6

Three days later, I arrive at practice, ensuring that I am the last person to show up at the studio. The memory of my last interaction with Dante is still fresh in my mind, and I won't risk being alone with him.

"Theo!" Tai calls, running over and throwing his arms around me. It's out of character for him to be so openly affectionate, as if he can read my need for it in that moment.

The physical touch he's offering me is a lifeline, and I cling to it. He's only a few inches taller than me but seems larger than life as I tuck myself into the crook of his neck. The point of his chin pushes against my head as his hug becomes more intimate.

"Hey," he whispers, moving his lips closer to my ear. "Theo, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong is you always smell like blueberries and I'm jealous." A tiny sniffle makes him squeeze me tighter.

"If you ever need to talk, you know I'm here, right?"

I nod as his fingers drift over my back. "I know."

"Or if you'd rather get drunk and make questionable life choices, I'm also quite skilled at that, too." My laugh is buried in another sniffle, louder this time.

"Theo?" Dante's voice rings from across the room, and I burrow in deeper. It gets closer as he says, "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Tai says, turning and deliberately placing himself between me and Dante. "We're just having a snuggle session over here, and you aren't invited."

"Thank you," I whisper, too faint to be heard by anyone but Tai. "Want to make out and make him jealous?"

Tai laughs, a soft, throaty sound that's somehow still musical. "Remember our whole conversation about modern civilization falling apart?" He drops his face to mine, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. "Still a concern, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, you're right," I whisper, and he hugs me tighter. "Damn us and our duty to society."

Dante's voice is unsure as he says my name again, and the small respite Tai's joking had offered me vanishes. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force my temper back down. Unfortunately for him, it's a beast that rarely listens to its master.

I pull away from Tai and strain my neck to glare around him at Dante. "He said I'm fine because I am fine ."

He steeples his fingers, pushing them into his lips as he stares at me, daring to look at me like he's fucking confused by my reaction. "Are you mad at me?"

A scoff spews from my mouth, distorting into a sour laugh as I put my hand on my hip. "Please, Dante, enlighten me why I might be mad at you."

His eyes drop to the ground. "Um, well…"

"No," I snap, darting out of Tai's arms and jabbing my finger against Dante's chest. "Not um. Look at me and tell me, what exactly do you think could have upset me? Give me one good fucking reason that I might be pissed!"

When our eyes connect, his are so full of emotion that almost breaks me. "I don't want to hurt you."

"No? You don't want to hurt me?"

"Of course not," he whispers, inching forward. I step back to counter it, and I catch the flash of pain that flickers in his eyes.

"Then stop fucking hurting me." I spit the words at him and turn around, snatching Tai's hand and dragging him with me as I grab my guitar and join the others. Dante follows a few minutes later, and the tension between us is thick as we struggle to get through practice.

He keeps staring, and I'm doing everything I can to avoid his eyes.

When it's time to go, I slam my bass into its case and storm towards the exit. He follows me like I knew he would, but the footsteps behind me skid to a halt as I hear Tai say, "Give him space, Dante."

"I don't want to give him fucking space," he says, but I'm already out the door. I shake my head as I sit in my car and stare at the steering wheel. He doesn't want to give me space, but he doesn't want to get too close, either.

What the fuck does he want?

"You are stunning tonight, Theo," Jesse purrs as he leans in, his intention for a kiss clear. In a moment of panic, I twist my head, causing his lips to brush my cheek. Ever since our coffee date, he's been increasingly insistent, and despite my ongoing excuses, I gave in after his third invitation.

He never gives up, and I never say no—a dangerous combination.

"What, this old thing?" I tease, gesturing at the outfit I picked specifically for him. It's just the right amount of nice, putting in the effort without looking like I'm going out of my way to impress him. Stylish jeans and a baby blue sweater that matches my eyes, and my blue Converse hi-tops to tie it all together. "You look quite nice, too."

He smiles, his head tilting down to inspect his ensemble, while strands of blonde hair fall into his eyes. A pair of dark skinny jeans pairs with a white button-up, and his long tan wool coat hits mid-thigh. It's a fantastic outfit, so I don't feel like a fraud when I offer him the compliment.

"I'm so glad you could make room in your busy schedule to see me," he says, weaving our fingers together. It takes all of my self-control not to pull my hand away as my brain yells at me for agreeing to this date.

To be honest, my schedule has been wide open, but the thought of seeing him didn't exactly fill me with enthusiasm.

Despite our coffee shop conversation, I'm positive Jesse wants a relationship, even if he claims to be fine with taking things slow. We aren't on the same page, that much is clear. It's why I've been hesitant to see him again, though there's no valid reason for me to dislike him.

Jesse is nice, and sweet, and cute, but he isn't what I want.

He'll never be what I want, because he isn't Dante.

In fact, they're polar opposites, and it's obvious he's looking for more than I have to offer.

Where Jesse's personality is bubbly and cheerful, Dante remains withdrawn and keeps to himself. They couldn't be more different, even in their appearance. Jesse is tall and lean, with thick, long blonde hair that's normally pulled back, and his smooth skin stays clean shaven. Dante is tall, yes, but the similarities end there. He's got a solid build, with well-defined muscles that hint at his strength, but with a noticeable layer of softness he tries to hide under oversized hoodies and crossed arms.

It's painful for me to see how insecure he is, and he refuses to have a conversation about it. There's more to the story, I just know it.

When Jesse gives our joined hands a little shake, I realize I never responded to him. "Sorry, got stuck in a daydream. The life of a musician, head in the clouds!" His smile suggests that my response has satisfied him, at least for now.

God, I'm being so rude.

I need to get out of my head.

We make it inside the restaurant and find a table, and I take a deep breath and inhale the smoky smells of the kitchen that waft through. Clinking cutlery and soft laughter serve as white noise as we chat, pausing as the server takes our order and brings our drinks.

Jesse's sweet smile lights up his face as he joins me in my booth, his body pressed against mine and his arm draped around my shoulders. "Do you mind if I get a picture of us?"

"Sure," I say, smiling as he retrieves his phone and extends his arm, his lips pressing against my cheek while he snaps a quick selfie. He snuggles in for a minute before he picks up on my tense posture and moves back to his own side of the table.

Our food serves as a distraction, providing a safe topic of conversation as I share my enthusiasm for cooking. As I'm in the middle of sharing stories from our time on the bus tour, my phone vibrates and distracts me.

"Crap, I thought I put this on silent." I slide it from my pocket and frown at the text from Dante that sits on my screen.

"Everything okay?" Jesse asks, and I hesitate.

"Sorry," I say, flashing him another smile. "Give me just a second." I pull up the band's social media pages and immediately spot the selfie posted by a user named TallBlondeAndJesse, either posted directly to them or with the band tagged.

Conflicting emotions surge through my body, a mix of irritation towards Jesse's audacity and irritation towards Dante for taking offense.

Scratch that, it's not conflicting emotions.

Just conflicting annoyance.

"Jesse..." I heave a sigh, bracing myself for the conflict, fully aware that this will upset him. "Fuck, this is awkward. The band likes to keep our social media pages for official news. Do you, uh, mind taking the picture down?"

"What, we aren't official?" His tone is playful, but his words have a sharp edge.

Making sure there is no room for misinterpretation, I lock eyes with him. "No, we aren't official. I made it clear I'm not looking for a serious relationship right now…"

"Oh, my God, I'm fucking kidding. Chill the fuck out." My mouth snaps closed as he glares at his phone, jabbing his finger across the screen. "There. Pictures are deleted. Happy now?" He's still staring towards his lap when he gives an abrupt shake of his head. "I've been nothing but nice to you, Theo. If you didn't want anything to do with me, you should've just said so. It would have been kinder than letting me think I had a chance."

Fuck, the guilt.

He grabs his jacket and scoots towards the end of the booth. "I'll pay the bill, and then you can get back to your life without me being a constant interruption."

My fingers wrap around his wrist, and he goes completely still, his rapid pulse pounding beneath my touch and his gaze fixated on where I hold on to him. My voice is gentle as I say, "I didn't mean I wanted you to leave, but I also don't want to lead you on. We discussed this, and if we can't spend time together as friends without it turning into this—arguing and frustration—then we shouldn't be hanging out."

Look at me, pretending to be all mature and shit.

He exhales a long breath. "Friends hanging out… can we at least call it a date?"

"I think I can handle that."

His jaw ticks as his legs bounce under the table. "Theo, I really like you. Just… keep an open mind? Please?"

I groan internally as he makes fucking puppy dog eyes at me… and I fold like a goddamned origami crane. "Okay, I can do that." His smile relaxes as he settles back into the seat, and true to his word, he tones it down as we finish dinner.

He even walks me to my car with nothing more than a chaste kiss on the cheek before asking me to text him to let him know I get home safe.

A perfect gentleman.

So why does it still feel so wrong?