The Object of My Affection: My Band Mate's Sister

That Boy Stole My Love Away...

Paul brought an unlit cigarette to his slightly parted lips as he leaned back against the cold wall of the restaurant. He rummaged his pocket for his lighter. When he couldn’t find, he became a little panicky. He needed a lit cigarette instantly or he’d go insane.

With a stroke of good fortune, it fumbled out of his pocket and into his hand. He sighed in relief and was quick to light his ciggy without any struggle, as there was no breeze tonight.

At first, the bassist’s middle finger and index finger had a tight grip on the ciggy but as he sucked his stress-reliever it became more relaxed. Paul blew the smoke out of mouth and watched as it vanished in the night sky.

I want a girl I can’t have and have a girl I don’t want, he thought to himself. His levels of frustration began to increase rapidly as he thought more and more about the predicament God had given him. Fuck sake… no, Paul, calm down… what would mum say? That’s easy! She’d say let it be.

Paul pondered on that thoughtfully. For once, he didn’t agree with his mother’s faithfully advice and slowly looked up at the twinkly night sky above him and whispered, “I’m sorry, mum. I can’t let it be.”

~*~*~*~

The air grew colder and colder the longer Paul stood outside. He decided that the smoke had done him good and disposed of his ciggy. He went back inside, his body instantly feeling the warmth of his surroundings after being out in the freezing cold. He could tell the weather was becoming cooler and they’d be entering winter any day now. But as the weather grew colder, something would grow warmer.

Paul made it back to the table in one piece. The place had become busier since he left, waiters were everywhere. In fact the place had gotten so busy that Paul couldn’t see any vacant table. The place had really come to life; the room was full of music and voices, the sound of people enjoying themselves, the sound of fun.

He prayed silently, as he got into his seat, that no one would ask too many questions about Jane. Their relationship was something the dark haired man would prefer not talk about when he wasn’t even sure what he felt anymore. But to Paul’s luck, all that was asked and mentioned was her wellbeing and that was the last time they spoke of Jane Asher.

The group of friends were full of chat and laughter that evening as they tucked into delicious meals. Everything seemed to run smoothly and everyone was enjoying themselves and the company of others until the four lads dropped a bombshell that made Cynthia shocked and Brona worried, her blue eyes shifting between Cyn and John.

“Sweden?” Cynthia repeated, making sure she heard the right and, to her blues, John confirmed the doubt with a nod. “You’re touring Sweden? When? For how long?” she shot rapidly. 

Cynthia blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall. Was the world ever going to let her be with her husband? She felt saddened at the thought of John's busy schedule. She was so happy and proud, yet the feeling of being let down was becoming no stranger. But it wasn't John's fault, the blonde kept telling herself.

“At the end of this month, and not for long,” he said, trying his best to reassure her but without avail. The brunet knew he had struck a nerve and he silently looked at his pretty wife’s downcast face, and found it hard to blame her for being upset with him. John was upset at their whole set up too - it had gone on far too long but it wouldn’t any further, he hoped.

“C’mon, Cyn, love, let’s dance,” John told her as the restaurant band played Ain’t She Sweet with a modern twist. It took a little coaxing to get the blonde to dance but with his gentleman like manners and a twist of Lennon, Cynthia reluctantly took his hand and went.