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At long last, the ringing in my ear switches to a click.
“I told you,”—Laurel’s voice is thick with velvet-like sleepiness—“don’t bother me until lunch.”
Drawing lines in scrambled eggs with my fork, I chuckle. “It’s close enough. I told you I’d call, so here I am.”
“You told me you’d text.” She groans, muffled, and it’s easy to imagine her rolling onto her side, hiding her face in a big, white pillow, her red hair creating a delightful mess around her head.
“I did text. Now I'm calling.”
“You’re so lucky almost no one recognized me in the photos.”
“I am? What would you do to me otherwise—” My skin prickles. Everyone’s watching and listening, aren’t they? I eat a mouthful of eggs, like I don’t care, but I should’ve taken this conversation outside to begin with. “Listen, I’m in the middle of something, but text me when you have time, okay?”
“Okay.” Silence, the kind that suggests Laurel has something on her mind, seeps through the speaker. “Now that you’ve slept on it, do you still mean it?”
“Yes.” I hope she’ll clarify though.
“I’m talking about your song. You’ll let me work on it with you?”
“Sure.” What I’ll do with it later, I don’t know. I won’t be able to use it. Same as with the social media mentions, the very Halifax name will propel the song through the charts, not its sound, lyrics, or the mood. That’s not how my band will overthrow Project Viper.
“Cool, cool. And the…rebound part?”
My feet start falling asleep. I shift my position and end up locking into a staring match with Juliette. She’s hugging a cushion, hiding half of her face behind it, and I’m afraid to imagine what she’s thinking. The other thought that comes at the sight of her heavy expression is worse. I have never allowed myself to be bitter about her falling in love with Shane, yet here I am, thinking,Too late, Jules. Too late. You have forfeited every claim on me. Don’t make that face now.
“That part too,” I remember to respond to Laurel, shoving the tiny, sharp bits of my remaining feelings for Juliette not to, butintothe back burner. Let them burn. Let them never taint my life again.
“All right.” Laurel sounds less sleepy and more upbeat. “I’ll text you later.”
We wrap up the call, and I shovel the rest of the eggs into my mouth and pretend like everyone’s looks aren’t singeing my skin.
“So. Who is she?” Link asks again.
I have to tell them something. They’ll never shut up if I don’t. I don’t date that often, so my bandmates believe I’m holding out for someone special, being choosy. There’s a bit of truth to that, but mostly, girls don’t care about someone whose idea of a good time usually consists of staying home and noodling on guitars for hours.
What trivial detail can I offer to keep their expectations grounded? They would want me to use Laurel as a leg up. Never going to happen. My best bet is to not mention her name at all.
“There was this girl at Bjornson’s—”
“What?” Juliette’s shocked exclamation makes me jump. “You went to Bjornson’s, but you’re talking about a girl?” She abandons the couch and presses a hand to my forehead. “Should I dial 911? I don’t think you’re feeling well.”
Everyone snickers. I lean away.
Juliette smiles, happy with my irritation. “That girl. What did she do to distract you from a room full of guitars?”
“Yeah,” Shane chimes in, “what didshedo?”
Oh, dang it. He saw Laurel with me yesterday. She acted a little curious about my dealings with him and Venom Guitars and— Whatever. He can think whatever he wants. “She said I was messing up a song.”
Tristan cackles and slaps his knees. “We’ve got to meet her. Is she someone we know?”
“No, she’s someone new.” It’s a true answer. I never said a single word to Laurel Halifax until last Saturday at Guardian of Rock.
“Is she the girl in the pictures from last night?” Shane keeps pressing the matter.
Juliette’s questioning eyes nail the issue deeper.
I bite a waffle. Gabe makes the best out there. They’re fluffy and delicious, and they almost make me forget about the conversation. Almost. “Yes.”
