CHAPTER 11

"We'll need a two thousand deposit. Cash or credit?" I hold out a debit card. "How long will it take?" "A month. That's the fastest service for anything custom." he goes on at my expression. "Can you do a rush? It's for a friend." I debate, chewing my lip. "My dad is Eddie Carlton." His eyes widen, and he glances at the name on my card, then back up. "No shit. I'd know those eyes anywhere. I made guitars for his first tour." Discomfort works through me. "Do you keep in touch?" "Some." Something tells me that even if my Dad would be cool with giving Timothy a guitar, me buying him one wouldn't go over great. "It's a surprise." "For your Daddy?" The manager's brows rise as he looks at the order. "Seem to recall he prefers twenty two---" "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. I drop to the floor to retrieve the. Timothy's next to me in a second. "I never asked for you to care." he mutters, kneeling at my side. "In fact, I've done everything I could to avoid this." We reach for the same coat hanger, neither of us letting go. "Oh, really?" I retort. "You hang out with people you don't like. The only time you show the world what you're capable of is during gigs with Brandon at frat parties. Instead of putting yourself out there, you bury your talent and ambition and who you are because you're afraid to take what you want. If that's not a cry for help, I don't know what is." I wrench the hanger from his grip and stand, replacing the hangers on the rack. My dress has ridden up embarrassingly high, and I work the hem back down my thighs as he stands, too. "I don't need the psychoanalysis, Six." When I look up, his angry expression is inches away. "If you think I'm your boyfriend, you've made a big-ass mistake." "Clearly." I brush my hands down my dress one last time emphatically. "I have all the responsibilities and none of the benefits." His eyes flash, and I know I've pushed him too far. I've seen Timothy out of control. That changes tonight. I know it as the words hang between us for a heartbeat. Two. "That's what you want? Benefits?" Timothy's voice is a rasp. His gaze lands on my mouth, and heat floods my body. He strokes a finger down my cheek gently. Then he rubs his thumb against my lower lip. "You want me to kiss you until you can't breathe." My mouth opens on instinct, my breath trembling out. I don't know when I'll need another because the way he's looking at me, I might die right here. As if he knows what I'm thinking and likes it, his eyes darken more. "Or run my hands up this dress the way I've been thinking about all night." He hitches a finger under the hem and traces a slow path upward. Somehow, we're still alone in this hallway, but we won't be for long. Anyone could walk in and see his hand up my skirt, inching to the apex of my thighs. "If I go high enough" his voice is drugging. "I'll find all your secrets. Written and otherwise." I'm throbbing. Shock twines with desire desire in my gut. I'm in a restaurant thirty feet from my family, and I'm soaked for him. It's messed up, but I want this, so fucking much. More than that, knowing he's here, a breath away, and that he wants it too... It's the biggest turn-on. Trying to reconcile my former friend with the popular assholes I thought betrayed me with the one who's in front of me is impossible. I give up trying. Timothy leans closer, his hair tickling my neck and his mouth a hot caress against the shell of my ear. "I could steal you out of this restaurant. We could take my bike and run away. Leave your Dad, the assholes, the expectations." I'm drowning. The wanting and craving and longing combine in a writhing mass of guilty need that expands to fill my entire being. "But what happens then?" he murmurs. His touch falls away, and I nearly moan in protest. I blink once, twice, before the soft sound of footsteps on carpet alerts me to the woman making her return journey from the bathroom, steadfastly avoiding eye contact. 'I hope you have a plan for then," Timothy says once she's past. "Because that's where I get stuck." When I meet his gaze, I'm startled to see the fire behind his eyes is leashed once more. The truth slams into me and leaves me aching. He's not asking for real, he's proving a point. That even if I want him and he wants me, we can't be together. In his world, we can't. I take a deep breath, willing my heart to stop racing as I tug on my hem with one hand, smooth my hair with the other. "We'd figure it out together." I say, and the words come out surprisingly level. "Except you don't want to." I turn and head straight into one of the single-stall bathrooms, slamming the door hard enough the frame shakes.