CHAPTER 24 (1)

“What’re we celebrating?” I call over the music as Jacob slides a shot down the bar at Leo’s. “Landed an audition.” He lifts his glass and clinks mine, and we both drink. The alcohol burns down my throat, welcome and bracing at once. The first two days back to school are turning out to be a rude awakening but not for the reasons I expected. Our fridge is broken, ruining the food I bought on the weekend. Our landlord is dodging me, and the guy I called today to fix it said he’d come by tomorrow between eight and whenever he feels like it. I had my first weekly guitar lesson this afternoon with my intensive professor—the guy who’s assigned to oversee my development—during which he wanted to lecture me about the “evolution of my style.” Which probably could’ve been avoided if he hadn’t insisted on referring to it as the “evolution of my style.” At Leo's, I’m ready to forget all of it for a few hours. A full third of the crowd is from Vanier, but they're here to unwind. Hell, maybe someone’ll catch my eye tonight. Because that worked so well the last time. “Congrats on the audition,” I tell my friend as I set my empty glass on the bar next to his. He tells me about the new TV series. “You’d leave school if you got it?” “Sure. That’s what we’re all here for.” Apparently, that’s why Emily’s here. I can’t stop thinking about her words at the assembly yesterday. I’ve thought about what I’d say if I saw Emily Carlton again, but she caught me off guard, here in the last place I expected, and all I could think was how part of me that’d been dead for a year suddenly woke up. It took everything in me not to drag her out of that hall to somewhere private and demand she tell me what the hell is going on. “You ever think about her?” Jacob’s voice drags me back. “Who?” “Mariah. She left for LA before the summer. You guys dated.” I shrug. “Not really. We were friends. We went out a few times.” She gave me indications of wanting to date, but we both knew the deal—there were more important things than each other. When she landed a part in LA, I took her to the airport with Jacob and some other friends, hugged her, and went on with my day. We’ve texted a few times since just to say hey and see how things are going. “So, that’s not why you were brooding all summer.” I stare at him, perplexed. “I wasn’t brooding.” “You were, but that means it’s not over her. So, it must’ve been about Zeke.” Jacob stares past me, and I follow his gaze to a big poster by the door advertising the annual fall showcase at Vanier. “You want to get Zeke’s attention?” he drawls, grinning. “Close the fall showcase.” I’ve been so focused on getting my contract back and getting out of Vanier I haven’t stopped to think about what to do if I stay this semester. It’s a big deal. Everyone gets written up in the media, and whoever is selected to close gets a ten-grand honorarium. “It’s not the worst idea,” I tell him. “I’m full of ‘em today. Really getting into this mentoring thing. My girl’s a peach. And cute.” My spine stiffens as he continues. “I know you said not to go there, but Ty, you met her. She’s fucking adorable. And that voice... I wanna record her saying my name when she comes.” I step closer, my chest tightening. “She’s not your girl.” The words are out before I can stop them. His grin turns smug. “She came to me needing something today. I gave it to her.” “What exactly did you give her?” Before Jacob can answer, the sound of applause echoes as performers change. I glance at the girl taking the stage and freeze an inch from pummeling my roommate. Even twenty feet from the stage, Emily’s dark-rimmed eyes seem to reach straight into my soul. Her hair’s dark and waving over her shoulders. I stopped dying my hair, and she started. She’s wearing high-heeled boots and tight jeans and a shirt—if you can call it a shirt—that pushes up her breasts and stops halfway down her stomach. My abs clench hard. I can’t decide which part is most responsible for my reaction: the long line of her legs or the soft shadowed dip between her breasts or the slick lips, shiny as if she’s been sucking on them. She looks ripe, like fruit you’ve been impatiently waiting to soften, telling yourself it’s not time yet. Emily lifts a guitar over her head, and Jacob whistles admiringly. “What do you know? My manatee talked herself into a slot at Leo’s. I tell you, Ty, this girl might be it for me.” “Put your dick back in.” My quick retort surprises both of us. The woman on the stage isn’t the girl I fell for two years ago. It should be comforting to know that. Instead, it’s disconcerting as hell. A body bumps mine, a girl blinking at me with apology and thinly veiled invitation. I barely notice, shoving my hands in my pockets as my gaze locks on the stage. Jacob’s watching me, though his phone’s trained on the stage. “You want her too.” “That’s bullshit.” I shove both hands through my hair, trying to fight the discomfort clawing at my insides. “Look at you. You’re a mess.” The woman whose hair sways as she bends the strings of the guitar, fingers picking the opening chords of a song, isn’t the girl I fell for. Which means Emily’s gone. After leaving Dallas, I consoled myself with the fact that she was still intact somewhere, like a dragonfly in amber—the earnest girl with a disarming smile who’d bleed because that’s what we’re meant to do. But she’s not, and before I can process the churning in my gut at that realization, the woman on stage starts to sing. Emily always had the kind of voice you wanted to listen to all day. This is lower, sultrier. It’s an invitation and a promise, and it wraps around my spine, drags down. Emily Carlton just grabbed my cock in the middle of this bar. My confusion’s gone, squashed by something more deliberate.