CHAPTER 15

"How long?"



The manager frowns. "Four days."







Apparently, there are perks to being Carlton's kid. I thank him and head out to my car.







The money for this purchase is coming from a statewide writing competition I won in the fall, plus the full-time hours I logged working as a summer student at the library last year.







I was saving it for college even though my Dad and Haley have said they'll pay my tuition fee and my expenses, I want to at least contribute but something about this decision feels right.







Timothy doesn't have that kind pf cash, but he's also proud. This is something he'd never ask for, something I want to do for him.







All week, he's been helping me practice. In the mornings, after school, whenever we can sneak in a moment.







My performance in rehearsal is improving. I focus on my technique, on connecting to what I'm doing, and tune out the bullshit. I don't make eye contact with Carla, and I keep my bag and water bottle at the corner of the stage where she can't get to them. I have less than a week until when Miss Norma promised to render a verdict on keeping me in the lead, and I'm not going to waste it.







As I walk, my phone rings.







"Hey." I answer breathless. "I was just thinking about you."







"Good things, I hope." Timothy's smooth voice comes down the line, sending tingles through my stomach.







Lately, his voice does that to me. Not only his voice, his touch. Hell, even his presence in the same room. I can't so much as brush up next to him making coffee in the morning without wishing Dad and Haley would drop into some alternate dimension so I could stare at him longer, memorize the feel of his body when he reaches over me to grab something from the fridge.







But the part I can't forget when I'm lying awake at night is the way he let me hold him in the hallway at school on Monday. His body was filled with tension, but the tighter I wrapped my arms around him, the more those muscles gave, the more deeply he breathed.







"You hang up on me?" Timothy asks.







"Sorry, I'm here."







His low chuckle has me flushing as I get into the car.







"What's up?"







"Your Dad left a note inviting me for dinner."







"Haley's best friend, Serena, is in town. The whole family's going out of this steakhouse. Even Sophia." I start the car, and the purr of the engine is comforting.







"If this place is fancy, I'm screwed. My tux is at the dry cleaners."







"Like you care. You could walk into a restaurant in boxers and have the entire staff falling over each other."







"I'll have to try that." His voice lifts with humor, and my lips curve too. "Tell me what you're wearing?"







I glance down at my clothes, which I changed into after school.







"A dress. Black. Tight. It's kind of short."







"Not the one from the frat party. You looked way too grown-up."







Indignation sets in."I am grown-up."







He mutters something inaudible before clearing his throat. "I should bring brass knuckles if I'm gonna need to deck the waiter for hitting on you."







The protectiveness in his voice has the hairs lifting on my arms. "You know you can't take down every guy who looks at me."







"Why not?"







I trace a finger along the stitching on my leather steering wheel, my heart thudding dully in my chest. "Because sometimes I want to be looked at." For a moment, I think Timothy's gone, but eventually, his hard exhale tells me he's still on the line.







"See you at dinner, Six."







He hangs up before I can respond, but the nickname leaves me biting my cheek.







Serena moans. "This is delicious. You didn't need to go to this trouble for me."







"It's no trouble." Haley says over the table at the fancy restaurant where we have a private room. "Your visit's a nice excuse to have everyone together."







And we are together. My Dad's at the head of the table and wearing a nice dress shirt, Haley's at the other end looking more relaxed than I've seen her since Sofia started teething, and Sophia's tucked in next to her. Hale's best friend, Serena, a sleek marketing executive from New York with a fabulous ponytail and a killer smile, sits next to Sofia, and Timothy's across from me.







"Sophia's going to be gorgeous like her parents." Serena goes on.







I sip my soda. "She's already got every guy in miles wrapped around her finger."







Serena shoots me a teasing look. "Something you have in common, then."







I glance at Timothy sitting across from me as I dig into my salad.







Since our call, he's barely spoken to me. It's as if he's punishing me for the tension in our conversation. But when I walked in the door, I swear his attention locked on my legs. Any time his gaze meets mine, it lingers for a half a beat before sliding away.







"Can you pass the pepper?"







I look up to find Timothy's attention on me. I reach for the grinder next to my plate and hold it out.







He takes it, and our fingers brush.







He holds on, and so do I, a beat too long before letting go.







I go back to my food, and the conversation turns to plans after school. I tell Serena about Columbia University.







"What about you?" she prompts Timothy. "Graduation's a month away."







"I'm not going to college. I'm gonna finish with Eddie, use that to get steady work as a session musician."







"No, Timothy's going all the way." I interject. He lifts a brow, and I continue. "Platinum albums, stadium tours, girls who tattoo his face on their ass."







Serena laughs, but Timothy's gaze intensifies on mine, and I keep going. "Imagine it. Tim-othy. Tim-othy. Tim-othy. They'll fall at your feet."







"I don't need them falling at my feet."







"That's why they'll do it."







My Dad told me once that fame can smell desperation but it chases talent. The moment it senses you need it more than it needs you, it evaporates like morning mist. Timothy doesn't care who looks at him. That's why it's impossible to look away.







"I can understand the desire to get working." Haley says, her voice bringing me back. "But if you ever wanted college, there are some fantastic performing arts schools. What's the one in New York, Serena? The one your brother was accepted to?"







"Vanier University. I've seen Jacob as pumped as when he got the letter." she says, shaking her head with a smile.







Dad frowns at Timothy. "Have you called Zeke yet about his offer?"







My head snaps to him. "What offer?"







"A contact who can employ Timothy after graduation." Dad says. "Play his cards right, he'll have more than studio sessions."







But Timothy acts as if he hasn't even heard, moving food around his plate.







I'm stunned he hasn't mentioned this, which goes to show I've been wrong about how much closer we've gotten these last weeks.







Timothy's the only person who cares what I want, cares enough to help me get it.







And everything I want for myself I want for him a million times more.







I want to see him cast off the history with his father and realize he can make something incredible. Timothy makes eye contact with my Dad, ignoring me. "I'll call him. I haven't gotten around to it yet."







I kick him under the table. Why haven't you called him?




Leave it alone. He digs into his food.







Serena's brows lift, and she takes a drink before turning to me. "Haley told me you have the lead in the musical."







I fill her in on where we're at, but I'm still spinning from the revelation about Timothy's opportunity, still stinging from his dismissal.







"Any attractive costars?" she asks.







I take a sip of soda, my gaze drifting to the guy across from me, the one who's avoiding my gaze as though it's his mission in life. "Chris plays varsity lacrosse."







A fork clatters against a plate across from me. Serena leans in, eyes brightening with anticipation. "Who's Chris?"







"He's my prince." I tell her, spearing a piece of salad.



.



A thud echoes under the table as if a knee connected with the wood.







"He's a prick." Timothy mutters.







Now I have his attention.







My eyes flash. You wouldn't dare tell them.







He holds my gaze. Try me, Six.







"Chris." Haley interjects. "Timothy, is that the guy you had a fight with at school?"







My Dad's head snaps toward me.







"If I wanted to date Chris..." I interject around the bite of lettuce, hurrying to swallow, an Timothy's gaze narrows. "that would be my business."







Dad laughs humorlessly. "Nice try. Until you're eighteen, I can control where you go and who you see."







I drop my fork. "I'm already grounded. You can't ground me twice."







"Then no musical."







Shock has my breath sticking in my chest.







Haley sighs. "Eddie.."







"Sure. No problem. I'll tell Miss Norma I'm out of the musical which I'm now getting credit for, by the way because Eddie Carlton declared it." I say sarcastically, shifting out of my chair and throwing my napkin down on my seat. "My report card's coming soon. Since you're more interested in my grades than my life, you can have the next family photos taken with that."







I stalk out of the room, eyes burning. I nearly run into a startled server bearing a carafe of water and mumble an apology as I trip around tables toward the bathrooms.







I'm halfway down the hall when a low voice comes from behind me. "Emily. Stop."







I whirl to face Timothy. The dim lights overhead cast his tense face in shadows as he closes the distance between us.







"What's wrong with you?" His low voice has every muscle in my body tightening, and he comes to a stop a foot away.







I toss my hair over my bare shoulder. "Why do you care? You've been avoiding me all night. You should be halfway to New York by now."







A woman walks down the hall toward the bathroom, attention flicking to us. I step to the side, and Timothy does the same.







Somehow, that brings us even closer.







"Are you mad I'm not on a plane to New York?" he murmurs when we're alone again. "Or that I'm not paying enough attention to you? You can't have it both ways."







There's a bite to his words, as if the stakes are way higher than our dinner conversation.







Maybe they are.







"I'm mad at you because you didn't tell me. I care about you, damn it Timothy!"







He leans in, a muscle in his jaw ticking in frustration. I breathe through my mouth, ignoring the scent of his shower, the way his dark button-down shirt clings to his muscles, the jeans that hug every inch of his hard legs. "Then pretend you don't, like everyone else pretends."







I step back on instinct, but there's a coat track behind my shoulders. I hit it, hard enough a few empty hangers fall to the ground.