Nick chose to ignore him and pretended to focus all his attention on the stripper onstage. But he was not really into it anymore. He knew it was stupid to be dwelling on a girl he had crushed on ten years ago, but he couldn’t help it. It was kind of funny, actually, and sort of ironic – in school, he had been beat up, teased, and taunted for being different, for being a “weirdo,” while Leah was one of those kids who seemed to have it all. And now the tables had turned, and Nick was a rich superstar, while Leah was working in a strip club to support herself. He actually felt quite sorry for her, now he thought about it...
“Yo, earth to Nick.” Nick blinked as a hand was waved spastically back and forth in front of his face. “You’re spacin’ out on us, dude, you okay?” laughed Frank.
“Yeah, I’m cool,” Nick replied and took a deep swig of his drink, forcing himself to think of something else.
As the night wore on, four out of the five men got drunker and drunker, and finally, when Nick could barely walk, they headed home.
“Bring back my car tomorrow, dude, don’t forget,” Nick muttered to Lane when he was dropped off, weaving his way up to the house.
“You got it. Later, Carter,” Lane called and drove away, his taillights fading into the darkness.
Nick let himself into his house, where he received an energetic greeting from his pugs.
“Hey, boys,” he said, nearly tripping over one of them in the foyer. Now that he was home, he felt exhausted, and he knew a headache would be coming on soon from all the alcohol. Hoping to head it off, he staggered upstairs to his bedroom, stripped, and dropped into his bed. He reeked of cigarettes and beer, but showering would have to wait. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.
***
Nick awoke late the following morning with a pounding headache. Groaning, he rolled over and squinted, trying to block out the burning sunlight streaming through his half-closed mini-blinds. Pain exploded in his head, and he massaged his temples wearily. Oh, how he hated hangovers.
He forced himself to get up and headed for the bathroom. Maybe he would feel better after a shower; besides, he had to smell completely rank by now. As he padded across his bedroom floor, a twinge of pain ran up and down his left leg, centering itself in his shin. He grimaced and tried to remember if he had fallen at all in his drunken stupor the night before. He could not remember.
Once in the bathroom, he put his leg up on the toilet seat and inspected his shin, expecting to find a bruise there from where he had banged it. But the leg looked fine, and when he gently touched it, it felt painless. Shrugging, Nick let his leg fall.
“Must just be growing pains,” he said out loud, which sent him into a fit of rueful laughter. Growing pains, sure. That was the last thing he needed – to be growing some more. He was too big already, according to management and his mother, who seemed to feel that appearance counted more than talent in the music business. His weight had been fluctuating since the last Backstreet Boys tour, and right now, it was at its peak. He would have to do some major working out to take some of it off before the tour; he didn’t want to suffer through anymore fat jokes than necessary. He looked forward to touring, knowing that jumping hyperactively around on stage for an hour or so every night would help take the extra pounds off.
There was a scale lying on the bathroom floor. He eyed it warily, then stepped over it and turned on the shower. He climbed in, and as soon as the hot water touched his body, he felt much better. Savoring the comfort of the water flowing over his body, he stayed in the shower for quite some time.
As soon he stepped out, his headache came back with full force. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened up the medicine cabinet and shuffled through the bottles until he found some Tylenol. Popping open the cap, he shook three pills into his hand and shoved them into his mouth, washing them down with a quick swig from the sink faucet. Then he wandered back into his bedroom, dressed, and descended downstairs for a cup of strong, black coffee.
***
Nick would never know exactly why, but that night, he went back to Big Al’s. Alone.
He sat at a small table in the back corner this time, hoping to sit unnoticed. He ordered a beer and sipped it slowly, barely paying attention to the strippers onstage. The performance was exactly the same as the night before. He waited until Leah was done performing, and when the next dancer had taken the stage, he slunk off to the bathroom, hoping to run into her again. He wasn’t sure why; he was acting simply on impulse. Deep down, he had to admit he wanted to see her again. Maybe go for that drink sometime, like she had suggested. But why? She had broken his thirteen-year-old heart; he thought he’d never want to look at her face again. But, God, she was still beautiful. Even more than she had been then. And it had been ten years... surely she wasn’t the same snotty girl she had been at thirteen. Surely she had matured since then.
He knew he was taking a chance, but he had to find out. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t have feelings for her somewhere deep in his heart. She had hurt him, and he thought he hated her for that, but when it came down to it... he just didn’t.
Now he leaned against the wall in front of the restrooms, trying his best to look casual, like he was simply waiting for a friend to emerge from the men’s room. He waited and waited, growing more impatient with each passing moment. This is stupid... this is so stupid... you’re absolutely pathetic, he chided himself.
Finally, just when he was about to chicken out and leave, the door to the ladies’ room swung open... and out stepped the very lady he had been awaiting.
Leah’s brown eyes widened in surprise when she saw him standing there. “Nick? What are you doing back here?”
“Well, I... uh...” Nick could sense himself blushing and began to feel incredibly stupid. What must she be thinking of him right now?
“Just couldn’t get enough of me, huh?” Leah grinned teasingly.
Nick smiled weakly. “Actually... I just... well... I know I kinda blew you off last night, and... well, if you still want to get drinks some time... that’d be cool.”
“Really? Well, okay then. When?”
“When? Uh...”
“I’m not working Friday night. Would that be good?” Leah suggested.
“Friday? Yeah, yeah, sounds good,” Nick replied. “What time do you want to meet?”
“Would eight work?”
“Sure. Where?”
“Um... how about Charlatan’s?”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay. See you then?”
“Yup, see you then.”
Nick and Leah exchanged smiles and goodbyes and went their separate ways. Nick left, uninterested in the rest of the strip show. The whole way home, he could think about nothing but Leah. He hadn’t had a chance with her ten years ago. So what had changed? He knew he had changed as a person, and most likely, so had she. But he couldn’t ignore one obvious fact: he was now a multi-millionaire.
Girls had used him before, dating him only because of his wealth, fame, and status. Was Leah about to do the same thing?
***
