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“What the hell is going on with you two?” Theo exclaims, dramatically throwing his hands up in the air.
“Nothing is going on. We are just music partners.”
“That's such a load of bullshit.” Marco grins, leaning forward with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Fucking music partners, more like.”
“We are not fucking,” I declare defensively. “We are only music partners.”
They don’t believe me. The worst part is, I don’t believe myself either.
So, I continue speaking for speaking's sake, trying to throw them off the scent. “It’s a smart business move for them,” I argue. “They need foot traffic. They need buzz. An exclusive night brings in a wealthy crowd, and they pull in enough profit to clear the immediate red on their books.”
“And all of a sudden you’re a freaking business mogul?” Theo laughs, shaking his head. “Since when do you care about bookstores, cash flow, and foot traffic?”
Josh stares at me for a long moment. He doesn’t join in with the laughing. Instead, a knowing smirk begins to creep onto his face as he tilts his glass toward me. “Man, you are so incredibly screwed.”
“What are you actually talking about?” I ask, my glare firmly locked on him.
“You like her, and don’t even try to deny it.” Josh replies, entirely unbothered by my intense stare. “You wouldn’t do this for anyone—let alone the girl you have been an absolute dickhead to for the last year.”
I say nothing. I grip my glass a little tighter.
“Oh shit, man,” Theo starts, his eyes widening as my silence gives me away. “She has got under your skin… bad.”
“Shut up,” I snap, checking the rest of the lounge to make sure nobody else is listening to my dignity being shredded. “The lot of you. Shut the fuck up”
The guys laugh harder amongst themselves—entirely at my expense, hitting the table and mocking my sudden burst of charity.
But, I can’t deny it. I can’t even fight them on it.
She is under my skin.
She’s living in my thoughts, and I have no idea what to do about it.
I let them have their laugh, waiting out the worst of the mocking until they finally settle back down.
“So,” I ask openly, looking across the table at the three of them. “Are you going to help me pull it off?”
They playfully look at each other.
Marco sighs, a grin still lingering on his face. “Well, we can’t let you crash and burn by yourself, can we?”
15
Ellise
Ihave been trying to read the same paragraph four separate times.
It is not going well.
The stone steps of the Belrose entrance are warm from the afternoon sun, my music history textbook is heavy on my lap, and I am forced to realise that I am achieving absolutely nothing today. Normally, it would be fine. Sometimes a dense piece of academic text needs to be read a few times before it sinks in. Some of the terminology can be tricky. Except the reason I cannot focus has nothing to do with the complexity of the text. It has everything to do with Nancy.
She is sitting exactly six steps below me, surrounded by her usual adoring court of ballet majors. She is one of the most exhausting people at this conservatory. Her curly blonde hair bounces with every performative gesture. She lives to be the center of attention. For Nancy, any attention—even if it is for the wrong reasons, even if it borders on completely classless—is always better than no attention at all.
“He gives me anything I want,” Nancy announces loudly to her circle, adjusting the strap of her leotard under her off the shoulder pastel pink knit. She tilts her head back, a manufactured laugh sounding so loud that it makes me wince. “Absolutely anything. That man has zero boundaries when we are behind closed doors. You think he’s intense when he’s walking around Belrose? Try being in a room alone with him."
“Is he a total bad boy in the bedroom, too?” Erica leans in, practically drooling for gossip. “Come on, Nance. Give us the details.”
Bad boy.
