The Singles (67 page)

Once again, he’s rendered me speechless, and I make a little noise in the back of my throat as I stalk back over to the music stand. He plays the key again, before saying, “You can do this.”

I have to grip the edges of the stand, I’m shaking so much as I power through the piece. I know I don’t nail it—even I can hear all the notes I struggle with—but to my surprise, he doesn’t stop me like before. With my chest heaving up and down, I walk over to the side of the piano. Rhys gives me that look again, the one that feathers over my body and does something warm and uncomfortable to me beneath my skin. 

“Happy?” I breathe, glaring down at him.

He pushes his face close to mine, and his lips carefully curl into a cocky grin. It makes me sick to my stomach that I find the way he’s looking at me so tempting.

“It’s a start. But you’re mine for five more minutes.”

I keep a close eye on the clock hanging on the far side of the room, and as soon as our thirty-minute session is up, I all but race toward the door. I need to get away from him. If I don’t, I’ll end up saying or doing something I regret. His voice stops me before I can stumble out into the hallway, reverberating against my skin.

“To have made such a big deal about it, you’re quick to forget it.”

I spin around to see him approaching me with the beanie. He holds his hands out to me, like he’s presenting me with a peace offering. When I don’t move to take it, he takes it upon himself to return it to the exact place he got it. Closing my eyes, I hold my breath as he tucks my hair beneath the soft fabric.

I know this is wrong. And it’s wrong on more than one level. Not only is Rhys technically my teacher and also the brother of the man who killed my sister, but I also know very little about him besides those two things. They should be enough to send me running in the other direction, and yet here I am, with my back against the wall and the rough pads of his thumbs brushing my temples just before he drops his hands by his side. 

“So it’s not that I touched you?” he muses, and before I can stop myself, I move my head in a negative motion. “Why do you wear them? What are you hiding from?”

“Myself.”
From you
. Hats became my thing a few months after Lily died. I open my eyes to see him staring at me thoughtfully. “See you Wednesday.”

I’m in such a hurry to get away from the music building that I nearly run right past Mac. She’s outside on one of the benches, her phone positioned between her ear and the crook of her neck as she jots something down in a little notebook. As soon as she spots me, she waves me down.

“One sec,” she mouths, holding up a finger. I cast a wary glance at the front doors of the building, but I nod and stick around as she says goodbye to whomever she’s talking to.

When she’s done, she bounds over to me, the wide smile that stretches across her face revealing shallow dimples. “Thanks for waiting—my little brother talks my damn ear off. I was going to send you a text, but this is even better.” At the questioning look I give her, she quickly adds, “What are you doing this Thursday night?”

Out the corner of my eye, I see the door to the building begin to open. Not wanting to face Rhys, I gesture for her to walk with me, and I take off. After a few steps, Mac catches up to me.

“Let me guess. Just got out of a lesson with Professor Cameron?” When I don’t confirm or deny, she laughs. “I run the hell away from the building after spending thirty minutes with that woman, too. Of course, I’m usually bleeding by then because her talons have ripped my soul out.”

I almost want to tell her that compared to Rhys, dealing with Professor Cameron is a breeze. I can deal with her scrutiny a lot easier than Rhys’.

“No, I’m just hungry,” I lie. Moving my legs a little faster in the general direction of the main courtyard, I dip my gaze to hers, anxious to change the subject. “What’s going on Thursday?”

“Red Denial is playing at Ippy’s, and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me. They’re this little band, but they’re really, really good.” While I’ve yet to go to Ippy’s, a little bar that’s a few miles from campus, I’ve heard from both Nathan and Mac that the entertainment is usually amazing. I must be silent for too long because she tucks a strand of her short golden hair behind her ear and lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “I just remember you saying you’re big on Fuel, so I figured you’d like them. If you don’t have time, I understand, but know that I will definitely kidnap your ass to go to one of their shows at some point this year.”

“No, you’re right. I’d love to go.”

Clapping her hands in excitement, Mac gives me a thumbs up. “Yay! A few of my friends are tagging along, as long as you don’t mind.” When I shake my head, she promises to text me what time the show starts, and we make plans to meet at the bar Thursday night.

“Awesome,” Mac beams at me before taking off. “Trust me, you’re going to love them.”

––––––––

T
wo nights later, though, I definitely don’t love the fact that Corinne has invited herself to go with me to the show. It wouldn’t be so bad if she hasn’t spent most of the night pre-gaming in one of her friend’s room for some party she plans to go to at Baseball House immediately after. There’s a part of me that wants to tell her
no
when she comes into our room to find me getting ready, but when she shoots me a pleading look, her green eyes hopeful, I know I’ll feel like a jerk all night if I shoot her down.

“We never do anything like this together,” she says excitedly as we walk to the freshman parking lot to find my car. “You should come out with me after this is all over with, too.”

Searching my purse for my keys, I shake my head. “Trust me, I’m like the walking dead if I stay out too late on Thursday nights.” When her face crumbles in disappointment, I tell her, “Maybe this weekend, though?”

She seems pleased with this response as she scoots into the passenger seat of my car. All the way to Ippy’s, she talks about nothing but Daniel and the baseball team. I want to roll my eyes, but for some reason, this feels like déjà vu as I make the three-mile drive. 

If I close my eyes so I don’t see Corinne’s curly red and brown hair and green eyes, and pretend like her voice is just a touch deeper, I don’t feel like I’m talking to a girl I barely know at all but to one I’m very much familiar with.

The Evie Miller from just a year ago.

And that scares me more than I ever thought imaginable.

I’m biting the inside of my cheek by the time I find a parking spot—about a block up from Ippy’s on the street—and as I search the ashtray for quarters for the meter, I carefully ask Corinne, “So, you and Daniel—are y’all serious?”

I try to remember the last time I’ve seen him come around our suite, but to be honest, I’ve been so busy with all things music related that I can’t recall seeing him lately.

Shaking her head, she shuts her door and comes around to join me on the sidewalk. “No, we’re just friends.” She produces a water bottle out of her giant purse, and makes a face as she takes a swig of whatever is actually inside it. Oh yes, this is definitely déjà vu. Giving me a suggestive grin, she loops her arm through mine and pulls me in the direction of the bar. “But, God, you should see him without his shirt on.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

We walk to the back of the line formed outside of Ippy’s, Corinne hobbling on another pair of her scary heels and me in my flat ankle boots.

While we wait behind a couple girls who are talking so loud I have to lean in to hear Corinne, my roommate informs me, “You look hot tonight, by the way. No wonder that redheaded guy is always coming around.”

She must be talking about Nathan. After I assure her that he and I are nothing but friends, and that I have no idea what he looks like without his shirt on, I smile and say, “But thanks. So do you.” Since this is the first time I’ve really gone out since that first night, I put a little extra effort in my appearance. At any moment the weather is going to take a turn for the worse, so tonight I’m taking advantage of a cute fit-and-flare dress I bought during the summer. It’s cream-colored and lacy, hugging my body in all the right places and showcasing my long legs.

I’d fully planned on wearing one of my customary hats, but when I started to slide one on, something stopped me. For a few minutes, I stared into my mirror, hearing Rhys’ words echo around my brain about hiding, and ended up tossing the floppy beret back onto the top of my closet.

Before we reach the front of the line to get our hands stamped, I grab Corinne’s shoulder and turn her slightly toward me. “Look, I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but you might want to throw out that water bottle. They might not let us in if they check your bag and think you’ll be drinking.”

I can vividly recall a time last year when I managed to sneak my own bottle full of vodka into an on-campus concert. Although my group was walking and nowhere near the wheel of a car, it hadn’t stopped the campus police from stopping us on the way back to our dorms late that night—something about making too much noise—and I’d received the first of my three underage drinking violations.

Corinne stares at me dumbfounded for a second, but then her springy curls move around her face as she nods in understanding. When we pass by a large trashcan that’s nearly overflowing with fast food wrappers and energy drink cans, she tosses the half-full bottle on the top.

After I pay both our cover charges, we push our way inside the bar. It’s nearly filled to capacity, which immediately speaks volumes for the band’s popularity. I spot Mac easily thanks to her high, stubby blond ponytail and the fact that she’s standing up scanning the crowd for me. She introduces Corinne and me to her three friends, two of whom I recognize from Ensemble Choir, but there’s no Eli in sight.

“Is he coming?” I ask as I sit beside her at the round table. She shakes her head and grabs a chip from the giant nacho appetizer parked in front of her.

“They’ve got some Thirsty Thursday party going on there tonight, so he begged off.” Leaning in to me, she tells me in a conspiratorial whisper, “But between us, he thinks the guitar player sucks. That’s how we met, by the way. In a camp for gifted musicians—he played guitar, I sang arias. It was awkward lust at first sight.” She pushes her plate of nachos toward Corinne and me, and my roommate grabs a few as Mac continues, “I think he’s just being an elitist asshole about the guitar thing, though.”

Corinne holds a napkin over her mouth to hide her chewing. “How long have you two been together?”

Mac pretends to think but I can tell from the way she smiles that she has her dates memorized like the back of her hand. “Since the start of my junior year of high school and his senior year, so a little over four years.” A second later when a tall girl with the brightest red hair I’ve ever seen bounces over to our table to talk to Corinne, stealing my roommate away only a moment after that, Mac lifts her eyebrow. “She’s dating that one guy on the team, right?” I watch her eyes roll up as she tries to remember Daniel’s name.

“They’re friends.” When she gives me a slow nod, I cast a quick glance at her friends who are currently engrossed in something one of them is showing off on her phone before scooting in closer to her. “This is purely me being curious but since Eli’s a baseball player ...”

“Oh, I’m all over it. There are way too many jerks on that team for me to let that girl get screwed over. I had my heart ripped out by a douche master before Eli and I started dating, so I don’t stand for that crap.” When I shoot her a grateful smile, she gives my hand a hard pump. “I’d do the same thing for you.”

With that said, we spend the next few minutes talking about music before the band comes on stage. As soon as they play the opening number of their set, I can quickly see why Mac was so insistent on me coming. The talent pulsating from them is undeniable, and I watch transfixed as the guitarist—who turns out to be a gorgeous strawberry blonde with boobs that somehow make me feel inadequate with my small C-cups—scans the crowd, her gaze turning sultry as she rakes it across the very back of the room.

Turning in my seat, I follow her eyes. My breath catches when I take in a very familiar, very infuriating, face that’s currently in the middle of pouring drinks behind the bar. Rhys Delane is officially everywhere for me.

“
He
works here?” I blurt out, causing Mac’s eyebrow to shoot up. Turning around a little, she gives him a onceover before returning her focus to Red Denial.

“Yep, I wasn’t sure he was working tonight because I didn’t see him when I came in.” Pointing at the stage, she looks at me out the corner of her brown eyes. “Before he was sucked in by the dark side known as Hilary Cameron, he used to front the band during my freshman year. Now I’m going to sound like the elitist ass, but I think he was better. Way better. Plus it doesn’t hurt that he’s—well, sexy.”

I steal another glance in his direction, feeling a little pang in my chest as I watch him wink at some girl who’s practically throwing herself on top of the bar. “Why’d he quit?”

The second she answers me, I immediately regret the decision. “Some big family emergency. I don’t know the details, but I remember that all the shows were cancelled for a couple months while they found a replacement.”

Tight knots form in the bottom of my belly because I already know that his family emergency is the same thing that ripped my family apart. Clenching my fists in my lap beneath the table, I tell myself not to think about that. I came out tonight to have a good time, not to let myself be beaten down by thoughts of the past. I close my eyes for a second and when I open them, Mac regards me with a curious smile on her face.

“Cari’s”—She nods to the guitarist, who’s now focused intently on her instrument—“his ex, in case you’re wondering.”

Well that sure as hell explains why she was eye-humping him a couple minutes ago. Pretending to be indifferent, I shrug. “I don’t wonder.” Still, I can feel my skin heat up as I mutter the words.

“I just figured since you keep looking back at him. And because I, you know, saw your name on the Tuesday sign in sheet for the practice room I usually use and kind of figured he was the reason you were—” Her voice trails off at the sight of my wide eyes, and she quickly holds up her thin fingers defensively. “Look, I wasn’t spying. Like I said, I practiced in there yesterday and when I saw your names I automatically assumed he was the reason you were so worked up the other day.”