chairs sit under a dirty window beside a drink machine covered in dust.

"We are planning some renovations in the near future," Matilda adds as an afterthought, probably seeing the facility through our non-resident eyes. "And here," she walks us over to a giant bulletin board, "we encourage our tenants to communicate with one another by sharing their professional services, or buying and selling items. It's a great way to keep each other in the loop on what may be going on."

I scan the board, reading advertisements for lawn service and childcare. A blue paper with black ink catches my eye. It's tacked near the bottom, the picture of a band somewhat blurry, but it's easy to make out Alex. His eyes are closed, his fingers strumming his guitar like he's playing a mad solo. I've seen those hands move like that. I've seen it in person. And I can't believe I'm seeing it on a flyer.

Plucking the paper from the board, I turn to him, holding it up for verification. But I don't need any. The foreground shows hands raised in rock symbols with the name Chronic Rage at the bottom of the paper, a time and address listed beneath it. It's tonight's show. "You little punk! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? You know I'm in a band. Remember," he wiggles his brows with a smirk, "I'm the hot guitarist."

"But you actually advertise?"

"Well...yeah. How else do we get the word out?"

Matilda looks between us, confused.

"How often do you advertise? Where else do you advertise? Are these, like," I look at the paper again, flabbergasted, "all over town?"

Alex glances at the woman, then directs his attention back to me. "Honey, we've talked about this. I have to make money to support you and the baby. So," he plucks the flyer from my hands and pins it back to the board, "let's leave it where it is."

I want to say something, but I'm not sure what. Why does the fact that Chronic Rage advertises surprise me? Wouldn't it surprise me if they didn't get the word out about their music? But seeing it outside of Sean and Jordan's backyard, knowing they exist on a larger level...it's like...it's like the whole thing is actually real.

Because it is, Autumn.

"Thanks for the tour, Matilda." Alex takes my hand again, threading our fingers together. "We appreciate all the information."

"Certainly." She looks between us, still somewhat confused. "If you have any more questions, give us a call."

He offers a wave and leads us out of the building, rounding the corner back toward the leasing office. When his black truck comes into view, he slows down, pegging me with a grin. "What was all that about?"

"What?"

He mimics me, "'you advertise? How often do you advertise? Where do you advertise?'"

"Shut up."

"What do you think we do? Play to an empty room? You were there. You saw how packed it was. Someone's got to be responsible for the marketing."

"And who's that?"

"Corey. He's been talking up Chronic Rage since we started. He thinks it's his responsibility to get us to the next level. So," Alex shrugs, "you found the fruits of his labor."

"Did you know that was there?"

"The flyer?" He shakes his head. "All I know is Corey does what he does, and more people show up."

"That was just...surreal."

"But kind of cool, huh?"

"Eh." I shrug, trying for nonchalance. "If you're into hot guitarists and rock bands and that sort of thing."

Alex glances at me, honestly curious. "Are you?"

Before I can answer, his phone rings. He slides it out of his pocket and frowns at the caller. Holding up a finger, he brings the device to his ear and turns around.

"Hey." He keeps his voice low. "Out. Working on a school assignment. Yeah. Yeah, on the weekend." He lowers his voice. "I just told you, I'm busy." A pause. "Well, go hang out with some of your friends." Alex looks at me and turns around again. "I can't right now. Maybe later. We'll see. Yeah, seven." He nods. "Okay. Later."

Sheepishly, he glances at me, his humor gone.

I shouldn't.

I know I shouldn't, but I can't help the inner cattiness clawing its way out. Besides, she exists. It's time we both acknowledge that. "How's the girlfriend?"

"Annoying most of the time."

"Why don't you break up with her?"

I can't believe I asked it—it's like I passed some invisible line or something. It feels weird, but I'm genuinely curious. If she's annoying, maybe he doesn't like her. And if he doesn't, then why date the girl? It's the same thing I'd ask any friend who gave a similar response.

"And who's going to comfort me after?" Alex looks over, one brow raised in suggestion, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You up to the job?"

"I don't know. Hot guitarist in a band...not sure I can handle the challenge."

"Is that a no?" His brows pinch, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

"No."

"Is that a yes?"

I smile and keep walking, trying to keep this light, trying to keep this playful. "Well, what do I get out of it?"

He sinks his hands into his pockets. "Other than all the sweet perks it already comes with?"

"Speaking of—how's my car? Corey say anything?"

He shakes his head. "I think he's in the process of getting parts. The diagnosis is the same: you killed it."

"It died."

Alex rolls his eyes and gestures to his truck. He pauses a moment. "Before I forget, tonight—text me when you get there."

I'm about to ask why but cross my arms, the answer obvious. "Is it going to be that crazy?"

"Probably."

I feel the smile tug at my cheeks. "Am I going to be impressed?"

He nods, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Probably."

"Well, now I'm excited."

"You weren't before?"

I chew on my bottom lip, wishing I could tell him how excited I am to see him later. Or how excited I am to be with him right now. Anytime we're together, I'm thrilled by this feeling that everything is perfect. When we're together, the rest of the world ceases to exist—and I'm more than okay with that.

"What time should we get there?"

"Show starts at nine. People won't show up until ten. I'd say..." he thinks about it "...10:15. 10:30. But remember to text me when you get there."

"I'll text you. I got it."

"Good."

"Okay."

We stare at each other, not wanting to climb into his truck just yet, wanting to prolong this moment a little more. But Alex isn't just looking at me—he's smiling. It's like he has a secret. It's rare to see this kind of excitement in his eyes. I like it.

"What?"

He lifts a shoulder, barely shaking his head. His words are so quiet, I almost miss them. "I just can't wait to impress you."

It sends my heart into overdrive. I love it. Ilove when he says these things to me. And if he can be bold and honest likethat, then so can I. "What makes you think you haven't already?"