Then Jake pulled back, his eyes flickering over Maxine’s shoulder. They landed directly on Molly’s. For a split second, he looked confused. Then, as if in slow motion, his face morphed into an expression of white-hot panic. In a flash, he disentangled himself from Maxine. He bolted toward Molly, but she sped for the exit. The venue was filling quickly.
Molly felt the tears spill over, streaming down her face, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dark-haired guy again, the one wearing a dress shirt and tie. He was still staring straight at her, ignoring his friends, his lips parted in concern as though he’d just watched the entire scene play out. Molly rushed by him, the crowds swarming around her as she swung open the double doors and stumbled out onto the street, not the same person she’d been ten minutes before.
Chapter Eleven
Jake
2013
Jake left Molly’s apartment at quarter of six, just as she was heading out to meet Nina, Liz, and Everly at Radegast biergarten.
He had to swing by Brooklyn Bowl for sound check, which only took thirty minutes. Then, he headed back to his place to shower and shave. He threw on a fresh pair of jeans and a white T-shirt with a picture of Bob Dylan smoking a joint on the front—one of his favorites to wear during a show. Sam and Hale had already been dressed and ready before sound check. As usual, Jake was the one running behind.
When he arrived back at the venue, his crew was by the bar. There was an open case of Brooklyn Lager—the bartender Damian always let them drink for free when they played the Bowl.
Sam pursed his lips at the sight of Jake, as if to say, Cutting it close.
In response, Jake rolled his eyes, as if to say, Stop always being so anal about timing. We’re not on for an hour.
They could communicate like this, without words. Hale, too. Jake had known the Lanes forever—since he was in diapers—and they were the closest thing he had to brothers.
Hale tossed Jake a beer. Their manager, Jerry, was there, too, and his assistant, Maxine.
“Where’s alt-J?” Jake asked. alt-J was the band they were opening for. Jake was a huge fan and had been excited to play this show for months.
“You just missed them.” Jerry rubbed his dark beard. “They ran across the street to grab a quick bite at Reynard.”
Jake nodded, cracking open the beer and taking a thirsty sip. “I really want to meet those guys.”
“There’s always the after-party,” Maxine said coyly, her eyes landing on Jake. She handed him the bottle of Jack Daniel’s they’d all been passing around.
Jake took a swig, averting his gaze. He and Maxine had hooked up a few times the previous fall, when he and Sisi were on the rocks. On the rocks in Jake’s eyes, at least. Sisi had seemed to think nothing was wrong in their relationship, though he’d tried to tell her several times his feelings had changed. But communication had never been Jake’s strong suit, so perhaps his attempt to slowly and easily let Sisi down—instead of ripping off the Band-Aid—had missed its mark.
He shouldn’t have resorted to cheating—Jake knew this. But sometimes he knew what was right and did the opposite, anyway. He couldn’t articulate the reason behind this behavior, but he knew it wasn’t calculated. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Sisi—not at all. He’d just grown tired of how entitled she was, tired of sitting across from her at restaurants and listening to the rude, snarky way she treated the waitstaff. Sisi worked hard, but she was spoiled, constantly throwing her trust fund in his face like a weapon whenever they argued. Worst of all, she lacked any self-awareness; she was unwilling to acknowledge the parts of herself that had begun to turn Jake off, and he knew she was never going to change.
He’d slept with Maxine only three times. She’d made it easy for him, honestly. She attended every show with Jerry, behind the scenes, ensuring it all ran smoothly. She could be a little desperate, but she was good at her job, and she’ d never failed to make it clear to Jake that she would fuck him, if that’s what he wanted. Maxine was a few years older—late twenties, probably—with jet-black hair and an impish look about her, plus one of the best bodies Jake had ever seen. Curvy hips, tiny waist, perky breasts. She was smoking hot.
Jake never told Sisi he’d cheated. What was the point? Emotionally, he was over their relationship, and he was going to break up with her—he’d just been too swamped with the band to deal with it.
With Maxine, it had been casual; she didn’t seem to want more than sex, which was ideal. When Molly entered the picture in January, Maxine hadn’t acted jealous. She’d only ruffled Jake’s hair one night, after a show, and said, “You sure move through them quickly, Jakey.” She was always calling him Jakey, which he hated.