Chapter 5 Courtesies

Natalie's POV

I knew from the moment I tripped over the amp cord and busted my knee open she was my angel.

She, the cute brunette with brown eyes full of caring and expression, expertly cleaned and bandaged my knee so I could perform.

All night, with every song I sang, I looked directly at her. The next Monday at school, I made sure to stumble and fall, right in front of her. It was sly, but I knew no other way to get her attention.

My clumsiness worked and we started dating right up until August after we graduated high school. By then, I had a following.

During the middle of our senior year, some media student asked if he could make videos of me performing. Sure, why not, I had nothing to lose.

He helped me create a video channel and overnight I had thousands of people listening to me sing. By week's end, I had a million followers and several offers from labels and agents.

When you're eighteen, you shouldn't have to face life-altering decisions. I wanted to but never asked Natalie to come with me to Los Angeles.

She wanted college and never asked me to go with her. Back then, maybe I would've. Ask me today, and the answer is yes.

I would've followed her anywhere knowing what I know now. Life's funny that way.

The elevator doors open one floor above where Natalie is. I pull up Jordan's text and look at the number.

It's obvious by the loud music playing.

"Low key, my ass," I mumble as my knuckles wrap on the door in quick succession. It swings up, the person on the other side is holding a beer and his eyes go wide.

"No fucking way . . ."

Yes, fucking way.

". . . when Jordan said . . ."

The guy doesn't finish his sentence. Really, what's he going to say? Jordan is a liar? Not likely. While I don't keep in touch with many friends from high school.

By many I mean more than one, Jordan has always been a good friend to me. He doesn't care about my life, my status, or any of that shit. He cares about me.

I spot him across the room and head in his direction. He puts his arm around me and introduces me to the woman he's speaking with, Carmen.

She shakes my hand, a dainty and not firm shake. She bats her eyes, her long fake lashes looking like butterfly wings and I want to ask her if she has something caught in her eye. She puckers her lips, almost as if her drink is sour.

"Nice to meet you," I say to her. I'm polite, even if my thoughts aren't.

"The pleasure is all mine," she purrs. I feel my lips form into a thin line as I nod. Great, perfect.

"I'm going to mingle," I tell Jordan. I'm not, but standing here is not an option either. I take the six-pack I bought into the kitchen and open the fridge.

There are multiple buckets of ice with bottles, cans, different kinds of drinks, and bottles of champagne spread around, but I prefer mine out of the refrigerator. It's safer this way.

After taking a bottle from the pack, I pop the top and slip it into my pocket. Call it hazards of the job and whatnot.

Aside from the loud music, there don't seem to be a lot of people here. Maybe as it becomes later, more will show up.

With my beer in my hand, I survey the apartment. It's nice, with a great view and some classic artwork on the walls, which interests me.

While it wasn't how I thought I spend my New Year's, it's better than sitting with my parents, alone.

I peruse. Check out the art, and look but don't touch the decorative vases and such on the tables. Whoever lives here seems sophisticated and if I had to guess probably holds a nine-to-five in the banking district, especially to be able to afford a place like this.

The apartment has an impressive view of the harbor. I try to count the boats out there having parties but lose track after ten.

It's crazy how people in New England treat storms. The nonchalant attitude of "eh, it's just snow" doesn't deter anyone from changing their plans. Evident by my parents going out and the boats anchored not too far from shore.

"You'll be able to see the fireworks from here," a voice interrupts my thoughts.

I turn slightly to find a well-dressed woman standing beside me. She has one arm crossed under her breasts and the other holds a glass of white wine.

"Jordan told me he invited you. This whole time I thought he was kidding when he said you were friends."

"I'm assuming this is your place?"

She sighs, drops her arm down to her side, and looks over the party. I follow, wondering what she sees.

"It is." She looks around and smiles.

"The view makes the price worth it."

I would agree with her, although there isn't much to look at except for the lights coming from the boats. It's pitch-black and thankfully has stopped snowing.

She walks off without introducing herself and heads over to another guest. I think about leaving or at least heading downstairs to where Natalie is.

Right now, I'd rather spend what little time I have left in Boston with her than be up here.

Jordan approaches, slaps his hand down on my back, and says, "Happy fucking New Year, man." He's drunk.

Drunk Jordan is usually the life of the party unless you're in Los Angeles and he's drunk at a social event.

Over the years, he's come out to visit and we've gone to a few events. Tuxedos, open bars, the whole Hollywood glam lifestyle, and while I enjoy having him there, sometimes he's too over the top for these stuffy executives.

"Happy New Year. Thanks for having me over. Who's the woman?" I nod toward my former conversation partner.

Jordan looks over his shoulder, back, and me and smiles.

"Ramona. She works for the Celtics, upper management, or something in legal, I think. Her husband left her for a younger version, a cheerleader or something. We bang now and again. Neither of us is looking for anything but sex so it works out, especially on nights like tonight."

"Yeah, she has a nice place."

"She hates it but got it in the divorce, so she stays."

I don't have anything to say in response, so I change the subject.

"Do you remember Natalie O'Brien?" Jordan's eyes go wide.

"Dude, you had such a hard-on for her in high school." Still do.

"Yeah, I remember her, why?" he asks.

"I ran into her at the store."

"She still cute?"

"She's gorgeous," I tell him.

He pushes me slightly. "Ah, Bren, you got a little crush."

I can't help but smile back.

"Tell me it won't work. Tell me I'm being stupid and thinking about her is going to get me nowhere. Tell me I shouldn't text her."

Jordan stops smiling and looks at me seriously. "Did you get her number?" I nod as my hand grips the phone in my pocket.

"She's downstairs at another party too."

Jordan's hand is back on my shoulder and he pulls me toward him slightly.

"Really? What are the odds?"

"Dunno, I never look at the odds, but I'm wondering"

"Nah, man. Look around." He turns me toward the living room.

"You have your pick of pussy. Each one guaranteed not to call you the next day, not to hound you with memories from high school. We've moved on, man. Gotta leave the past in the past and welcome in the new year with someone you don't have to remember the name of in the morning."

I don't agree with him. I'm not him and I'm not what people would call the

"Hollywood type". Hook-ups have never been my thing. Sure, women throw themselves at me, wanting to spend time with me, but none of them interest me.

One time, I tried to take a woman on a date, and she wanted sex. I saw right through her the minute she snapped a picture of us and put it on her Instagram.

The one real relationship I had, ended abruptly. One minute, we're living together and the next, I'm single and have no idea what happened.

Jordan may be okay with the bang 'em and leave 'em lifestyle, but it's not for me.

Besides, I can't get my mind off Natalie, and knowing she's downstairs, it's where I want to be. A couple of Jordan's friends join us, creating a little circle.

The chit-chat is idle, what do you do for work, which when I'm asked, usually results in a fangirl or boy moment or a "yeah, I thought you looked familiar" sort of thing.

All while the door keeps opening, people are coming and going, making me wonder what else I could be doing tonight.

Natalie not that I could be doing her but spending time with her. I could take her on a date or bring food to the hospital for her since I'm assuming, she'll have to work if tonight is her only night off.

I have two days to spend time with someone I've missed and I might as well take advantage of what's in front of me.

I catch Jordan staring at me and look at him oddly.

"What?"

"You're seriously standing here, surrounded by hot, single women, and thinking about your high school ex?" He grabs both my shoulders and shakes them.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nostalgic, I guess?"

"It's a New Year's Eve party. Each of these women would love to take you back to their place and bang the fuck out of you."

"That's just it, J. I get this all the time. I can fucking snap my fingers and five chicks will line up for a chase. Maybe I want something different."

"You want what you lost, is that it?" I shrug.

"Maybe. Or maybe I want to spend a couple of hours with someone I know I have a connection with. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, man. I will never understand your emo moody ass, but the women dig ya. Go get Natalie, bring her up here. I want to see what ten years have done to her."

With that, I walk out of the apartment, down the hall, and to the elevator . . . and wait.