Escaping Perfect (8 page)

“Um . . . hi,” I said quietly.

There was hope in his eyes as he stood up, and I can't say I wasn't disappointed when it died on the spot. Maybe he thought I was the drummer returning to give him a second chance.

“Oh. Hey.”

I stepped inside warily, lowering the umbrella and shaking it out over the asphalt floor of the garage. My palms screamed mercy when I shifted one bag to the other hand and held them both up by my fingers.

“Guess you won't be needing all this food, then.”

He exhaled shortly, hands on his hips as he angled away from me. “Nope. Guess not.”

I wished he would look at me directly so I could see whether there was any recognition or suspicion in his eyes. But then I gave myself a mental smack. Clearly, Jasper was upset. Right now was not about me.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just lost another band. This one's a new record.” He groaned, his back to me now, and tipped his head back with his hands over his face. “We were only together for a month and had exactly one gig.”

I put the food bags down and moved tentatively into the room, stepping over thick black cords and skirting a huge amp balanced on top of a wooden platform. “What was the longest?”

He turned to face me. My heart gave a little lurch. But there was no hint of recognition or suspicion there. He hadn't figured out who I was. I let out a breath of relief, and he dropped down again onto the beat-up couch.

“The second one. We were together a whole nine months before it imploded.” He shook his head ruefully, letting his hands fall between his knees. The pose made him look vulnerable. I found myself standing right across from him now, not knowing what to say. This was the first conversation we'd ever had that wasn't based on flirtatious banter. “You know, sometimes I honestly think I was not meant to be around people.”

My heart squeezed. That was something I'd thought about myself a million times over. When I was little, right after the attempted kidnapping, I'd been so cloistered I hardly ever saw anyone other than my tutor and my bodyguards. Then, when my parents enrolled me at the Worthington School, I had no clue how to relate to kids my own age. I was so nervous that whenever someone talked to me, I froze up, and eventually they stopped trying. Sure, over the last couple of years I'd made a few casual friends, but no one I felt a real connection with. I was never sure how much I was supposed to reveal or what kinds of questions were okay to ask, and in the back of my mind I was always thinking that if I screwed up, they'd just stop trying again. So mostly I agreed with everyone and everything out loud, even when I didn't inside my head.

No wonder I ran away. It was easier to steal a car than to really have it out with anyone, especially my mom. Of course, none of this had anything to do with Jasper's current situation.

“Have you ever thought about going solo?” I suggested. “Then you won't
have
to deal with people.”

Jasper laughed and leaned back on the couch. I walked around a pile of magazines and newspapers to join him, and he looked me up and down as I sat. We were separated by the
length of a couch cushion, but I still felt a sizzle between us, simply from sharing the same furniture.

“Like it's that easy.”

“Why not? Is there really that much difference between being a solo act and fronting a band?” I asked. “You could do some gigs completely solo—just you and your guitar—or you could hire backup players, right? For when you absolutely need a drummer.”

With a smirk Jasper lifted one leg onto the couch so he could face me. “Or you could play with me.”

“Jasper,” I said, exasperated. There he went again, making everything an innuendo. “Don't—”

“No! I'm serious! You have some real talent.”

Oh. Oops. I averted my eyes, embarrassed.

“Well, thank you, but I don't even own a violin anymore,” I said.

“What? That's crazy! How can you possibly squander a talent like that? You can't—”

“And besides,” I interjected, “we're talking about you right now.”

Jasper let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. But if I had backup musicians, I'd still have to figure out a way to pay them. And besides . . .”

He picked at a loose string on the cushion between us.
His fingers were so close to my leg now, I imagined I could feel the heat coming off them.

“Besides what?” I asked.

“Besides, if he goes out on his own, there's no one to blame when things go south.” We both looked up as Daria walked into the room, carrying a brown bag with the word
JIMMY'S
emblazoned across it and grease stains near the bottom. She was wearing a big pink rain jacket and a matching rain hat with a black flower attached to it. “Isn't that right, baby?”

Jasper and I both stood up. “Lia, I believe you've met my grandmother, Daria?” Jasper said formally.

“Yes. It's good to see you again,” I said, my palms prickling with sweat. Every time I saw her, I was overwhelmed by memories of Gigi.

“You too, sweet pea.” She gave me an appraising flick of a glance before her eyes rested on mine. My heart skipped a startled beat. She knew. She
knew
. “Care to stay for dinner? It looks like we have more food than we can handle.”

Okay, maybe not. Maybe I was just being paranoid. Still, I knew I shouldn't stay. So far I didn't have the greatest track record for keeping my mouth shut. If I said the wrong thing in front of Daria, this was all over.

“Thank you, but I really have to get going,” I said, looking at Jasper.

Are you crazy?
my heart asked as I moved toward the door, pounding like mad.
You can't leave now. Look at him! You were just having your first meaningful conversation. Don't bail on him now! Don't—

“Wait up, Lia,” Jasper called, stopping both my feet and the insane ramblings of my heart. He jogged across the room. “I'll walk you home.”

Chapter Nine

“What are you thinking about right now?”
Jasper asked.

For the first time since we'd left his house, I stopped ­staring at my feet. That was when I realized we weren't walking back to town the same way I'd come. Jasper had led me away from his grandmother's house to the north instead of the south. He was purposely taking a longer route. Daria lived on a quaint street lined with deep front porches and flowering hedges. Droplets of water glistened on the petals of pink and white blooms, shimmering under the streetlights, and the whole world seemed hushed. Somewhere in the distance I could hear car tires
shoosh
ing over damp streets, but the soothing noise only served to make me feel more alone. Alone with Jasper.

I took a deep, soothing breath. A smattering of stars peeked out from between two wispy clouds. If Gigi were looking down on me, she'd want me to live in the moment. I resolved to try, but I also knew that I couldn't tell Jasper what I'd actually been thinking about. Namely his naked body in the lake last night.

“Do you live there? With your grandmother?” I asked.

“No.” He laughed. “Not anymore. I have a little apartment on the other side of town.”

“But you grew up with her?” I already knew this to be true, of course, but he didn't know that I knew.

“Yep,” he replied. “My dad split before I was born, and my mom died when I was two. I don't even remember her.”

The lump that seemed to be ever so fond of my throat these days reappeared with a vengeance.

“I'm so sorry. I didn't know.” Gigi had never told me anything about Jasper's parents when I was little, and at six years old I'd never thought to ask.

“How could you?” Jasper said with a shrug.

“What was it like, growing up with Daria? She seems like she knows you pretty well.”

“Oh, yeah? Why? Because of that comment she made about me blaming other people for my failures? That was nice of her.” There was an edge to his voice, but then he
laughed, running his hand along the back of his neck. “Growing up with Daria was . . . growing up with Daria. She was the only parent I ever really knew. I went through a kind of asshole phase when I was thirteen, but she nipped that right in the bud.”

“An asshole phase?” I asked with a laugh.

“Yeah, you know, smoking cigarettes, tearing up the town with these losers, vandalism. All standard lashing-out-because-I don't-have-a-father crap. At least that's what the guidance counselor at school reckoned.”

It was interesting, how he talked about it so casually. Clearly it had affected him, but he wasn't letting it affect him now.

“Anyway, after that she told me I had to get involved in something at school. Didn't care what. Just wanted me to focus on somethin'. You know, care about somethin'. A lot of kids around here were forced into football by their parents or had to be on the farm every day after school, but she let me find what I loved, which was cool.”

“And you found music,” I said.

Jasper smiled. “I found music.”

“I miss the violin sometimes,” I mused. “I miss how I could get so lost in it.”

“Why'd you quit?” Jasper asked.

I couldn't exactly answer that question honestly, could I? Not without him thinking I was half cracked. I was just trying to cobble together a response when suddenly Jasper's hand shot out and stopped my forward progress. I was so surprised I almost yelped.

“Sorry. Puddle.”

Sure enough, I'd been about to step in a deep lake left behind by the storm.

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” I joked, batting my eyelashes like a cartoon character.

“Just tryin' to be a gentleman,” he replied. “Or don't they have those where you come from?”

“None like you,” I said.

We shared a smile. A long, languid smile. A light breeze tickled the hair across Jasper's forehead, and I realized I could have stayed there all night. For the first time in a long time, my mind was quiet. The ticking clock had faded to a slight background noise. But then a motorcycle revved nearby, and we kept walking, stepping wide around the puddle.

“What about you? What was your home life like back in Florida?”

Great. An even more difficult question to answer. I pressed my lips together. Time to feed him a few more lies
with a dash of semitruths. This part of my new life I really hated.

“Well . . . my dad was okay,” I said. “He used to take me to movies and baseball games—stuff like that—when he could.” Which was technically true . . . but it had been a long time ago. So long that I barely remembered it now. Just stray images. A box of dropped popcorn, a big foam hand, my dad's smile backlit by glowing neon advertisements. “He's a big Red Sox fan, which is why I have the hat. But we'd go see the Rays play.”

“I was wondering about that,” Jasper said, easily accepting the lie. “And your mom?”

My fingers curled into fists. “I don't like to talk about my mom.” Also truth.

“Oh. Sorry. I just figured—”

His phone beeped, and he paused to pull it from his back pocket. “Saved by the tone,” he joked, holding it up.

I laughed, but inside I was cursing myself. What the hell was wrong with me? Here we were, out for a romantic walk that he had suggested, and I couldn't be lighthearted for five minutes in a row. When I turned back again, Jasper quickly hid the screen behind a cupped palm. The tops of my cheeks burned. He was texting a girl. Of course he was.

“Who's that?” I asked.

“Just an e-mail blast about this acoustic showcase coming up in a few days in Nashville. They're holding last-minute auditions in a coupla days.”

“You should do it!” I exclaimed, possibly a bit too heartened by the fact that it wasn't actually a girl. “It's your chance to go solo!”

“Yeah? I don't know.” Jasper looked doubtful and adorably hopeful at the same time. “I don't have a lot of time to practice . . .”

“So? Sing whatever song you know the best,” I suggested. “You have to do it. You'll be great!”

“Maybe.” Jasper pocketed his phone as we turned up one of the side streets toward Main. “What makes you so confident?”

“I'm not. I just want to see you fall on your face,” I joked.

Jasper laughed, and the sound sent my hopeless heart racing. “Thanks a lot.”

“No, but seriously, why not try?”

“You mean like last night? Trying stuff you've never tried before?” he asked with a twist of a smile.

I blushed like crazy but refused to look away. “You've played in front of crowds before.”

He lifted a shoulder and looked around. “Yeah, I mean . . . crowds around here, sure. Here I know everyone.
But Nashville? With actual record people there?”

“Omigosh, you're scared,” I said, surprised.

He blinked, hurt.

“No, no! I don't mean it like that!” I said, gamely grabbing his arm. “I just mean, I didn't think you were scared of anything.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I'm not like you,” he said, and kept walking.

Huh? He thought
I
was brave? I was stunned frozen for so long I had to jog to catch up. “What does that mean?”

Jasper paused and threw his arms wide. “It means you don't seem to be scared of anything!” he exclaimed. “It's one of the things I like most about you. Even though it also kind of makes me crazy.”

Just
one
of the things? Wow.

“I don't follow.”

“You show up here out of nowhere and make friends and get a job and start a whole new life. You don't even blink in the face of Hidden Talent Showcase or skinny-dipping or
anything
. And you've put me in my place more times than I can count.”

Huh. I really had done all those things, hadn't I? I chewed on my lip, trying not to smile.

“So tell me, Lia Washington, what exactly
are
you afraid of?” he asked.

Everything,
I thought.
Life. My family. You.

We stepped out under the brighter streetlights of Main Street, and I felt a shiver as he looked me in the eye. I realized, suddenly, that I could tell him the truth. That it might be the first real truth I shared with him since we'd remet. The idea, while terrifying, was also tantalizing.

“Honestly?” I said. “Being here right now scares me a little.”

Jasper's eyes searched mine. He took a step closer to me, ran his hand down my arm from my shoulder to my fingers, and took them lightly in his. His hands were large and rough and calloused, but his touch was gentle.

“You've got nothing to be scared of here,” he told me.

My eyelids fluttered. Suddenly I saw the wall of the Book Nook in my mind's eye. Maybe this was the something I'd do today that my future self would thank me for. The idea almost made me giggle as Jasper shifted his weight, leaning in ever so slightly to—

“Jasper Case! There you are! I've been waiting on you for fifteen minutes!”

I staggered back so quickly and blindly that my skull collided with a lamppost. Standing in front of a set of stairs leading up to a glass doorway was a short, curvy brunette with the shiniest lips I'd ever seen. She had taken a defensive
stance, hip out, arms across her chest, as she stared the both of us down.

“Oh, hey there, Charlene!” Jasper said, recovering himself. “I'm so sorry. I thought we said nine thirty!” It was pretty clear from his face that he had no recollection of making any plans with her at all, but luckily for him, I seemed to be the only one who noticed.

“We
said
nine,” Charlene replied, shifting her weight so that the other hip cocked. “Were you about to kiss her?”

Oh, God, now I really was going to die. Jasper's jaw hung slightly open as if he didn't know how to answer that question. I might have found it funny in any circumstance other than this one. Because yes, he had been about to kiss me, and even though this particular moment was completely humiliating, I still kind of wished she'd turn around so he could do it. Something was seriously wrong with me.

“Um, no,” I said, stepping sideways down the walkway. “He most definitely was not.”

“Lia, hang on. At least let me walk you the rest of the way to your place.”

I glanced up at the apartment building where Charlene had been waiting. Was this her apartment, or his? Had he actually asked a girl to come get him at his place and then forgotten he was supposed to be there? I wasn't sure whether
to be flattered that I was the one who'd made him forget, or completely appalled that he could ever do such a thing.

“No. I'm good. It's only a couple blocks.” I turned on my heel and stormed off. “You two have fun!” I shouted back over my shoulder.

“Oh, don't worry! We will!” Charlene yelled back.

It was all I could do not to scream in disappointed, heartbroken fury as I speed-walked the rest of the way home.

*  *  *

By the time I shoved my new key in the lock, my whole body was vibrating with rage. I wasn't sure who I was angrier at, myself or Jasper. I mean, obviously I had no claim on him. We'd just met. He'd probably made that date days ago, and it wasn't like he had any sort of responsibility toward me. I wasn't even sure if he remotely liked me. He did flirt with any person in possession of double X chromosomes. What made me think I might be special? It was all my fault, really, getting my hopes up, letting my guard down, allowing myself to be vulnerable.

But then he was the one who was going in for the kiss when his date for the night was standing not ten feet behind him.

I finally managed to get the door open and stormed inside, slamming it for all it was worth.

“Damn. Way to make an entrance.”

Britta sat on the brown couch, reaching down to lace up a pair of purple knee-high boots over her signature fishnets. Fiona sipped a beer at the small kitchen island. The pile of magazines and newspapers had grown, and the one on top had a giant picture of six-year-old yours truly emblazoned across the cover, this one from the riding camp I'd attended until I was eight. Until everything changed.

MONTGOMERY FAMILY HEIR STILL MISSING!

Awesome.

“You okay?” Fiona asked. “You look a little Mentos-in-a-soda-bottle over there.”

“I'm fine. Great!” I exclaimed, tossing my keys onto the counter. They slid off the glossy cover of an
US Weekly
and hit the floor with a clatter. I stared at them for a second and briefly considered picking them up and flinging them across the room. Instead I took in one breath for nine counts, then breathed out for the same, a tried-and-true calming technique. “What're you two up to?” I asked brightly.

“We're going to Ruckus to see the Firebrand Three,” Britta said, like I was supposed to know who that was.

“The Firebrand Three?” I asked.

Britta stared at me. “They're this totally up-and-coming band, like, seconds from scoring a serious record deal.” The “duh” was implied.

“They're really awesome live,” Fiona said. “Plus their music is totally danceable. Right, Brit?”

“If you like to dance.” Britta shrugged her shoulders into a slouchy knit bolero and pushed her faux glasses up on her nose. “You wanna come?”

“Yeah. Yes! I am one hundred percent in. Just let me change my clothes.” I grabbed my keys and strode into my room, which gave me the gratifying opportunity to slam another door.

“Just make it quick! They go on in half an hour!” Fiona shouted after me.

I pushed aside the curtain that hid my closet. Quick was not going to be a problem, considering my lack of choices. I stripped out of my clothes and boots, ripped down one of the sundresses I'd bought at Second Chances—a blue one with white flowers embroidered along the hem of the skirt—and pulled it on over my head. Then I yanked the black cowboy boots I'd yet to pay for back onto my feet. Folding some of my cash into the dress's side pocket, I grabbed my keys and walked out again, headed for the bathroom. Fiona and Britta kept a good distance as they watched me tromp across the living room, as if they really were worried I was about to blow. After a quick swipe of deodorant and a splash of water on my face, I put my glasses back on and I was ready.