I was so mad I started to shake. Of course it couldn’t be Will I was mad at—he wasn’t my boyfriend, so it shouldn’t matter to me if he was flirting with a hundred girls. Ted was the one I was mad at, and I was just projecting it onto Will.
I was projecting so hard I wanted to kill him.
I went over to Burns. “Give me another shot,” I said.
“I thought we were starting,” he said, but he pulled the flask out of his pocket and handed it over.
I took a big gulp. “We are.” I handed the flask back and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m changing up the set list.”
Milton started to object. “But we’ve been practicing those songs all week. Why would you—”
“I’m going with my gut, all right? I want to do our fuck-you set.”
The fuck-you set was actually Milton’s creation, put together last May when he broke up with his boyfriend.
Milton, Burns and Jocelyn all looked at each other, and then they looked at me.
“Okay here,” Burns said.
“Yeah, okay,” Jocelyn said.
We all looked at Milton, who brushed his thick bangs off his forehead and sighed. “Well, it’s my set list. I’m fine with it. But tell me this before we start, Claire. Who are you pissed at?”
Ted. I’m pissed at Ted.
But then I looked over at Will, and saw that the cute brunette who’d been whispering in his ear was now in his lap, her arms around his neck and her tits in his face.
“Everyone,” I said. Then I gripped the mic tighter and stepped forward. No one was paying attention yet, but I didn’t care.
“Are you going to do an intro?” Milton asked.
“Nope.” I took a breath and belted out, “One, two, three, four!”
We killed it.
I mean we absolutely killed it.
I belted out songs like I was Amy Winehouse, singing like every note might be my last. The set list we’d practiced for this gig was jock-friendly—created with the help of Andre, a football player as well as our former bassist—while our fuck-you set was more alt-and-indie rock friendly.
But the crowd ate it up.
I made eye contact with every guy in the room like I wanted to kill them or screw them, and I knew—I knew—I had them eating out of my hand.
I’d never felt like that before. This wasn’t my style at all. I usually let my voice speak for me, not doing a lot of showy stuff on stage.
But tonight was different. Fueled by anger, I rocked out like my body was a lethal weapon, and when the crowd pressed close, dancing to the beat and shouting their approval between songs, I fed off their energy like it was a living thing—like we were all making something together, the four of us in the band and the people in the audience, creating electricity out of music and sweat and passion.
The one place I didn’t look was over at the couch where Will had been. I didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to think about him. But during the last song before our break, I couldn’t help seeing him. He was in the middle of the crowd with Andre beside him, and he was staring straight at me.
A fresh pulse of anger shot through my veins. Sweat was getting into my eyes and it stung, and that pissed me off too.
I pulled off my camisole top and used it to wipe the perspiration from my face, and when the audience howled I tossed my shirt to them, finishing the song in my pink satin bra.
Cheers filled the room when the set was done, and I caught my breath before telling the crowd, “We’ll be back in a few. In the meantime, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Holy shit!” Jocelyn exulted as the four of us stumbled outside. The night air was a balm on my sweat-damp skin.
“What she said,” Milton added, combing his hands through his shaggy dark hair. “Why have you been holding out on us?”
I grinned. “I guess I should sing mad more often.”
And then, suddenly, Will was there. “Do you mind if I borrow Claire for a minute?”
Without waiting for an answer he grabbed my arm and pulled me around to the side of the house. There wasn’t anyone else there, and the only light came from the windows above us. We could hear the rowdy crowd inside but it was about a hundred times quieter than it had been five minutes ago.
“What are you—” I started to say, but then Will was pulling a shirt over my head. He tugged my arms through the sleeves like I was a little kid and stood there glaring at me.
He was bare-chested. He was standing there in jeans and nothing else, which must mean—
I looked down at myself. Will had given me the shirt off his back, which in this case was a football jersey way too big for me.
I started to take it off. “What’s your fucking problem? I don’t—”
He grabbed my hands and held them away from the hem of the jersey. “I couldn’t find your shirt, so you can wear mine instead. This is a football crowd, right? They’ll love it.”
Will’s bare chest was all hard muscle and smooth skin. Remembering the girls who’d been all over him, I felt anger rocketing up from my belly.
“And I guess your little groupies will love this, huh?” I asked, jerking my hands free of Will’s grip and gesturing at his bare torso. His jeans hung low on his hips, showing the waistband of his navy blue boxers.
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean the girls who looked ready to do you on the couch. What would your girlfriend say if she knew about that?”
His jaw tightened. “Considering she broke up with me two months ago, I’m thinking she wouldn’t care a whole hell of a lot.”
A hundred things happened inside of me. In the midst of it all, I hung onto being mad.
“I see. So that’s your excuse for turning into a manwhore? Your girlfriend broke up with you?”
He looked incredulous. “Are you kidding? I wasn’t the one doing a strip tease in front of a hundred strangers. What the hell were you thinking? You’re too talented to do that shit. You were belittling yourself.”
“I was expressing myself.” I reached for the hem of the jersey again. “And I’m going to keep on expressing myself. Maybe I’ll lose the bra for the second set. Maybe I’ll—”
Will grabbed my hands and we started to struggle, me trying to pull the shirt off and him trying to stop me.
We were both breathing hard. “You’re going to rip it,” I said through clenched teeth. “Let go.”
“Only if you promise to—”
“What the hell is going on here?”
I froze. Then I turned around, slowly, and saw Ted standing a few yards away.
In that moment I realized a couple of things. One, I was drunker than I’d realized—drunk enough that I wasn’t quite steady on my feet. And two, that little scuffle between me and Will was probably easy to misconstrue.
“What are you doing here?” I asked blankly.
“I saw a clip on YouTube of you singing in your bra, so I thought I’d better get down here.” Ted’s eyes shifted to Will. “You and I haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Claire’s boyfriend. Who the fuck are you?”
“He’s no one,” I said quickly. Will jerked his head around to look at me, and I knew I’d hurt his feelings.
One problem at a time. Ted’s your boyfriend; he has to be your priority.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, keeping my focus on Ted. “You’ll be able to see our second set.”
“Not until you tell me the deal with your first set.” Ted looked at Will again. “Would you mind giving us some privacy? You could use the opportunity to put a shirt on.”
I’d known Will for a year, and he was always pretty easygoing. Ted was acting a little obnoxious but I didn’t think Will would be bothered by it. I expected him to roll his eyes, mutter something under his breath, and take off.
But that wasn’t what happened.
Will took three steps forward and stopped right in front of Ted. He had about four inches and f
ifty pounds on him, and I didn’t blame Ted for taking a step back.
“I’d be happy to put on my shirt, but your girlfriend’s wearing it at the moment. Maybe if you’d been here to look out for her she wouldn’t have to.”
“I don’t need anyone to look out for me,” I sputtered indignantly—but I might as well have been talking to myself.
“That’s your shirt?” Ted asked, glancing at the jersey with the big number 12 on it.
“Yeah, that’s my shirt. I’m the quarterback of the Hart Panthers.”
I’d never heard Will talk like that—like he was bragging about football. If anything, he usually played it down.
“Well, aren’t you special. Looking for an excuse to show Claire how tough you are?”
“Not really. But I am looking for an excuse to punch you in the mouth for making her cry.”
“I’m not crying,” I protested before Ted could say anything. “I haven’t been crying.”
Will turned his scowl on me. “Not tonight. Last year. All those times you came to dinner with red eyes? I knew your so-called boyfriend was to blame.”
He was right, although I had no idea how he knew that. I never cried in front of anyone and I never talked about my arguments with Ted.
Ted was staring at me. And then, somehow, the fight changed.
It wasn’t a fight anymore. It was a breakup.
I don’t know how I knew that, but I did. I could see it in Ted’s eyes—a kind of defeated resignation.
But maybe I could still stop it.
I turned to Will almost savagely. “Get out of here.”
“I don’t—”
“Please, Will. Please.”
He looked from me to Ted, who wasn’t saying anything. Maybe he saw the same thing in Ted’s eyes that I did. Whatever the reason, Will walked off without another word, going around the corner of the house to the front yard and out of sight.
“Don’t do this,” I said at the same time Ted said, “Claire.”
We were both quiet for a second. Then:
“You know when I showed up tonight, and you were arguing with that guy?”
My hands were clenched into fists. Inside me, it felt like my heart was clenched, too.
“There’s nothing going on between me and Will.”
Ted sighed. “I know. That’s not what I—”
“I would never cheat on you.”
“I know that, too. Would you please just let me get through this?”
I couldn’t let him get through it. I couldn’t let him start. But when I opened my mouth to say something, anything, the ache in my throat made it impossible to speak.
And so Ted did.
“The reason I got so upset when I saw you with him… it wasn’t that I thought you were cheating on me. It was seeing you so alive. So fierce. You and I haven’t been like that in a long time.”
I didn’t say anything. Ted looked at me for a second, and then he took off his glasses, cleaned them with the hem of his shirt, and put them on again.
“The truth is, I don’t know if we were ever like that. Tell me the truth, Claire. Do you feel passionate when you’re with me?”
I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re together because it’s familiar. Because it feels safe. But not because we’re in love.”
“That’s not true,” I said, my voice shaking. “You know I love you.”
“Sure. And I love you. But I’m not in love with you.”
His words were like a knife to my heart. Like he was standing there killing me, only I didn’t actually die.
“Ted—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ll be okay. Because you’re not in love with me, either.”
“How can you—”
“Claire?” It was Jocelyn, popping her head around the corner of the house. “Are you ready to go on? It’s time for our second set.”
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t say a word.
Jocelyn took a step toward us. “Claire?” She looked from me to Ted, the look on her face saying, I’ll kick your ass if you’re hurting her.
Ted shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m leaving.”
“Ted!”
He took a step closer to me, but he was already gone. I could see it in his eyes.
“You’ll be fine, Claire. You just got used to me, that’s all… and you’re the most loyal person I’ve ever met. But it’s been over between us for a while.”
And then he really was gone. I tried to follow, but my feet felt heavy, like they’d been stuck in cement.
Jocelyn came over and grabbed my hand. “Shit. Was that a breakup? Did you guys just break up?”
I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to admit it. Maybe if I nodded instead of saying yes I could still keep it from being true, somehow.
So I nodded. But as soon as I did, I knew it was too late. Ted was gone.
“We can cancel the rest of the gig,” Jocelyn was saying. “It won’t be a problem. I’ll tell them…”
“No.”
The word came from some place deep inside me—deeper even than the pain of breaking up with my boyfriend.
“Are you sure?” Jocelyn asked.
“Yes. The show will fucking go on.”
“But you’re crying.”
I was?
I put a hand to my face and felt wetness. Jocelyn was right; I was crying.
I used the hem of Will’s jersey to wipe the tears away. Then I pulled it off.
“I can’t wear this. People will think I’m screwing the quarterback.”
“Milton or Burns can lend you theirs.”
I nodded. My hat had fallen off during my fight with Will, and now I picked it up from the ground and put it on again.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter Three
Watching Claire perform was always incredible.
Most people work really hard to protect themselves. To hide who they really are.
But Claire wasn’t like that. When she was onstage, she was totally herself. Raw. Naked. She put herself out there so completely it was like you could see into her heart.
The first set had been about anger, needing to feel strong and burn off steam. The second set, after Ted showed up, was about heartache and confusion, guilt and pain—all the emotions you feel after a breakup.
Her voice was like… man, I don’t even know how to describe it. Pure and sweet and soulful, with the kind of range that could hit the high note in the Star Spangled Banner with no trouble at all. It went through me, somehow, like a blade of fire.
Hearing Claire sing made me burn. Seeing her made me burn.
And now she was single.
“No.”
I jerked my head around and saw Andre next to me. After the scene outside I’d gone upstairs to put on a shirt, and by the time I’d come back down the band was playing again. Afraid of what Claire might see in my face if I got too close to her, I was hanging in the back of the room.
“What do you mean, no?”
Between all the beer I’d drunk and the effect Claire had on me I was pretty well buzzed, so I was leaning against the wall. Andre was leaning back, too, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the band.
He turned his head to look at me. “I mean don’t do it. Do not under any circumstances go after Claire tonight.”
I could have denied that’s what I wanted, or made a joke, or brushed him off. Instead I asked, “Why not? She just broke up with her boyfriend. She’s single.”
“Because this is a lose-lose situation. If you guys hook up, you’re her rebound. If you don’t, you’ll end up talking all night and comforting her and then you’ll be in the friendzone forever.”
I tried to think clearly through my buzz. “But what if she needs someone to comfort her?”
“She has people for that. Her band and a dorm full of friends. C’mon, man. Wouldn’t she be better off with someone who doesn’t want to get into her
pants?”
“I don’t want to get into her pants. I mean, I do, but not just that. I want more than that. I want—”
“I know, I know. But whatever it is you want, it’s not what Claire needs right now. And it’s not what you need, either. Just trust me on this and play it cool tonight. Okay?”
Buzzed as I was, I knew Andre was probably right. I didn’t want a one-night stand or a permanent spot in the friendzone. If I was serious about getting with Claire, the smart move was to hold off, at least for now.
“Okay.”
Andre clapped me on the shoulder, almost knocking me off my feet. “Good man.”
He stayed there for one more song and then he took off. I stayed where I was for the rest of the set, resisting the urge to drink any more. I figured the more sober I was, the easier it would be to stay away from Claire.
The set ended and the crowd cheered loud and long, which made me happy.
Claire put down her mic and turned to say something to the band. Now that the show was over, the energy that had kept her going seemed to seep out of her. Her shoulders sagged, and when she turned around again she looked tired and sad.
I took a step toward her before I even realized what I was doing.
A voice in my head was shouting, She’s hurting! Go talk to her!
But then another voice—a voice that sounded a lot like Andre’s—said, Danger, Will McKenna.
So I did an about-face, weaving my way through the happy, drunken crowd as I headed for the stairs.
“Will! Hold up, Will!”
I stopped. Then I turned and spotted Claire coming toward me with my jersey in her hand.
It would be rude to walk away now. And anyway, this wasn’t my fault. Claire was the one who’d initiated contact. I’d been sticking to the plan, minding my own business, heading for the stairs.
By the time I got that far in my internal monologue, Claire had reached me.
“Hey,” she said.
She was sweaty and exhausted and I’d never seen her look more beautiful. The white T-shirt she’d put on—I’d used deductive reasoning to conclude it belonged to the guy on drums who’d done the second set shirtless—was soaked with perspiration and sticking to her stomach. She’d taken off her fedora and her silky blond hair was tucked behind her ears.
Claire (Hart University Book 2) Page 2
