"Make coffee." He motions to the coffee maker then to the couch. "Sit down. I'll fix yours with extra cream and sugar."
I take a seat at the far end of the couch and play with the fabric of my jeans to keep my thoughts from drifting to the gutter. How can my body be so utterly against me? It doesn't help that my heart is so fucking devoted to him.
He stays in the kitchen until the coffee's done. Then he fixes two cups and hands one to me.
It's decent even if coffee isn't my favorite. Plenty sweet. Exactly the way I like it.
He makes eye contact. "I'm sorry. I know I fucked up. I don't have an excuse." He moves closer. "I wish I could explain it. There was so much attention and I kept thinking about the way everyone treated me when I was with Vivian. And after. Like I was caustic. Like I was about to explode. I panicked. And then Tom kissed you and I lost it. I knew he was making a point, but I still wanted to kill him." His voice gets serious. "I had to get out of there so I wouldn't."
I hold his gaze. I want to call out his bullshit, but I can't. It's awful when everyone looks at you like you're going to break. "Okay."
He moves closer, sets his cup on the table, and offers me his hand. I want to hold it. I want it on my body. But that's only going to make this more difficult.
I down half my cup of coffee. I won't tell him until I finish my drink. A girl can't deal with heartbreak and caffeine deprivation at the same time.
He pushes a stray hair behind my ear. "Remember that game, truth or truth?"
Right. That super fun game where we ask each other questions we don't want to answer.
But we did answer them.
And honestly.
That has to count for something. I nod, okay, turning so we're eye to eye. Those are some gorgeous eyes. Deep and brown and full of life.
He stares back. "Is there any chance you'll back down to your mom and skip out on your teaching credential?"
I run through the options. There was a chance, a good chance, but now I'm too determined to do anything else. "No. I don't think I would have gotten here without you, but no. No chance I'll back down."
His smile breaks up the misery in his expression. His eyes light up. His cheeks crinkle. It's sweet and smug at once.
He cocks his eyebrow. "Say that part about how you couldn't do it without me again."
His voice wavers. Not his usual playful self.
"No. Your ego is already the size of the Golden Gate Bridge."
"My ego, huh?"
"Yes."
Drew brushes his hands over my wrist, tracing the outline of my watch. "Guess it's your turn."
My gaze goes to the floor. I swallow the last drop of my drink. Okay. No more excuses.
I make eye contact with Drew. I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue is sticky. Words aren't cooperating with me.
His expression is utter fascination. No concern, no apprehension, no clue what I'm about to say.
It's like pulling off a Band-Aid. It only hurts for a minute.
"Are you in love with me?" I ask.
His jaw drops. Confusion forms in his eyes. "Fuck. Didn't think you'd start with that."
"You don't have to tattoo it on your body or something."
His eyes go to the ceiling. His lips rub together. "I'm not sure. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to feel like."
I shift to my feet. The door is that way. It's harder to ask him to leave than to storm off, but Drew knows when he really needs to back off.
I can do this.
I gaze into those deep, brown eyes. "Here's the thing, Drew. I've been running away from my feelings, but I can't anymore. I love you. I've loved you for a long time. I don't want to love you—you drive me out of my freaking mind—but I do. I love you like I love dancing, like I love chocolate, like I love breathing. Hell, I'd gladly give up breathing for you. I've already said 'fuck it' to sleeping and thinking and walking around with a settled stomach."
His expression is so damn intense. I have to look away to maintain my composure.
Like a Band-Aid.
It hurts for a minute and it's over.
Only this is going to hurt a lot longer than a minute.
"I love you too much to not be your everything."
"I do—"
I interrupt him. "I know you have feelings for me. You've been my best friend for a long time, and for a long time that was enough. But not anymore. I need to know you love me enough to hire someone to write 'Drew and Kara forever' in the sky. That you love me enough to give up breathing."
His eyes are wide, like he's hanging on every word.
Almost done. The pain is almost over. "And if you're not sure yet, or you're not ready to deal with it yet, fine. But that means you need to leave, because I have things to do."
"Let me hold your hand while you tell your mom."
I shake my head. "That's a boyfriend task."
His eyes turn down. He frowns. "I do... I just haven't worked this out yet."
"And it's nice you want to, but it's a bunch of bullshit. You either love me or you don't. You either want me or you don't. There's no middle ground." I walk to the door. It takes all my strength, but I pull it open. "Think about it. Figure it out. I'll be at that show Wednesday. But that's all you get, Drew. After Wednesday, I'm done."
He's silent. Still. Staring at me like I'm from another planet.
Seems a lot like a no, but there's still a chance of a yes.
He runs his fingertips over my wrist. "Do me a favor."
"Yeah?"
"Come here." He brings his hand to my cheek and pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.
My heartbeat picks up. Drew releases me. His eyes find mine. There's something in them, something deep and powerful.
But he doesn't say anything.
I fight a sigh, but it still comes.
He stares at me for a moment. Then he makes his way to the street.
Then he's gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I wait on the couch, blanket up to my shoulders, eyes glued to the TV. Band-Aid number one still stings. I'm not so sure I'm ready for Band-Aid number two.
I flip through the channels unmoved. Eventually, I settle on a Friends rerun. My phone buzzes with a text but I can't bring myself to look at it. What if it's Drew, telling me he doesn't love me, and that he'll never love me? I can only take that much rejection in one twenty-four hour period.
The next rerun is Seinfeld. Then How I Met Your Mother. The laugh tracks are more grating with every minute. Fuck it. I find something dark and depressing on a cable channel—an independent film about miserable people who hate each other.
That's better.
Twenty minutes later, keys jangle in the door. My mom steps inside with a smile. She looks good. Her hair is fixed. Her makeup is neat. Her clothes fit perfectly.
She's taking care of herself.
She's okay.
It's possible she can handle this news.
"Sweetie." Mom steps into the main room. "When did you get in?"
"A few hours ago."
"Did you eat dinner?"
"I had a snack. I'm not that hungry."
She checks the time on her watch. "Too late for a cup of tea?"
"That sounds great."
She retreats to the kitchen and fiddles with the kettle. My tech-savvy, business-running mother still hasn't adopted an electric kettle.
I study my mom's posture. She's standing up straight. Not hunched or curled into herself the way she sometimes is. There are no hints of pain or sadness on her face.
I sit at the coffee table and play with my hands. My phone buzzes. A text from Drew, no doubt, but I'm not ready to hear whatever it is he's saying. Not until I deal with this.
I shove my phone into my purse and drop it on the ground.
Mom brings out a pot of tea, two cups, and a little plate of cookies. Double chocolate chip. My favorite.
Only the smell of chocolate brings me right back to that day in the kitchen with
Drew. To his hands, his lips, his—
Not the time. I shake off my lust and pour myself a cup of tea.
Mom smiles. "I'm so glad you're here. I missed you over New Year's."
"Me too."
She fixes her cup and takes a sip. A satisfied look spreads across her face. She's enjoying something.
Another good sign.
"How is work?" I take a sip.
"Busy. Always busy."
"And you're good?"
"Yeah, sweetie. I am."
"Really? Really good and not like you were after Dad died?"
She frowns. Her posture stays the same. Shoulders back, head straight. Confident. "Your father was everything to me. There's always going to be something missing."
"I miss him too."
Mom pats my hand. "I don't know how I got so lucky to raise such a sweet daughter, but it wasn't okay what happened after your father died. You did more than your share."
That stiff feeling in my neck softens. "Thank you."
Mom takes a deep breath. "I'll never be the same person I was before Dad died, but I'll be okay."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, sweetie. I'm sure.
Deep breath. Here goes nothing. "I don't want to work at your company."
Mom is looking at me with confusion. She presses her hands into her cup and takes a sip. Her eyes go to her drink.
I exhale slowly. Band-Aid, off. The sting lessens. The tension in my back and shoulders lessens. The tightness in my chest lessens.
It's okay.
It's going to be okay.
"It's not because of you," I say. "It's just that I hate finance. I hate business. I hate that internship, and I know I shouldn't because it's such a great opportunity. But I hate it so much." I play with my jeans. "I got into UCLA's teaching program. To start in the fall."
"Sweetie, that's great."
"It is?"
"Of course." She presses her hands together. "What you love comes first."
"Really?"
"Really."
I relax into the couch. "I've been so worried you'd hate me for going against your plan."
"I wish you'd told me sooner. I would have taken the week off."
"It's okay. I have a lot of thinking to do."
"Something you want to talk about?"
This conversation is going okay. No reason why I can't continue that.
"It's this guy," I say. "Drew."
"That boy from down the street? His family must have moved in about ten years ago."
"Yeah. I'm in love with him."
"Let's talk about it."
We spend the whole night poring over all the messy details. In the end, I don't have the answers, but I feel better.
Like it's not so bad trusting someone.
Even someone who hurt me once upon a time.
***
Before I go to bed, I check my phone. I have new messages from Tom, Meg, and even Pete and old messages from my mom updating me on her ETA.
Nothing from Drew.
I send an "I'm fine" text to the potentially concerned parties.
I'm not ready to talk to Drew, but I'm sure he's going out of his mind worrying about me telling my mom.
I can't bring myself to make him suffer. Even if he fucking deserves it.
I send him a short message.
Kara: I told my mom. Don't call or reply or anything. I'm still not ready for a no.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I keep my phone off. Mom and I hit my favorite San Francisco spots. She calls in sick on Monday and Tuesday so we can keep acting like tourists.
Then it's Wednesday, and I can't eat, sleep, think, or breathe. About par for the course, really.
I have no easy way to occupy myself with Mom at work. I fill out my UCLA paperwork online. I check the Sinful Serenade show information on Tom's Twitter account. There are half a dozen pictures of him posing with pretty fans.
Drew isn't in any of the pictures.
Not that I'm checking.
Not that the only thing on my mind is what Drew is going to say to me tonight, if he's going to say anything at all.
I change into a sweater dress, tights, and boots and keep myself busy by walking around the city in the general direction of the concert venue. It's four miles away or so. By show time, I'm within ten blocks. I grab a bagel and a cup of tea to calm my stomach.
It only helps so much.
The line for the venue curves onto Market Street. There must be a hundred people waiting on the concrete. Most are in their teens or twenties, in ripped jeans and colorful sneakers. I should feel out of place given my not at all rock and roll outfit, but I don't.
Even when I cut to the front of the line to give my name to the bouncer. He looks at me like he can't believe that I am on the list. But I am.
"Backstage is there, honey." He nods to a door in the corner. "Nice girl like you—hope you're not one of these guys' girlfriends."
"We'll see." I ignore the direction of backstage and go straight to the main area. I'm not ready to see Drew yet. And I'm really not in the mood to see Tom sucking face with his groupie of the night. Or worse, getting sucked off by his groupie of the night.
The venue is close to full. I find the bar and order a grapefruit and tequila. It burns in a pleasant way that promises to calm the nerves in my stomach.
My mind is going in circles. What if he doesn't love me? How the fuck am I going to deal with that? I talk myself out of leaving twenty times.
The lights cut out. The room is pitch black and everyone is screaming. Screaming out of their fucking minds.
A spotlight turns on. It's focused on a single figure on the stage. A tall guy in a black v-neck and dark jeans, with an acoustic-electric guitar around his shoulders.
Drew.
He steps up to a microphone. His cheeks flush. He's actually nervous.
"You guys realize I'm not Mr. Webb, right?" He waves at the crowd. "Not sure I can promise to strip the way he does."
A few dozen girls scream in a mix of agony and ecstasy.
"It's nice to be in San Francisco. It's my hometown."
There's way more screaming. Drew smiles like he's regaining confidence. He scans the crowd, but there's no way it's anything but a sea of darkness from his view. And even if it's not, I'm way in the back. I can barely make out his expression.
" I talked my bandmates into letting me have a set with just me and the guitar. Tom tried to argue you all wouldn’t be excited by this private show, just me and my guitar. Is that so?" He smiles over the sounds of screams. "I promised this girl—"
The screams drown out everything else in the room. Drew melts under the attention. It takes him a moment to regain his confident posture.
He steps up to the mic. "Let's just say this is a special occasion."
He plays the opening of "No Way in Hell,” the songs Miles wrote about falling in love with Meg. Then he’s singing. His voice is beautiful. It's not polished. It's not hitting every note. It's not as showy or as energetic as when Miles sings, but it's raw and it's real and it's dripping with feeling.
The crowd is fucking insane. The reserved guitarist is suddenly in the spotlight. He's even singing.
He's singing for me.
He plays “Be Brave, Love.” He sings every single word.
Drew shifts, grabs the mic. He looks out to the crowd. "Let's not let Miles know how much you all prefer me, huh?" He smiles over the laughter and cheering. "I have one more song to sing—a cover. You'll like it. But first, I need your help. I need to find someone very important to me." Drew looks out at the crowd. "Kara Kendrick, where the fuck are you?"
Girls are screaming, cheering, swooning. There's a name for Drew's rumored girlfriend. I admit it. I read celebrity gossip.
Someone in the crowd screams something that sounds a lot like, “Is she your girlfriend?”
Drew blushes. He scans the crowd. “If she’ll have me, she’s my girlfriend.”
The fangi
rl squeals.
He wants me to be his girlfriend.
There must be six, seven hundred people here, and he’s telling all of them he wants me to be his girlfriend.
"Do me a favor." He motions for the crowd to part. "Make room for her."
It takes a minute but the crowd parts. There's an empty space going down the middle of the room. Must be three hundred people on each side of it and they're all waiting for me.
Drew motions to someone backstage. The spotlight cuts and something behind it flashes.
It's there in lights.
Drew and Kara Forever.
I melt.
I don't really have a choice. I move to the center of the room, to the line that's there just for me. One of the spotlights finds me. People gasp. It's like you can hear jaws dropping.
Drew's eyes find mine. I'm about ten feet from the stage, plus the five it's raised above the floor. I stare up at him. He stares back at me.
"Kara, come up here. Before the crowd gets restless and demands I strip to nothing."
The cheers are deafening. Drew makes a better frontman than I'd guess. But then offering to take off his clothes is a pretty powerful card to play.
The crowd chants. "Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!"
He blushes as he screams back. "Let's make a deal. You get her up here, and I will."
Someone pushes me forward. Then I'm being lifted and passed around. Weightless, hands on my back, moving me toward Drew. I'm stage diving from the damn floor.
There. I'm pushed onto the stage. My boots make contact with the ground.
His eyes find mine. "Where should I start?" He shrugs his guitar off his shoulders and hands it to me.
I hold tight.
He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the ground.
The crowd screams.
Drew speaks into the mic. "The rest is only if this goes well." He winks at the crowd then looks back to me. "Kara, this is for you."
I hand back his guitar. He slings it over his shoulders. His eyes on mine, he strums.
The intro starts. It's a ballad. And it's familiar. Really familiar.
Holy shit, it's "Maybe I'm Amazed," by Paul McCartney. The song that pretty much screams I Love You.
He sings. His eyes close. His heart is in every line. His voice is dripping with feeling. It's sweet and clear and perfect.
Strum Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #2) Page 23
