Vegas Boys

I had just got off the phone with my best friend back in California--Jamie--when it rang again, and I jumped a little, startled. Recovering from my shock, I hit the ‘talk’ button and said, "Hello?"

"Hey, Sally," said Brendon, in that laughing voice of his. "You want to go see this rad band with me?"

I glanced at the clock--it was 12:18 in the afternoon. "Right now?"

"Yeah. Only, do you mind sitting alone?" he said cheekily. "‘Cause I’m kind of in the band."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Sure. I’ll be there in about two-point-two seconds."

"Great."

I hung up the phone and ran upstairs to grab a few of my things. "Dad," I called as I pulled the front door open moments later, "I’m going over to Brendon’s."

Dad stuck his head around the door to the living room. "To do what?"

"To watch his band play." I frowned. "Why?"

He shrugged uncomfortably, giving me a rather suspicious look. "Have fun."

"Okay." I watched him disappear back into the living room and wondered what he was so worried about. Mom must have gotten to him Friday night--after all, it was just Brendon.

-----

"You are," announced Brendon loudly, checking his watch as I let myself in his front door, "one minute and thirty-two seconds late."

"Sorry." I rolled my eyes, kicking my shoes off and plopping down on his couch. "So where’s everyone else?"

"They’ll be here shortly. I just sent out the bat signal."

"Oh, okay," I laughed.

Brendon turned and wandered back into the kitchen. "You want something to drink?" he called from the other room.

"No, thanks," I declined, looking around his living room curiously. It was much more modest, cozier, more lived-in than the house I shared with Dad was. To be honest, I liked it better. It just felt more like a home.

"Good, because all I've got's Sunny D, and I'm pretty sure it's just been hanging out there in the fridge since I was in, like, the fourth grade," replied Brendon, smirking as he sauntered back into the room with a stack of papers in hand.

I smiled sheepishly as he caught me examining some of the pictures on the wall. "I like your house," I remarked.

His smirk just grew wider. "Well, you can move in if you want. My bed's big enough for both of us."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head a little at him to hide the fact that I was blushing.

But Brendon was one of the most hyperactive people I had ever met; he had already forgotten that fragment of conversation and was separating out some of the papers he was carrying, handing them to me and grinning.

"He jests at scars that never felt a wound," declared Brendon darkly.

"What?" I stared at him, confused, and glanced down at the pages in my hand. "What's this?"

"Go stand on the stairs," he ordered, ignoring me.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it!"

The stairs ran up the side of the living room, separated from the rest of the room only by a banister, so that, if you were standing on the couch up against the side of the stairs, you could have climbed up onto the banister from there. I did as I was told, stopping about mid-way up the stairs so that I could look out over the banister at Brendon, who was standing on the other side of the couch below.

I was about to ask him again what was going on when he cleared his throat dramatically and boomed, "But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." He looked up and smiled, gesturing grandly towards me. "Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou her maid art far more fair than she..."

I rolled my eyes at him again. Romeo and Juliet? Really?

But as I watched Brendon delivering the opening monologue, glancing down at the script in his hands and then back up at me occasionally, I felt a kind of affection for him spreading all through me. As he contorted his handsome face into the most impossible expressions, I realized that he was completely unlike anyone I had ever met before; there was no one else like him, no one who was as clever or funny (in the dorkiest ways) or as desperate to earn my approval. No one else was as genuine. No one else truly cared for me, for reasons that had nothing to do with their own personal gain.

No one else would have gone through everything I had put him through and been so forgiving about it.

"...See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!" exclaimed Brendon, beaming at me. Then, slowly, his enormous grin faded to a small, wistful smile, and he paused before going on, quietly, "O, that I were a glove upon that hand...that I might touch that cheek..."

I blushed and looked away, down at my hands on the banister, because suddenly it felt like he was actually talking to me, rather than practicing for a Drama assignment. We were both quiet for a long time, and then finally, when I had recovered my composure a bit, I met his gaze again and we both just smiled at each other.

Then Brendon looked away momentarily, and laughed a little, and said, "Uh...it's your turn."

"Oh." I blushed again and glanced down at the script, quickly skimming through it and finding my place: "Uh... Ay me!" I said awkwardly.

He laughed again.

"Don't laugh at me!" I snapped, feigning indignation.

He shook his head. "Just the look on your face..." He stopped mid-sentence as he busted out laughing again.

"I only said two words, and you're already laughing at me!" I started to stalk back down the steps, but he ran around the end of the couch and headed me off.

"...O, speak again, bright angel!" Brendon gripped my shoulders, holding me firmly in place, bending down so that his gaze was inescapable and our foreheads almost touched. "For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven, unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him...when he..." He paused, looking away just long enough to glance at his script, where he'd left it on the coffee table.

I glanced down at the script in my hands. "...When he bestrides--"

"When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds, and sails upon the bosom of the air," finished Brendon, his memory jogged. He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I tried to memorize it all this morning, and obviously some of it didn't stick."

He was still so close to me--there was probably an inch or less between his lips and mine, and the tips of our noses kept brushing against each other in the most maddening way. I could hardly focus with his dark eyes so close, boring into mine, with his lips hovering just beyond my reach. I swallowed and closed my eyes, to try and focus better, and said, "You memorized it? Why?"

He let out a little chuckle, and I opened my eyes again to catch a glimpse of his smile. "Well," he said quietly, holding my gaze with an unnerving intensity, "I guess I kind of wanted to impress you."

I felt myself blushing again, and wondered if I would ever get used to him. I looked down at the carpet and swallowed hard, again, and then glanced back up to meet his gaze. "You don't have to try to impress me. You already do."

Brendon smiled blindingly at me, and then closed the gap between us, catching my lips in his and pulling my body tight against his, and electric currents ran all through me, stemming from every place our bodies touched.

When I kissed Brendon, my brain shut down all thought processes unrelated to him, and when I stopped kissing him, it was like I had just blacked out for several minutes. I couldn't remember what we had been doing before we started kissing; I couldn't remember what I should be doing now; I couldn't remember where I was, or what time it was, or why I was even kissing him in the first place. All I could remember was his smile, and his laugh, and his smell, and the feel of his hands pressed flat against my back.

It was really quite overwhelming.

He finally pulled away and just smiled contently at me, still holding me close, and we stood that way in silence for what felt like ages. Then we both jumped at the ring of the doorbell, and Brendon released me, scowling.

"Damn." It only took about two more steps to carry him to the front door, and he unlocked it and pulled it open, frowning unapologetically at the poor boy who had interrupted us.