Complicated
Copyright © 2013 by Dana Tyler.
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Dancing Octopus Press.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dana Tyler
Visit my website at
danatyler.wordpress.com
for information on upcoming releases.
Formatted and Produced in the United States of America
First Edition: March 2013
Dancing Octopus Press
I’m generally not a party-pooper, but as the band transitions seamlessly into a new song during what it is now their second encore, I’m ready to pull a fire alarm and end the insanity.
I pull my cell phone out of my purse to check the time. It’s after midnight. The show was supposed to end at eleven-thirty and I’m supposed to be home in bed by now.
It’s my own fault,
I think, as I watch David strum his acoustic guitar. I knew I shouldn’t have come, but I couldn’t resist. Moth to flame.
I glance at my No-Longer-Designated Driver, Katy, who’s laughing with a handsome guy and doing shots of tequila. Mystery Man has chocolate skin and a gorgeous smile, so I can’t entirely blame her. Or at least I couldn’t blame her for having a single round at eight o’clock when the show started. The fact that she’s currently wasted and it’ll be my job to get her into a cab and help her retrieve her car tomorrow when she crawls out from under her hangover only fuels my annoyance.
Normally I wouldn’t mind but she promised this time and she knows I have to be at work at five in the morning. The only reason I came was her promise of an immediate ride home. Well, not the only reason. I watch David sing another bar and rub my temples. I’m an idiot.
I let out an irritated sigh and push my way back through the crowd. At the bar, which is in the back corner, I order a glass of water. I’ve had four beers but stopped drinking over an hour ago, and now the fading buzz is adding to my sleepiness.
The woman waiting for a cocktail next to me spots my blue band shirt. “Fan, huh?” she asks.
“They’re friends of mine,” I say.
“Oh, cool.” The bartender gives her a pink drink in a martini glass. “They’re good. The leader singer is cute.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but “cute” is not the right word. David Huan is exceedingly gorgeous, with light blue eyes, inky hair, and high cheek bones. Not that any of that is visible from back here.
“Is he single?”
“Married.” The lie slips out and I hope she doesn’t talk to him after the show. That would be awkward to explain away. But as much as I’ve accepted he and I will never be an actual item, I can’t help hating the idea of David with other women. Which is why I shouldn’t be here.
He and I starting hooking up a while back. He’s good looking, funny, sweet. In many ways, the perfect guy. I am—was—smitten. It took him a week to tell me he doesn’t “do” girlfriends and wanted to keep things casual. Code for ‘all of the sex, none of the obligation.’ It hurt because I liked him—I still really like him—but for a while I told myself that was fine. I’m a modern woman. I can do casual.
And it was. For a while.
Until Erica, his old friend, showed up for the weekend. It was like they had a special secret club no one else could join. I got jealous and then I got angry, and I decided I didn’t want a fuck buddy and our casual thing had to stop.
Because I am an adult, I have been studiously avoiding being alone with David ever since. I haven’t even told him our hooking up days are over, if he even cares.
I can’t avoid him entirely though. He’s my best friend’s brother and they live in the same house. Also, I like the rest of the band. And the band’s music, except when their show is going way too long and I need to get home.
The woman from the bar says it was nice to meet me and walks back to her friends.
I pull out my cell phone to check the time again. Twelve-twenty. I have to work at five am, which means I have to get up by four-thirty. If we get a cab right away, I might get a few hours of sleep.
“Eager to go?” a guy beside me asks in a British accent. His bottom lip is pierced and the ring moves as he speaks. He’s leaning against the far end of the bar, holding a beer and looking like the last person I’d expect to see at a country rock show. He’s all spiky blue hair and leather, with eyeliner and silver rings on his fingers. I wonder if the band’s name, Anubis’ Arrow, threw him off and he came expecting goth rock.
“I just have to work in the morning.”
On the stage, David sings a song I haven’t heard before, so it must be new. That annoys me more, since they’re pulling out new material to keep the show going. “You a fan?”
“No.” He points to my t-shirt. “But I’m guessing you are.”
“I’m with the band. I design their stuff. Posters, CD covers, this.” I tug on the material. It has the band’s name in a font I designed along with a pyramid and a stylized image of a jackal. I don’t mention that this is all my year of graphic design school has amounted to.
His gaze stays on my shirt for a long moment. He smiles up at me. “So you’re an artist?”
An art school drop out, but that’s practically the same thing. “A little bit.”
“You can’t only be an artist a little. It’s part of your soul.” He lifts his beer, looks at it, and puts it back on the bar untouched.
“Had enough, huh?” I ask. I sip my water in had-too-much-solidarity.
“You could say that.”
“That’s cryptic.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
The song ends and mercifully, they don’t go into yet another one. David thanks everyone for coming. Brian takes the microphone and says, “Ladies,” with a gratuitous wink to the crowd, before David pushes him off and thanks the club for having them. Then, finally, the show is over and the lights come up.
I look around and spot Katy. She’s still at her table with the hot stranger and has a pen in hand. Probably trying to remember her phone number. “I should go.”
“Already? I didn’t even get to use my best line.”
Goth guy is flirting me. The realization makes me laugh at loud.
Encouraged, he clears his throat and puts out his hands as if about to give a Shakespearean soliloquy. “Do you come here often?”
I laugh again. “Not really. You?”
“I live around the corner, so more than I should. I’m Zach, by the way.” He extends a ring-laden hand. I shake it.
“Hannah. And I should really go. Early shift and all.”
“See you around, Hannah.”
I sling my purse over my shoulder and head over to my drunken friend. Her guy passes me on the way to the bar to pay his tab. He
is
really hot, I’ll give Katy that.
I get Katy into a cab and have it wait while I walk her to her front door. She drops her keys and erupts into another giggle fit, so I get the door open and settle her on the sofa.
“Sorry, Hannah,” she slurs.
“It’s okay.”
It’s not, because I have to be up and ready to serve customers in less than four hours. I put her keys on the counter with a note that her car is still at the club and I’ll come by after work tomorrow.
By the time I get into bed, my alarm is set to go off in less than three hours. I swear to never go to a show on a work night again.
The opening shift at Coffee Harbor is the bane of my existence. I’m not a morning person and even free coffee can’t make up for having to drag myself out of bed at four-thirty. No one should have to be awake at that hour, especially when it’s cold and rainy outside.
I push my roommate’s gray cat, Ariel, off of my clean laundry pile and dig around for my purple polo that serves as my uniform shirt. It’s too early for makeup. I put my messy red hair into a ponytail, put on lip balm, and walk the four blocks to the coffee shop.
My first course of action is to make myself a very strong hazelnut latte.
Coffee Harbor has a decent-sized seating area with polished wooden tables and blue plastic chairs. A shelf of books and board games sits to one side. Paintings of islands and ship harbors decorate the walls. A fishing net hangs in one corner, filled with plastic crabs and fish that are a hassle to dust.
The manager, Joe, is a guy who burned out after making loads of money in the software industry and opened this place as a dream job. Joe is never here. A woman named Mary is the manager. A guy named Nate, who gets the afternoon shift, and I are the assistant managers. When I was hired, I was told we’d get to trade off having to open and close, but that hasn’t happened. Nate doesn’t do mornings. I’m noticing a lot of guys don’t “do” things the rest of us have to to. That thought irritates me, so I push it back and get to work.
The coffee kicks in right as I click the “Open” sign. Despite my lack of sleep, I manage to take orders and make drinks without any mistakes for the next few hours. At least until Mr. Miserable shows up at his usual time, eight-fifteen.
His real name is Mr. Donovan or something but he’s always Mr. Miserable in my head. No matter what’s going on, he complains. He whines about the weather, whatever sports team is losing, everything. He also demands his vanilla latte be extra hot but even scalding the milk so it’s the temperature of molten magma isn’t hot enough for him.
When he walks in the door, I tell my coworker Lori I need to run in back for more plastic cup lids. It’s a cheap move but if I have to face Mr. Miserable’s wall of cynicism, it might crumble any hope I have of keeping it together today.
When I come back out front, I see Zach. He’s wearing the same leather jacket, but his clothes don’t look rumpled and he’s reapplied his eyeliner. I suddenly wish I’d spent the five minutes to put on makeup of my own this morning.
“Your friend is here,” Lori says, pushing passed me. “I’m taking my break.”
I walk to the register. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Zach gives me a sheepish smile.
“How did you find me?”
He flicks his lip ring with his tongue. “I ran into one of the band dudes on my way out and asked. He wouldn’t give me your number but he told me I could find you here.”
For a second I panic, worried that he spoke to David. But then the rational part of my brain jumps in. If it was David, it will serve him right to realize other guys are capable of liking me.
Zach mistakes my momentary freak out as being directed at him because he turns away and says, “This plan sounded way less creepy in my head.”
“It’s fine.”
“Not charming, though? Believe it or not, I’m usually very charming.”
I laugh. “It’s sweet.”
“I’ll take that.”
A customer walks in and Zach steps out of the way to let me take his order and make his drink. Lori returns. I tell her I have to step out for a second. She glances from Zach to me and gives me a look. “Just three minutes. I promise.”
Lori shrugs and pulls out the sudoku book she keeps beneath the register. She’s not suppose to have that on the floor, so it’s her way of saying she’ll let me break the rules if I return the favor.
Outside, the sky is slate gray like it might rain but it’s warm. “I didn’t mean to invade your work place.”
“It’s fine. It’s slow right now.” His ears are pierced with silver studs. He’s as good looking as he was last night. I’ve never thought of gothy pierced guys as my type but clearly it’s time to start. “And I’m glad to see you again.”
