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“And the broken bottle attack is just a cover-up.” She pinches my nose. “You’re too used to telling stories. Too comfortable. What actually happened?”
“I was wasted. Graduation night, you know? I wouldn’t recommend celebrating like that, now that I’ve had time to reflect. Either way, I was walking to our ride, hollering songs with some of my friends.” Graham O’Neal was there too. “We were roughhousing. I got shoved into a tree. A branch almost poked my eye out. Another sliced my chin. I had a scratch over my eyebrow for weeks. It’s faded now. This one was deeper.” I touch my chin. “It doesn’t bother me.”
Laurel smiles. “What I’m hearing is,It adds to my flair.”
“Doesn’t it?” I waggle my eyebrows.
“As if you need any help.” She kisses my scar, then moves her lips to my mouth—
“Laurel!” Rebecca calls from the dining area.
We groan and stop.
“You can’t go there like this.” Laurel attempts to push my hair into its previous order.
I nibble her lip one last time. “We need to have some alone time. We never get any. Let’s go on a date. I still owe you one.”
“But…” Laurel’s dreamy expression drops. She slides off the couch. “That means going out. And people.”
“It can mean that.” I stand up as well and adjust the twisted hem of her shirt. “Or we can spend a quiet evening at my place. It doesn’t have to be public. That being said, I think you’re ready to fly again.”
Laurel’s eyes meet mine, and a cautious smile blossoms on her lips. “Okay. Let’s go on a date. A real one, right?”
“Right. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Okay.” She grimaces, appearing embarrassed all of a sudden. “Don’t you feel weird, thinking about us like that? That we’re, you know?”
I take her hand and weave my fingers into hers. “Use your words,” I tease.
“That we’re a couple,” Laurel blurts out. “Isn’t it odd?”
“Ouch. You’re only now thinking about us like that? I thought we’ve been a couple from the start. Why is it weird? Because I’m everything you never wanted?” I keep joking, but this is actually important. I need to know how she reconciled her convictions with her feelings for me. “When we first met, you were disappointed to find out I was a career musician.”
Laurel hugs my arm, and we head to join her parents for dinner. “Dad always told me that the only person I could be with is another musician because no one else would understand what’s happening in my head. He might’ve been right about that. And you make me feel like I’m breathing again.”
I spin her into my arms and kiss her again, knowing we’re expected and that someone might come looking for us any minute now, but I can’t react in any other way. If I ever have to let go of her, I might just die. “That’s how you make me feel too.”
Track 27
This Is Not a Movie
Laurel
“All done.” Mom steps away from me sitting in front of my vanity. Her eyes get misty.
“Don’t start crying,” I warn her, turning away from my reflection. I’ve seen enough of myself to start worrying we’ve gone overboard for a first date—full makeup, a knee-length burgundy dress with lace sleeves and a pencil skirt, and a set of blackened silver jewelry. Mom bought the dress when we went out shopping for Briar’s party. I told her I wouldn’t need it, but she didn’t listen.
I’m glad she didn’t. Because when Jace arrives to pick me up he’s also in something fresh and outrageous, including a different car, not his usual, nondescript SUV.
“Since when do you own a Porsche?” Although I’m less impressed by the slick yellow car than I am by Jace’s suit. All black. The suit, his shirt and tie, his shoes. He leans on the side of the car, arms crossed, looking like he was born to wear tailored jackets, not a hair out of place. I can’t resist running my hands over his shoulders.
Jace grins, probably reading my every thought. “You think I’m broke since I still live in my childhood home. I didn’t have a fancy car because I didn’t care to before. But I can’t drive you around looking the way you do in my old SUV. What’s the fun in that?”
“Uh-huh.” I peek inside his jacket and spy the most riotous fabric liner—black with red skulls all over it.
Jace adjusts his lapels with a barely contained smirk.
“Rebel,” I say, then finally register that he gave me a compliment. My face warms up. I have no idea why I keep acting like I’ve never gone out with anyone before. I’ve heard plenty of compliments, but maybe his are more difficult to accept because he actually means every word.
