by Piper Lawson
“Deal,” I say. “You start.”
She turns to the piano and begins. The melody is pretty, but her voice grabs me and won’t let go.
I’m glad she’s facing away because I don’t need her to see what her art does to me.
And it is art, what she creates. Every note and inflection, every breath, all of it spills between us, shapes something new and magical I couldn’t resist if I wanted to.
“Those words,” I say when she’s done. “I recognize some of them from the pictures in your room.”
Annie shifts on the bench. “I decided I might as well use them for something.”
“It’s a good song.”
“But it’s not right.” She grabs her lower lip in her teeth. “Let me hear yours.”
I hesitate only a moment before picking out a song on my guitar.
It’s not the one I’ve been rehearsing, but something new.
Annie leans closer, listening. “I like it.”
Riding a wave of impulsiveness, I add my voice overtop.
Her words. The ones she just sang, but the music’s different.
She doesn’t say anything for a verse, then another.
Finally, I stop playing and meet her gaze, my heart hammering in my chest.
Her lips are parted, her expression coloring in awe. “What did you do?”
“I changed it a little.”
I half expect her to freak on me, like the guys at the studio do when I mess with their work.
Instead, Annie grabs a pen from her bag and drags the piano bench over to my stool, close enough our thighs touch.
If she feels me tighten next to her, she doesn’t acknowledge it. My sleeves are rolled up, and she takes my arm, holding my hand, and starts to write.
“I have more words since I took those pictures,” she explains as she works. “Better ones.”
Her skin’s warm on mine as she fills my bare forearm with ink, wrist to elbow. I don’t stop her.
Each phrase has my heart thudding dully in my chest, has me looking between her bent head and my skin, has me longing for something I don’t understand and don’t need to.
“There.” She shifts back onto the bench.
I want to reach for her, but instead I reach for my guitar.
Then I play.
The words are music, flowing from my fingers like water.
My thigh’s still touching hers, our bodies inches apart, as she joins in singing at the chorus.
Her attention is on me, not the guitar. I can feel her gaze—I’ve always felt her gaze.
It’s like the sun on a summer day.
I thrill to it, thrive on it.
When we finish, we both exhale hard.
“Tyler,” she murmurs. “That was…”
Spectacular. Raw. Fucking incredible.
I can’t voice the words because they’re too big and too small for what I’m feeling.
She straightens in her seat, pressing her lips together. Her face is tight, but her eyes are bright, expressive. “I can’t perform that. It’s your music.”
“Sure you can.”
Annie seems to wrestle with it. “If I land the closing spot, I’ll give you the money. You said you have bills from your dad. That would help.”
“No. It would be yours.” Still, the fact that she’s thinking of me makes my gut twist.
There it is. The reason I can’t ignore her.
She makes me feel that I’m more than I am, like I matter just for being here.
“What about your song?” Annie prompts.
“It needs work.”
“I can help.”
“No.” She looks hurt, so I explain. “Being here with you like this… it feels like old times.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. We had some good times,” she murmurs.
They weren’t bad at all, and that’s the problem.
I can’t say that it reminds me of the easy intimacy we used to have—letting each other in, working together, relying on one another.
Craving each other.
My attention drops to her necklace. Despite the voice in my head insisting this is a terrible idea, I hook a finger around the chain, drawing it out of her shirt. Her breath catches as it drags up her skin, revealing the glass pendant.
The troubling familiarity shifts into recognition, a key sliding into a lock as I turn the pendant in my fingers. “Your dad’s roses.”
“The day after I got grounded, we hung out by the pool, and you carried me up the driveway, and you gave me that rose.”
Surprise slams into me—that she remembers it, that she kept it, that she wears it.
“You were a jerk that day,” Annie goes on, oblivious to the emotions roiling inside me.
When I reply, my voice is an octave lower. “I was a jerk because I wanted you so much. Wanting you makes me grumpy.”
She arches a brow, her full lips twitching. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we never slept together.”
My next breath is ragged. “I said wanting you made me a jerk. If I’d had you, I would’ve been…”
I trail off, but her half-lidded gaze roams my face before falling to my mouth.
“What?” she murmurs.
Whole.
The word fills my mind without permission.
“I think you would’ve been happy,” she finishes.
The truth of her words echoes through my chest. It’s impossible to rewind to a time before this girl knew me.
If we were dust in the air, her soul would call to mine.
I drop the necklace, reaching up to play with a strand of hair that’s escaped her bun. “I used to wonder if you went to prom. How you would’ve worn your hair if you did.”
“I wore it up.”
My chest tightens. “Did you go alone?”
“No.”
I wrap the strand around my finger, tugging. “Did you dance with him?”
Her eyes darken. “Yeah.”
“Kiss him?”
Annie nods slowly, and I know she’s not thinking of her prom—at least, not only.
She’s remembering the night I took Carly to prom when she asked me the same thing.
I inch closer until we’re nearly touching so she’s forced to tilt her face up to hold my gaze.
The next question isn’t mine to ask, but neither were the two before it.
“Did you fuck him?”
Those expressive amber eyes color with something I can’t name.
The answer’s there on her face, and I hate it. I hate knowing I could’ve been her first and wasn’t. I have no right to expect she would have saved herself for me, but the thought of her with another guy drives me crazy.
“Tyler—”
“I wanted to give you that night. So many times in my head, I did.”
Her lips part, and I want to devour them. Her unsteady inhale makes my cock twitch.
We thought life was so complicated a year ago. Nothing was complicated.
But no matter what I resolved when I walked away from her on that sunny day in Dallas, I won’t pretend she didn’t leave her mark on me.
“You better play me your song,” she says at last, her voice rough at the edges, “or we’re going to run out of time.”
I unwind the hair and tuck it behind her ear.
Then I reach for my guitar.
10
“You going to ‘practice’ with Tyler again?”
I’m walking past Elle’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 backstab 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 reali
ze 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 Tyler 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 Finn. 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 Elle about the message. “Is this normal for faculty to take students off campus for weird evening sessions?” she asks.
“I’m not sure Finn follows the rules.” But I’m intrigued.
“We’re all still going out tomorrow night, right?” Elle asks as I start toward the hall.
“Yeah. My friend Pen 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 Finn 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.
Finn 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, Finn 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?”
Finn 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.” Finn 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?” Rae cranes her neck from her spot in the booth to peer around the packed bar the next night.
Pen nods. “It’s mostly Columbia students.”
“There’s no stage,” Elle notes.
Rae, Pen, Elle, 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 Pen’s seeing with Tyler, Beck, 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. Pen’s guy is cute and preppy, Beck’s got that “I’m hot and I know how to use it” look, but Tyler’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 Beck 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,” Pen drawls.
Elle leans in. “What?”
I stare at my high school friend pointedly, but she waves me off.
“Tyler and Annie go back.”
Rae narrows her eyes, and Elle scoffs, “This is new information.”
“Yes, Penelope,” I warn.
Pen 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 Tyler.
“She’s thinking about dragging that girl across the floor by her hair,” Rae deadpans. Elle laughs, and Pen 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?” Elle asks, and I choke on my drink.
“We never slept together,” I say when I stop coughing.
“Oh, that does explain the tension.” Elle 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.”
Rae’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 Tyler, his strong shoulders, handsome profile.
He’s beyond sexy. Thinking about him is sexy. Talking about him is sexy.
Breathi
ng 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 Tyler.
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?” Rae 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.” Tyler’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. “Tyler… 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.”