Don't Let Go (2 page)

I’m almost back to the bald man when someone bumps into me. My feet fumble and I try to catch myself before I fall straight back on this disgusting floor, or worse, into a group of people. My purse flies off my arm, spilling its contents when it crashes to the floor. I put my hands out behind me ready to catch myself when an arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back.

“Whoa girl,” the stranger says. He tries to straighten me up, placing both his hands on my hips.

“Thank you,” I respond, not looking his way. I kneel on the ground and hurriedly pick up my items, shoving them back in my purse.

“Here you go.” That same voice has my keys in his hand. When I go to grab them, he shuts his hand. “I don’t think you need them.”

I look up at a set of caramel eyes staring back at me. His brown hair is short, but slightly turned into a small Mohawk in the middle. Although he isn’t my usual type, he is absolutely stunning. He isn’t wearing khakis and a polo. His hair isn’t trimmed and cut to perfection. He is nothing like what I am used to, but still I can’t tear my eyes away.

I stand up and glance down at his hand wrapped around my upper arm and then back up to his face. He smirks at me. “Why are you holding me up and can I have my keys now?” I demand.

“Sorry, I don’t let people drive drunk.” He puts my keys in his pocket.

“I’m not drunk,” I spit out.

“That’s what they all say,” he deadpans.

“What do you want me to do to prove it? Walk a line? Say the alphabet?” I ask, irritated that this man is keeping me from my lonely night in my dorm room. “Z, Y, X…” I start to rattle off the alphabet backwards.

“You really aren’t drunk?” He holds his hand up to stop me from continuing.

“No, some jerk knocked me down,” I tell him.

“Really?” He looks deeper in my eyes for some sign of alcohol. “Sorry, I just assumed since you were fumbling backwards.” He looks me up and down. “I figured you swayed over from the frat party down the street.”

“No, I was here with my roommate, I had a couple sips of a beer and if you could hand me my keys, I would like to leave now,” I request, keeping my eyes on the ground.

“You’re leaving before the final band?” he asks, still not giving up my keys. Not that I would mind going after them myself.

“Yes, I have an early morning,” I say with my hand out, impatiently waiting for my keys.

“I will give these back to you on one condition.” He digs them out of his worn-in jeans, dangling them in front of me.

“How about you just give them to me and call it a night?” I suggest.

“What’s the fun in that? I want you to stay for the last band. It’s my band, The Invisibles.” He smiles down at me.

“Listen...” I pause for his name.

“Brady. Brady Carsen,” he discloses.

“Listen, Brady. I’m not the kind of girl you are looking for. So I thank you for stopping my fall and helping me pick up my things, but why don’t you just give me my keys. You can go up and play and I will go home.”

“Kind of girl I’m looking for?” He raises his eyebrows. “Just stay and afterwards we can get to know each other better.” There’s that phrase, ‘get to know each other’, which clarifies to me again that I’m not the girl he wants. I figure the easiest way to get him to leave me alone is to agree to his terms.

“Alright, I’ll stay,” I agree, already deciding that I will leave once he starts playing. He finally hands me my keys and I keep them placed in my hand, planning my escape.

“You’re going to love it,” he says and grabs my hand, tugging me back the way I came.

He stops me at a spot on the right-hand side at the corner of the kitchen/dining room. “Stay here. I’ll come back for you after the show,” he whispers in my ear, since the band before him is still playing. He turns away from me, but quickly turns back around.

“I never caught your name.”

“Sadie Miller,” I spill out before thinking I should have given him a fake name.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sadie. Enjoy the show.” With a turn of his heels he walks away from me.

Five minutes later, the one band has taken off their equipment and I’m guessing the three other guys up on stage with Brady are the remaining members of The Invisibles. When they are all ready, Brady looks my way. He winks at me before he jumps off stage and walks toward the back hallway.

Abruptly, the whole place gets quiet and people push their way through the crowd to get as close as possible. I see now why Brady positioned me here; no one will be able to push me around and I can still see the stage clearly. All the lights go off and then colored lights beam down from the ceiling. I’m surprised they only do this for The Invisibles. What about the other bands? Why don’t they get this special treatment?

A guy who is older than me by ten years or so stands up to the microphone. His hair is in a long Mohawk with different streaks of color throughout. He introduces The Invisibles and Brady leads his band members up onto the stage. Brady takes the microphone off the stand and the drummer starts beating his sticks in the air. The guitarist and bassist stand in a wide stance, holding their instruments, anticipating the start.

Brady’s presence on stage demands attention and the crowd gives it willingly. He is probably just over six feet or so. Strong build but not overly muscular. His old school band t-shirt molds tight across his shoulders and it rises up when he raises his arms, exposing the small ripples of his stomach. Brady in jeans and a t-shirt is the most incredible vision, but I wouldn’t mind seeing him without them, too.

His voice carries throughout the bar/house. At first it is slow and steady but quickly builds into a faster beat. He appears completely enthralled in the moment, shutting his eyes from time to time, as though he feels every word. It is the sexiest thing I have ever witnessed and I know I can’t stay. This will only end one way, me in his bed and him ignoring me tomorrow.
He is looking for a fast lay Sadie, nothing more
, I think
.
Too bad I didn’t meet him last year. Pretty sure he could have showed me a thing or two.

I wait two songs and start making my way through the crowd, hearing the groans and protests for having inconvenienced them. When I get to the front door, bald man is no longer there. I hear Brady’s voice turn sultry and sexual while the music moves to a slower beat. This is my cue; if I hear it, I won’t have the self-control to walk away.

I open the screen door and step onto the street, trying to stay on the straight and narrow. My parents deserve it and Brady Carsen would veer me off the course of a trouble-free life.

That Monday I’m walking back to my dorm after a long Algebra course. I hate math; it is by far my worst subject. I have to find a tutor if I’m going to pass it. I make a mental note to check that out tonight. Digging into my messenger bag, I realize I forgot my iPod back in my room. Since the math building is clear on the other side of campus, it’s going to be a boring walk. It leaves me alone with my thoughts and there is nothing I hate more than that.

A half hour later, I grab my keys to open the dorm building. The quad is filled with laughter and jokes from students. A couple of girls sit in the corner and stare at some of the guys horsing around. Checking my mail, I’m not surprised to see the mailbox empty. I glance at my watch and notice it’s only three o’clock, making me relieved that Jessa has another hour before she has to leave for class. I hate being in that room by myself. It is the sole reason I decided to go into the dorms instead of getting an apartment.

When I open the door to my room, I see Jessa sitting on her loft bed. Our room is small so we opted for two loft beds. We set up chairs and a table under one and the television under the other. Our small refrigerator sits next to the television with a microwave on top. Our dressers line the walls on either side. It is close quarters, to say the least.

“You had a visitor today,” she says, beaming over at me.

“Who?” I question. I don’t know very many people here.

“Well, I’ll give you two hints.” She starts climbing down from her loft. “He is fucking hot and two, he is fucking hot. What else matters?” She grabs a water bottle out of the fridge.

“Okay. I don’t know any hot guys, so I’m at a loss.” I plop my bag down and grab a bottle for myself before sitting in my chair.

“Think really hard,” she says, sitting next to me. “He left something for you. I put it on your dresser.” She motions with her hand.

I stand up and lying on my dresser is my iPod with a sticky note attached.

“May I say, he is so beyond fuckable, Sadie. If you don’t jump on that, I will,” Jessa continues talking as I pull the note off.

Since you left without seeing my show,

I’m leaving you to your own private listening pleasure.

- B

“Brady Carsen?” I question, picking up my iPod. I thumb through the albums and spot The Invisibles listed. “How did he know where to find me?” I whisper to myself.

“You should have seen how upset he was you weren’t here. He hung around for a while, but said he had somewhere to be,” Jessa reveals, coming up behind me.

“Huh,” I mumble to myself. I grab my ear buds and climb up to my loft.

A couple minutes later, I hear the door shut and Jessa is gone. I curl up on top of my blankets listening to Brady sing to me. Surprisingly, there are quite a few love songs. I assumed they would mostly be loud and fast. I love how you can hear Brady’s breath suck in at the end of the lyrics. A particular slow song comes on and Brady’s soft voice starts singing,
I thought I would be enough but I guess I was wrong. I never thought it was possible to miss someone for so long but you just keep walking away.
When it gets back to the chorus my eyes start drooping and eventually I’m lulled to sleep with Brady’s voice filling my ears.

Chapter 3

In the last two days, I have listened to The Invisibles at least thirty times. It plays when I walk to class, when I study at the library, and when I fall asleep. Brady Carsen’s voice has an effect on me that I have never felt before. Even the faster songs bring a calming sensation over me.

Even though I know nothing about him, he consumes my every thought. I find myself doing a double take with every guy that sports a small Mohawk, checking if it’s him. I don’t even know if he is a student; he could very well be trying to make it to stardom as a musician.

I curse myself when my stomach fills with butterflies just imagining his face when he winked at me on stage that night. As much as I tell myself he’s trouble with a capital T, I can’t stop the thoughts. I know I should change my music, take The Invisibles off my iPod, but every time my finger hovers over that delete button it chooses cancel instead.

Since today is Thursday, I have a three hour gap between classes. Jessa had company when I woke up this morning, so I decide to head to the library instead of the dorm. I need the quiet study time anyway.

I walk through the doors of the library and make my way directly to the elevators. I ride the elevator by myself up to the sixth floor. I select my spot at a table for four in my usual area, close to the bathroom and elevator. Then I notice a guy sitting a few seats over by himself with his laptop out, typing so hard it sounds like the keys are going to pop off the keyboard. I debate leaving for a second, but decide I’m going to fight for my spot. I found it the first week of classes and I’m not giving it up easily. I put my ear buds in and turn my music up loud with the hope that it will annoy the angry typist.

Five minutes later my plan worked, except he now stands on the other side of the table from me. I pretend to concentrate on my book in front of me, but I see his pressed khaki slacks out of the corner of my eye. I don’t look up, but he gives me no choice when he taps his pen on the page I’m reading.

My eyes follow the blue pen that is held by long lean fingers, up to the tanned forearms, followed by the strong shoulders until I meet a pair of blue eyes staring down at me. A smile appears from his lips showing his perfect white teeth. When I realize he is talking to me, I pull the white cord from my ear bud out.

“I’m sorry, what?” My voice displays a hint of annoyance to it.

“Is that The Invisibles?” He points to my ear bud resting on my book.

“Yeah.” I look down and back up to him. I notice his smile has faltered. “Do you like them?” I ask.

“They’re okay,” he says, shrugging his shoulders up and down. His reaction confuses me. He must like the band, how else could he pick them out from hearing it from my ear bud?

“Do you mind turning it down?” he asks.

“I will turn it down if you are a little nicer to your keyboard,” I jokingly respond.

“Deal,” he laughs, putting his hand out for me to shake. “Grant Bishop.”

“Sadie Miller.” I shake his hand back.

“So Sadie, what year are you?” He pulls a chair out from the table.

“Senior. I don’t want to be rude but I have to finish reading this.” I point to my book, praying he doesn’t sit down.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” he asks and a loud sigh escapes my lips when he sits down.

“Do you know the entire fifteen thousand student body?” I sarcastically ask.

“No, but since roughly sixty percent are female, I only really need to know nine thousand. Regardless, I would never forget a face like yours.” His flirtatious lip turns up to the right.

“Nice line,” I chuckle.

“Thanks,” he laughs. I’m happy to see he knows how cliché his line is. “Seriously, I have been coming up to the sixth floor since my freshman year and I have never seen you,” he states.

“I just transferred from Drayton University,” I reveal. I doubt he knows anyone from there.

“That would explain it,” he says, staring at me for a few seconds before standing up. “Welcome to the sixth floor. You won’t be bothered since it’s the Entomology area; there aren’t many people that come up here unless they are biology majors,” he advises me.

“Thanks,” I respond and put my ear bud back in, turning down the music.

My stomach growls an hour later and I realize I haven’t eaten since the banana this morning. I stand to pack up my books, deciding I should grab a bite to eat before heading to Clinical Psychology. Slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder, I see Grant is still typing, or in his case finger pecking on his computer. Right as I’m about to press the elevator button to go down, Grant puts his finger up in the air to me. “Hold on, Sadie. I’ll ride with you.” He quickly shoves his computer in his backpack and jogs over to me. I press the down button and we wait in silence together.