Authors: Lauren Rowe
Of course, boys have shown interest in being more than friends with me throughout the years, many of them making it clear they wanted to do the horizontal tango with me (and I’ve quite pleasantly done exactly that with three of them, including my first long-term boyfriend, Justin); but, if I’m being honest, other than Justin, the guys I’ve dated (and eventually slept with) haven’t included anyone who’s particularly turned me on.
“Come on,” Hannah says. “Say it for me: ‘new city, new school, new Maddy.’”
I roll my eyes, but begrudgingly repeat after my big sister.
“Excellent, Linda,” Hannah replies after I’ve given her what she wants. “You’re not Madelyn the sweet, shy, rule-following good girl anymore. Starting now, you’re Madelyn the Badasselyn every minute of every day, not just when you’re kicking ass and taking names behind the lens of a camera.”
“Yeah, right. I’m Madelyn the Badasselyn.” I snort. “You know what I was envisioning when you said Mr. Hottie lives across the hall? I had a premonition of me knocking on his door at three in the morning in my ‘Adventure Time’ pajamas, holding a basket full of baked goods, saying, ‘Hey there, neighbor! I heard you playing your guitar in there and thought you might like some baked goods to fuel your creativity?’”
Hannah giggles.
“Please, Hannah, for the love of God, don’t let me bring this über-cool-rock-star-motorcycle-dude baked goods at three in the morning. Chain me up or threaten to show him one of my dance-recital videos if I so much as mix sugar, flour, and eggs.”
“Aw, come on, your tap-dancing videos are adorable.”
“The ones when I’m
six
are adorable, maybe; the ones when I’m thirteen with buck teeth and frizzy hair? Not so much.”
“They’re
all
adorable, Maddy. You were always a cutie—just a little bug in a rug.”
“Mmm hmm. Remember the one where I tap-danced to ‘Born in the USA’?” I ask.
“Is that the one when you’re wearing that red-white-and-blue top hat?”
“That’s the one.”
Hannah giggles for a good long minute. “Okay, yeah, you looked kinda like the Cat in the Hat on meth in that one, I must admit.”
I laugh despite myself. She’s right. I totally did.
“Oh my God, Maddy—I love you so much,” Hannah says, exhaling. “Okay, fine, if you’re ever on the verge of going full-on Martha Stewart on Dax’s ass, I’ll take drastic measures.”
“His name is
Dax
?”
“Yeah, Dax Morgan. He’s Kat Morgan’s little brother—er, Kat
Faraday’s
little brother. I keep forgetting to call her that.”
“Ah,” I say, the situation suddenly making a whole lot more sense. “Why didn’t you say he’s Kat’s little brother? Now it makes total sense why he’d donate his parking spot to our cause.”
Hannah met her dear friend Kat Morgan a few years ago when they started working together at a PR firm here in Seattle, and Hannah hasn’t stopped telling outrageous and hilarious Kat-stories ever since. Hannah wound up quitting her job and moving to L.A. to be with her boyfriend, Henn (right before Kat got married and had a baby), but the pair has nonetheless stayed super close, especially since Kat’s husband, Josh, is besties with Hannah’s boyfriend, Henn.
“Wow,” I say. “If Dax is half as attractive as his sister, then he must be drop-dead gorgeous.”
“He’s absolutely hideous.”
I laugh.
“Actually, Dax and Kat look like male-female versions of each other. Their family calls them The Wonder Twins.”
“Ah, jeez, there are
two
of them? Well, that’s just God showing off.”
“No, there are
five
of them. Kat has four brothers—I met the whole Morgan clan at Kat’s wedding in Hawaii—and every single one of them is a freak of nature. But Dax is the one who looks like Kat’s cookie-cutter twin.”
“Holy hell. My left ovary just started vibrating.”
Hannah giggles.
“So does Dax go to UCLA?” I ask. “Did Reed cut him a deal on an apartment, too?”
It’s a fair question. Hannah’s building is mere blocks from UCLA’s campus (hence, the reason I’m moving in with her next week), and almost every resident in her building is a student. And since Henn and Josh’s third musketeer from their days at UCLA (a music mogul named Reed Rivers) owns Hannah’s apartment building, it seems likely to me he would have given Kat’s brother a deal on an apartment the same way he gave one to his best friend’s girlfriend.
“No, Dax isn’t a student,” Hannah says. “He moved to L.A. because his band got signed by River Records.”
“Oh my God. Wow. Good for them.”
“I know. It’s huge. So, anyway, I’m told Reed likes to put his new bands up in his apartment building while they’re recording their debut album.”
“Wowza. Dax must be ecstatic.”
“Well, yeah, but I think he’s also kinda stressed out, from what I can tell.”
“I can only imagine. Must be a lot of pressure. So did Dax give you a hint about what he wants for the parking spot—other than my sexual servitude, of course?”
“He said maybe you could do some sort of promo video for his band?”
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “That’s what he wants as
payment
?”
“So he says.”
“I’d
love
to do that.” I place my fingertips on my laptop keyboard, poised to run a search. “Okay, I’m in Google-mode, babe. Is his name spelled D-A-X?”
“Yeah. Dax Morgan—and his band is called 22 Goats.”
“22 Goats? What the heck?”
“Don’t ask—I have no idea.”
I input the search and a whole bunch of photos, videos, and links pop up on my screen. “
Oh, hello
,” I say, beholding the glorious visions of gorgeousness gracing my computer. “Wow, Dax really
is
the male version of Kat.”
“Like I said.”
“And the entire universe’s idea of hot,” I add.
“Told you so. He’s a freak, just like all the Morgan siblings. Freaks, freaks, freaks, all of ’em. Disgusting. Hideous. Grotesque.”
“Jee-
zus
, he’s easy on the eyes.” I click on one of the videos in which Dax and his band are performing an edgy but soulful rock ballad in a crowded club. “Wow, he’s so
passionate
when he performs,” I whisper as I watch, my skin electrifying. “Oh my God, Banana, my left ovary just popped out an egg, and I’m not even mid-cycle.”
“Yeah, well, get in line. Every co-ed in my building has been hurling her eggs at Dax since he moved in. The guy gets assaulted with teeny-tiny yolks every time he leaves his apartment.”
We both laugh.
“I’m suddenly picturing Dax covered in tiny splotches of yellow goo,” I say. “The same way women in fur coats get doused with red paint.”
“Totally,” Hannah says, laughing.
“How old is he?” I ask.
“Twenty-one, I think? He said he’d be a junior at Seattle U this year if he hadn’t dropped out to pursue his music.”
I watch Dax and his band some more, utterly drawn to his undeniable charisma and talent, and finally take a deep, self-controlling breath. “Okay, enough stalking and fangirling for one night. I’ve gotta get this dang wedding video edited for Grandma Tilly’s Ninetieth Birthday Bash. Thanks again for arranging the parking spot for me, Hannah—you’re the best sister in the world.”
“Anything for you, lil sissy—you know that. But, hey, honestly, now that you’re driving here, I gotta admit I’m worried about you making the drive all by yourself.”
I scoff. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Is there someone who could make the drive with you? If you can find someone to road trip it with you, I’ll buy them a one-way flight back to Seattle, on me.”
“Oh my gosh, Banana. You’re so sweet. But I’ll be fine.”
“Seriously. Is there anyone you could ask? I’d feel a lot better about it if you weren’t alone.”
I twist my mouth, considering potential co-pilots, but I can’t think of anyone. “Washington schools have already started up again,” I say. “Everyone I know started classes last week.”
“Well, how about Mom, then?”
“No, she’s visiting her new boyfriend in Louisville next week.”
“Mom’s got a new boyfriend in Louisville?”
“Smith.”
“
Smith
? Is that his first or last name?”
“First name, I think. Actually, I’m not sure. That’s all she’s ever called him: Smith.”
“Whatever happened to that guy Brook?”
“Brooks. With an ‘s.’ He’s kaput.”
“I thought Brooks was supposed to be Mom’s ‘Prince Charming’?”
“Yeah, well, it turns out Prince Charming has gambling and porn addictions.”
“Next, please!” Hannah shouts, and we both laugh—but it’s “humor borne of pain,” as Hannah’s boyfriend Henn is fond of saying.
“If you wanna worry about someone taking a trip alone, worry about Mom,” I say. “She’s meeting this Smith guy in person for the first time after a solid month of ‘I love you’ emails and phone calls.”
“Love-at-first email again?” Hannah asks.
“Of course.”
“We ought to teach Mom about this newfangled thing called FaceTime,” Hannah says. “I think it’d change her life.” She lets out a long sigh. “Well, hopefully, this Smith guy is The One.”
“Fingers crossed,” I say.
“If not, she’ll figure it out,” Hannah says. “Mom’s a big girl.”
“Well, so am I,” I say. “You don’t have to worry about me driving alone.”
“No, you’re not a big girl. You’re my sweet little Madelyn the Badelyn and you always will be. Hey, why don’t I fly up there and drive down with you? We can play license-plate bingo like we used to do when we were kids.”
“Hann, you were just telling me yesterday how swamped you are at work. You can’t take time off from a brand new job to babysit me. You’re still trying to make everyone at your new job love you, remember?”
Hannah exhales a long breath, wordlessly confirming just how much she’s yearning to succeed at this new PR job of hers. Working in the publicity department of a major movie studio is my sister’s dream job, after all, and now she’s living her dream.
“If I feel even remotely drowsy while driving,” I assure her, “I’ll stop at the first motel I come across. In fact, right after we hang up, I’ll go online and chart out my pit stops. And I’ll put my phone in the glove box whenever I’m driving, just like I always do. There’ll be no distractions.”
“I’m not only worried about the driving part, I’m worried you’ll be a twenty-one-year-old woman traveling alone for twelve hundred miles. Who knows what sicko might see you at a gas station and attack you?”
“Jeez, Hannah.”
“Just saying. You can never be too careful.”
“I know, but... jeez.”
Hannah exhales again, clearly ill at ease.
This is nothing new, of course. My sweet sister’s always been my fierce protector, ever since we were little, and that protectiveness only intensified three years ago when the car I was riding in as a passenger was T-boned at an intersection. I got carted away from the wreckage with a broken collarbone and wrist, a severe concussion, a collapsed lung, and some bone-deep bruises to my body, heart, and soul; but both drivers—my boyfriend, Justin, and a father of four in the other car who’d apparently looked down to reply to a text as he approached our intersection—died at the scene.
“So, hey, I gotta go,” I say. “Be sure to send me Dax’s phone number. I’ll call him to work out the terms of my sexual servitude.”
“Will do. I love you lots and lots, Tootsie Pop.”
“I love you, too, Banana Cream Pie. Thanks again.”
Chapter 2
Maddy
“Dax,” a male voice answers.
Oh, jeez. His voice is as sexy as the rest of him. Or maybe I’m just
projecting
extreme vocal sexiness onto him, based on the seven YouTube videos of him I just watched, one after the other, immediately before placing this call.
“Uh, hi, Dax?” I say. “This is Madelyn Milliken?” Oh man, my voice is betraying the racing of my heart. “Hannah’s sister?” I continue.
“Oh, yeah, hey.”
“My sister told me to give you a call about the parking spot?” Shoot. I’m finishing every sentence with a question mark. I hate it when I do that. I take a deep breath. “My sister told me to call you?” Shoot. I did it again. Gah.
“Yeah, Hannah said you need to have your car during the school year so you can work on weekends.”
“Yeah, tuition and books is kind of wiping me out?” Shit. Another question mark.
“Well, you can totally use my parking spot,” Dax says. “I’ve got a motorcycle, so I don’t need the second spot assigned to our apartment.”
“Thank you?” Goddammit. “Thank you?”
Goddammit! “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome!” Dax shouts, mimicking the exuberant tone of my last offering. “Glad to help out. Kat’s always talking about how much she loves Hannah Banana Montana Milliken, so I figure any sister of Hannah’s is a sister of mine.”
Well, damn, that’s gotta be a new record for me. “Thank you so much, Dax!” I sing out, trying my damnedest not to sound the least bit crestfallen that I’ve just been dropkicked into the frickin’
sister
zone.
“So you’re transferring to UCLA?” Dax says, apparently unaware of my current state of disappointment.
“Yeah?” I reply.
“Where from?”
“U Dub?”
“I was studying music at Seattle U until last year.”
“Yeah?”
“Dropped out when the band got signed.”
“Congratulations on that, by the way.” Phew, no question mark that time.
“Thanks. So Hannah said you’re going to film school—that you won the top prize at some film festival last year?”
“Yeah?” I say. Fuck a duck—the question mark is back! “
Yes
,” I correct myself. “
I did
.”
Dax pauses, apparently waiting for me to elaborate on that statement, but he’s gonna have to wait all day. I feel like my tongue is tied into knots along with my stomach.
“Okay, well, that’s cool,” Dax finally says. “So, hey, I’m thinking, if it’s cool with you, my band could use a promo video—you know, something to kind of introduce us to the world when the album comes out. I’m thinking maybe some performance stuff, maybe some behind the scene stuff? Nothing too long or fancy, pretty basic. I’m hoping the label’s gonna do some stuff at release time, but I don’t wanna count on it, you know? And, even so, every little bit helps to break a new band these days, even if you’re signed to a badass label.” Dax exhales a deep breath that speaks volumes about the pressure he must be feeling.