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“Yeah, same thing.”
I rolled my eyes, not even sure why I was being so rude. Normally, my patience for ignorance was pretty strong—I was a teacher after all. I dealt with all sorts of kids. But this…this was just obnoxious. I expected Jackson Whiss to be some kind of moody, intelligent type…not just…snide and mouthy.
How can he write the songs he does when he acts like this?
“Do you actually write your own music?” I blurted, instantly regretting it when a look of offense filled Jackson’s face.
“Uh, yeah, I write my music. Tyson co-writes a lot of it, but still. It’s just us.”
I nodded, going quiet instead of asking any more questions. Jackson was an incredible musician and singer, but after meeting him…
I wasn’t sure I would ever listen to his music again.
“What do you play?”
His question caught me off guard. I was surprised he was still interested in having a conversation with me. He must not have anything better to do at the party.
“Um, like musical instruments?”
“Yeah, obviously. You said you’re a music teacher.”
“I play a lot of instruments,” I answered him, my tone brightening as I thought of the little kids thumping on their drums earlier that day. “I can play the piano, guitar, clarinet—”
“Got it. You’re the jack of all trades, master of none.”
My mouth dropped open. “No, I can play the piano very well, thanks. I majored in it during college. Now I’m working on my master’s. Well, planning to,” I added, thinking of the schooling that at the moment, I wasn’t sure I could afford.
“Right. Good for you. You’re the academic type of musician. Can’t stand those. You all are no fun.”
“And you have nothing nice to say to anyone who isn’t just like you.”
He burst into laughter. “You’re seriously as much fun as a stick in the mud.”
“I’ll tell you where you can shove that stick,” I retorted, setting my phone in my lap.
“Now, that sounds like a good time.” He shot me a wink, and my stomach flipped at the way he was looking at me…
And I had no idea why.
“You’re gross.”
“Thanks.”
God, when can we leave…
I shifted on the red velvet couch, leaning against the back. I was no longer angled toward Jackson, and I hoped that would stop our conversation from continuing. My eyes drifted back to my phone, and I opened my social media page. Maeve had already tagged me in a couple of concert photos, including the initial ones we took with the band…
Before Jackson was a huge asshole to me.
I sighed, liking the post, and then exiting out of it.
“I don’t use social media,” Jackson’s voice said from beside me—much closer than before.
I startled, realizing he had scooted closer to me. “Thanks for that information.”
“Yeah, that’s a good picture.”
“Okay,” I said in a flat tone, halfway annoyed that he’d been looking over my shoulder. Just as I was thinking of getting up and wandering somewhere else, Maeve appeared, tugging Tyson along behind her.
