CHAPTER 29

“You going to ‘practice’ with Timothy again?” I’m walking past Andi'e’s open dorm door with my bag and jacket when her voice has me pulling up. I step into her doorway, taking in the sight of my friend reclined on her bed, notebook in her lap. “What’s with the finger quotes?” I ask. “You’ve been spending every second together all week. If your strategy is to get close enough to back stab the competition, you’re running out of time.” “We’re competing, but our biggest competition is the dozens of other people auditioning.” She cocks her head. “You realize there’s only one closing spot.” Which is why even though we’ve practiced together a few times, those long looks and teasing touches have been as far as it’s gone. “I wanted to give you that night. So many times in my head, I did.” The recipe for a sleepless night starts with Timothy Adams telling you he thinks about all the things you never did together. I’ve spent a few hours wrapped in sweaty sheets thinking of them, too. But I’m thinking about why I’m here at Vanier and my goals. With the auditions happening Monday, the closing spot is close enough I can taste it. My phone jumps in my pocket with a text. Unknown: It’s Frank. Meet me out front of the school in fifteen minutes for intensive. Annie: I thought we were meeting tomorrow? Unknown: Change of plans. If you can do right now, it’ll be worth your while. I tell Andie about the message. “Is this normal for faculty to take students off campus for weird evening sessions?” she asks. “I’m not sure Frank follows the rules.” But I’m intrigued. “We’re all still going out tomorrow night, right?” Andie asks as I start toward the hall. “Yeah. My friend Avery and the guy she’s seeing suggested a place they like.” I go down to the first floor and turn toward the main lobby. A black car’s pulled up at the curb, and the window buzzes down, revealing Frank inside the backseat. I shift into the car, pull the door behind me. “Some people think being double-booked is a conflict,” he says once I’m in. “I think it’s an opportunity. I’m playing a show tonight. Figured you could keep me company.” I glance out the window as the city passes us by. “I haven’t been to a show in… months.” “Then you’re in for a treat.” Two hours later, we’re at a venue in Jersey. The audience is a few thousand people—loud, screaming. They’re not here for me, but from the moment I take up a post in the shadows backstage, I close my eyes and pretend they are. This is what it feels like to make a name for yourself. Frank runs off partway through, sweating, and checks the set list while he gets touch-ups. “I know what you’re thinking.” “What’s that?” “That the purpose of your intensive at Vanier is to hone your craft, not mine.” “Well, yeah, but this is fun,” I admit. With a grin, he points at the next track on the set list. “You know this track?” I nod. “Drop in on it.” There’s a cocky angle to his grin, and I blink at him in astonishment. “I’m not warmed up, I’m in the wrong clothes, and I don’t have performance makeup.” But he jerks his head as he jogs back on stage, and I slowly follow him. His bassist steps back, gesturing to the mic. So, I take it. I’ve been on stage a dozen times in the last few years, but none of the small productions I’ve done have felt like this. This is freedom—an orgy of lights and sound and love and feeling. It’s not my song, but the audience sings along, pulsing right there with me. Backstage after, Frank downs a bottle of water. “That was incredible,” I gush. “This is the contemporary music program. Not ‘break your back bending over your violin for twenty years until someone lets you play second in a symphony.’ You saw that crowd. You think they’d pay two hundred bucks a seat to see Mozart?” “Mozart’s dead.” “Exactly.” He grins. “Listen,” I start. “I want to run my audition piece for the showcase by you once more. I’ve been making some changes, and I’d love your input. Would you have time tomorrow?” Frank cocks his head. “You didn’t hear.” “Hear what?” My heart kicks in my chest. “First years are being disqualified from auditioning this year. ” He reaches for his phone, swipes through a few screens. “Looks like it was just in a faculty email that went around today. The first years who signed up will be contacted tomorrow.” “But… why?” “One of the professors adjudicating landed a last minute gig and can’t sit for the full number of auditions. The dean decided to focus on second years, since that’s who the showcase is for anyway.” He shrugs. Disbelief has my throat swelling, my chest tightening. This was my chance, the perfect opportunity to prove why I’m here and get noticed for my own talent, not my name. “That’s bullshit,” I blurt. “Some of us need this chance.” “I’m with you.” Frank holds the door for me, and I force myself to walk through. “Oh, one more thing— I’m gonna be gone the week after the showcase in November. Playing three gigs in LA and San Francisco. I could get you tickets if you’re interested.” I try to focus on his words, but I can’t bring myself to care, because my dreams are going up in smoke. “This is where you hang out?” Rica cranes her neck from her spot in the booth to peer around the packed bar the next night. Avery nods. “It’s mostly Columbia students.” “There’s no stage,” Andie notes. Rica, Avery, Andie, and I are crowded around a booth Saturday night. I’m trying to enjoy the atmosphere, but it’s hard given I’m still reeling from the fact that all my work this semester—hell, for the last two years—will come to nothing. I need this showcase to remind myself I made the right choice. That I’m at Vanier for a reason and that I have a chance of making it in this business on my own merit. I glance toward the bar, catching a glimpse of the guy Avery’s seeing with Timothy, Jacob, and a couple of guys from school. “Dave seems cool,” I say, forcing myself to think of my friends. “He is. I never thought I’d date an engineer. I always figured they’d be too…” “Cocky?” “Reductionist.” The guys at the bar are all objectively good-looking. Avery’s guy is cute and preppy, Jacob’s got that “I’m hot and I know how to use it” look, but Timothy’s the most commanding, his Henley pulling tight over his shoulders and chest. He’s still the rebel prince, but he’s opened up. Whether he knows it or not, he’s let this place in, let Jacob and the others in. Some girls interrupt the guys, talking and flirting, and my hand clenches around my glass. “Oh, I wondered how long this would take,” Avery drawls. Andie leans in. “What?” I stare at my high school friend pointedly, but she waves me off. “Timothy and Emily go back.” Rica narrows her eyes, and Andie scoffs, “This is new information.” “Yes, Avery,” I warn. Avery holds up a hand. “Don’t try to scare me with your four syllables. I’m not talking out of turn here. Just saying you guys have some especially angsty baggage.” My attention drags back to the girl smiling at Timothy . “She’s thinking about dragging that girl across the floor by her hair,” Rica deadpans. Andie laughs, and Avery grins. I have no right to feel that way, but as we’ve rehearsed together over the past week, it’s gotten harder and harder not to feel something for him. “What’s he like in bed?” Andie asks, and I choke on my drink. “We never slept together,” I say when I stop coughing. “Oh, that does explain the tension.” Andie cocks her head as I squirm in my seat, tugging the hem of my skirt that’s riding high up my legs. “I bet he’d learn everything you like, memorize it, use it all against you to get his way.” Rica’s words have me flushing, averting my gaze. Forgive me for not bringing a change of underwear to this venue. My gaze drags from the girl and over to Timothy, his strong shoulders, handsome profile. He’s beyond sexy. Thinking about him is sexy. Talking about him is sexy. Breathing the same air in the same room is sexy. The guy in question turns his head and catches me staring. His gaze skims down and back up, as if he can see me press my thighs together under the table. I can’t look away. If I’m honest, I still have feelings for Timothy. But even if I think there’s a chance he feels the same way, that’s not why we’re here. We have our dreams, and we’ve both given up things to pursue them. The waitress comes by to see if we want more drinks. “You guys are Vanier students. I was one. Acting.” “Do you work?” Rica says. “Mostly, I’m here. I get good hours.” She winks, but her smile seems forced. We order another round, and she disappears. That’s the reality, I remind myself. It’s easy to want this life. It’s harder to make it happen. Especially when your plan for getting it done—the showcase—gets yanked out from under you. Before I’ve taken another sip of my drink, hands settle on my neck. I jump as something soft brushes my ear. “You’ve been quiet tonight.” Timothy’s not in my line of sight, but I feel his touch on my bare skin, smell his familiar cedar scent. Before I can respond, he lifts me out of the booth and sets me by his side. “Tell me what’s up.” “What’s up is you win. Congratulations.” I pull my phone from my bag and hold out the email I got from the dean’s office today. I shove a hand through my hair, looking past him while he reads it. “They’re not letting me audition,” I say under my breath. “New policy.” “This isn’t happening.” The edge in his voice does nothing to soothe my frustration. I take the phone back and tuck it away. “Whatever. It was a long shot anyway.” I try to brush past him, but he cages me in with his arms. “Timothy… there’s nothing we can do.” “Audition with me.” My mind goes blank as I take in his angry face. “Wait, what?” “We can do your song together.” “They won’t let us—” “Then we’ll make them.” “But what if they disqualify you?” He narrows his gaze. “Let them try.” My chest expands with emotions I can’t name. “You want to change your audition with three days left to rehearse.” “Yeah. I do.” I study him, trying to figure out where Timothy went and who this reckless man in his place is. But all I see is the same guy I’ve always known, with a flash of rebelliousness in his dark gaze that has a shimmer of hope starting low in my stomach. I throw my arms around his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and trying not to be distracted by the heat and hardness of his body. My eyes burn. “Thank you.” His arms wrap around me, too, and my heart feels lighter than it has in two days. “We can rehearse all day tomorrow. We can use the apartment. Jacob will understand.” “I promise I’ll do you proud.” “I know you will.” Over his shoulder, I notice a pool table at the other end of the bar. “But since we’re not rehearsing until tomorrow... look what I found.” He turns to look, and his chuckle warms me. “You wanna play pool, Six?” “With you? Always. I’m gonna kick your ass.” “We’ll see about that.” “I can’t believe you got that email today and didn’t tell me,” he chides, following me to the table. “I didn’t want to bring you down or distract you from your own rehearsing. I actually found out yesterday when I went to Frank’s show.” He takes two cues off the wall and passes me one. But when he responds, he’s guarded. “What part of that’s in the curriculum?” My jaw goes slack with incredulity as I twist the chalk over the end of my cue. “Come on, Timothy. It was a trip. Have you ever heard him? There’s a reason Frank Harvey has a gold album.” I brush past him to rack up the balls. I’m bent over, lining up my break when his hand settles between my shoulder blades. “We need stakes.” I shiver, turning to feel his lips brush my ear. “You sound like you’ve got something in mind.” “I win, you kiss me like you mean it.” I twist so his arms are around me. Timothy tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, sending a jolt of electricity humming through me while his gaze roams my face. The man who offered to share the spotlight with me. For me. No questions asked. I make a decision there’s no going back from. “Fine. But if I win… you kiss me like you would’ve if you hadn’t walked away that day outside the library in Dallas.” His hand stills, heat flaring behind his eyes. He gets what this means, that it’s an admission I want him, that I want to play out whatever’s between us—that I’m every bit as frustrated from the tension that’s been building all week, all year. “Deal.” At a glance, it could seem as if the stakes have vanished, but they’re higher than ever. He wins and I have to show him how much I want him. I’ll be the one who’s vulnerable, and every part of me that I’d believed had grown up will be tested. If I win… I get to see what kind of man Timothy Adams has become since he left me. Because somehow, I know the first touch of his hands, his mouth, will tell me more than the last month has about where he’s at. I want that. So badly. I take my first shot and sink two. Another three go down as I circle the table before I miss. “So, tell me about this kiss I’m about to win,” Timothy asks as he lines up his first shot. “It’ll have tongue.” Across the table, he lifts his gaze, mouth curving. “I assumed.” I soak in the sight of his powerful body, the simple grace in everything he does. He’s masculine and utterly captivating. “And an ass grab.” Timothy leans over the table. “I didn’t ask for an ass grab.” “It’s a BOGO kind of deal.” He sinks his target smoothly, and I bite my cheek as he goes on a run of his own. “You worried?” he muses after sinking the next three. “Nope.” “You should be.” But eventually, he misses one. I walk in front of him to find the best angle on the final ball. Once I have it, I toss a look over my shoulder to catch him staring at me. “I might need help,” I say. His eyes darken, and he closes the distance between us, setting his cue on the edge of the table. I wait for him to bend over me, his strong body wrapping around me. Yes. I press my ass against him. My teeth sink into my lip as his scent hits me. I arch my back. “How’s my angle?” His heavy exhale at my ear is pure turn-on. “Shoot already.” The cue slips through my hand… And I miss. Now that he has a shot to win it all, the stakes are sinking in. If he wins, it’s going to be more than a single kiss. Once he touches me again, he’ll know how I feel. I won’t be able to hold back, and he’ll realize I’m torn between wanting him and focusing on my future. I’ll be vulnerable in a way I haven’t let myself be, not even this past week. “Emily.” Timothy’s voice has me turning back to him. “Watch.” My hand squeezes the cue, my palms getting damp as he lines up his shot. It’s harder than the one I had. He could miss it. He draws back the cue, then slides it through his hand. Smooth. Sure. Practiced. My breath catches as I watch the ball roll across the felt, tap the two, and drop it right into the pocket. Timothy straightens, slow. My heart flutters in my chest. “I guess you want your kiss.” “No.” A hand on my waist has me turning back, catching myself against his chest. Too-knowing chocolate eyes bore into mine. “I want it on our date.” “Our date?” I echo, a step slow. “Yeah. See, the last time I tried to date you, I fucked it up. We were too young. And I lived in your house. And I don’t know if there’s a right way to do this, but I want to try.” I search his face, trying to understand the words coming from his lips. “But… dating is a thing people who have time and want to fall in love do. Not people on the edge of finally reaching their dreams after giving up so much to do it.” His gaze sharpens. “You don’t think we can have both?” Of all the things I wondered with Timothy, that he’d want to take me out never occurred to me. It’s a beautiful idea, but part of me says it’s impossible, that believing that is something the girl who got her heart broken last year would’ve done, something I’m too smart to do now. “Tell you what,” he says when I don’t answer. “We’ll have this conversation after our audition.” I nod, swallowing with relief. I take his cue and hang it up with mine. “We should get back to our friends.” “Wait.” He catches my wrist before I can pass him. “I changed my mind about that kiss.” His voice is low, a sensual promise as he tugs me against him. “You want it here?” I look around us. He backs me against the pool table until my ass rests on the edge. “I want it here,” he agrees. My dress rides up indecently high, and he’s pressed between my thighs. Every inch of me lives for the feeling of his body on mine. But it’s dangerous. I’ve survived this long, kept myself focused, because I haven’t let myself give in to the desire to touch him, to have him touch me. “Come on, Six. Don’t back out now.” His voice is a low murmur. I take a breath and thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. Our lips hover close enough to touch, and I’m aching for him, the need pulsing low in my stomach wanting to drop us out of this bar, out of this city, to a place where it’s him and me and everything we’ve never said. I can’t close the last millimeter between us. As if he knows, Timothy does it for me. Oh, God. I’d thought I remembered what it felt like to kiss him, but I was wrong. He’s warm and firm, heat and desire, and the second he parts my mouth with his tongue, I sigh against him. It’s supposed to be my kiss, but Timothy’s fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head as if he can’t stand to sit back. His other hand finds my hip, angling me against the pool table so he can press closer to my center, forcing my legs apart. He kisses me like he owns me, like he misses me, like he never wants to let me go. My fingertips trail through his hair, my thighs squeezing as if I can entice him into me. I want him in me. God, if he shifted me up onto this pool table right now, slid inside me and claimed me in front of this entire room, I wouldn’t say no. I don’t know how long our hungry lips hitch and slide, our greedy hands touch and tease, but I tear my mouth away first, leaning my forehead against him while I struggle to catch my breath. “Remember that guitar you bought me in high school?” he murmurs against my lips. I nod, my throat too swollen to answer. His hands skim up my sides, thumbs resting under the curve of my breasts as if they have every right to be there, as if I’m the instrument built for his hands. Timothy’s head turns a fraction of an inch so his lips brush the corner of my mouth. His next four words, whispered against my skin like a brand, stop my heart. “I want it back, baby.”