“Where the fuck did you learn to sing likethat?” I eventually land on.
Luke smirks. “Juilliard.”
“Juilliard?” I’m shocked at the level of incredulity in my voice. “You went to fucking Juilliard?”
He laughs, the sound musical in its own right. “I went to fucking Juilliard.”
“But that school is so…” I don’t know how to finish my sentence without sounding rude.
“Elite?” Luke offers helpfully. “It is tough to get into. I was actually waitlisted, and got accepted at the last possible second when someone dropped out. I’ll be paying off the student loans until I die, but it was worth it.”
“Are you famous or something?”
“Famous?” Luke snorts. “God, no. I never landed a lead role in any of the shows I did, but I was trying.”
“But you were on Broadway or something, at least?”
Luke cocks his head to the side and studies me with awed confusion. “You are surprisingly excited about this.”
“Are you kidding?” I scoff. “I’m fucking impressed!”
And thoroughly confused.
How could someone with that kind of prestigious education and dream career path give it all up to come back to his shitty little hometown in Michigan? There’s no chance in hell he didn’t cut it in the big city, especially given how long he was out there. It only makes me that much more curious about what could have happened. Knowing how reluctant he’s been to talk about it, I’ll probably never get an answer. I just have to keep those questions to myself.
I can’t seem to help myself, though. “Why the fuck are you working at a machine shop?”
Luke shrugs. “It pays well.”
I shoot him a look, and he must be able to tell I’m unconvinced because he clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes.
“I grew up doing it,” he explains. “My dad—myrealdad—used to do this stuff in our garage when I was a kid. He worked full time at the shop, but also did it as a side gig for extra money. Healways let me help him, so I’ve done it since I was seven or eight. Plus, it’s easy work.”
“I guess.”
“Well, why doyouwork at a machine shop?” Luke insists.
“I…” I start, but then freeze, suddenly panicking.
How am I supposed to say that I reallydon’thave a good reason to be there, except that it gets me out of the house, and I get to work with my friends? It’s not like being a machinist was a lifelong dream job of mine or anything. I just sort of fell into it with the guys, and then I never got out of it simply because I couldn’t think of anything better to do with my time. Besides, I can’t get into howlittleI care about the pay without opening the door to questions I am wholly unprepared to answer.
Like how I’m actually a multi-millionaire who never needs to work another day in my life if I don’t want to.
Winning the lottery at twenty-two wasn’t part of the plan, but once it happened, I quickly realized that I had no ambitions or direction I wanted to pursue. Even with the financial security it provided, I couldn’t bring myself to quit my job when the alternative was sitting at home all day. For as much as I love reading, it only took a month or two of doing nothing but that before I was bored out of my fucking mind. It still feels strange that I’ve never honestly thought of quitting, even after all this time.
I rub my forehead anxiously and sigh. “I guess I just don’t know what else Iwantto do,” I settle on. It’satruth—a safer one.
“Did you go to school for anything?” Luke frowns.
I shake my head. “I didn’t finish college.”
“Why not?”
I’m quiet as unpleasant memories flood through my mind. I swallow hard and clear my throat as it suddenly gets tight.“Um. Well, my dad died my freshman year. It was…hard. And unexpected.”
“Oh,” Luke says softly. “I’m sorry.”
“I never felt up to going back, you know?”
