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“You got it. I can do that,” I answer. “And I’m not taking no as an answer to driving you there whenever you need to go, either.”
Without another word from her, we walk away from the library. Sure, I have a fuckton to make up to her, but I’m determined to win her over, no matter what it takes—even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
CHAPTER FIVE
EMILY
If I didn’t desperately need to sneak out to practice with Broken Gears, I wouldn’t be here with Jake right now. We have a big gig next month that could be our huge break, and I need to be part of it. But being around Jake, trying to pretend there’s nothing between us, is harder than I thought.
Catching myself stealing glances at him as we walk side by side, I tell myself I’m not interested, but it’s hard to ignore the way a lock of hair casually bounces across his forehead or how he runs his hand through it. Then there are his muscles, his bicep flexing each time he touches his hair. A gust of cool air rushes into me, carrying his scent—a mix of something woodsy and undeniably masculine. Why in the world does he smell so divine?
I’d prefer to have nothing to do with him, to keep my distance, but he gave me the perfect opportunity last night when I used him as an excuse for being late. As much as I hate it, this is the perfect guise. Dad won’t question where I am all the time if he thinks I’m with Jake, and I don’t see Jake pushing the idea of helping me out.
Sure, he probably feels guilty for his asshole move. Doesn’t mean I can easily forgive him, seeing he showed me his true colors. But if it soothes his conscience, he can help me out with my Dad problem.
I can do this—fake relationship, pretend he doesn’t affect me—and in no way do I find him attractive. Nope. He’s repulsive.
He runs his hand through his hair again… Damn, how big are his biceps?
“So, you transferred here for football then. Why?” I ask to distract my thoughts.
He shrugs nonchalantly as he approaches a black sedan with tinted windows. It looks fast, almost like a predator on the road.
“Better opportunities for me here,” he says, opening the door for me. Once inside, seatbelt on, and him joining me, he turns on the engine. “Mind putting the address in the car’s GPS?”
I lean forward and do that, figuring if he’s got the address and a car, he can pick me up without me having to go anywhere near the campus park at night.
“What got you into singing?” he asks.
“My mom used to love singing.” I stare out the window as he maneuvers the car onto the main road. “I guess I took after her in loving music, and it’s how I like to remember her.”
Jake’s car blends into the flow of traffic, and I find myself lost in thoughts about my mom. She passed away many years ago from a drug overdose, a topic my dad avoids at any cost. I barely remember her… well, except for her singing. That sticks to my mind like cobwebs. I wish I could remember more about her, but in truth, I don’t know much about her.
“That’s really nice,” he finally says, his voice softening. “I’d love to hear you sing one day.”
I laugh a bit too quickly. “No, that’s okay.” I glance at him, trying to ignore how undeniably handsome he looks. He turns on the radio, and John Legend’sAll of Mefills the car.
Loving the song, I relax in my seat, humming the tune in my head, letting the romantic melody wash over me. But the thought of a scene like that belonging to Jake and me seems ridiculous.
Why am I even thinking about this? Sure, he might be acting nice now, but I know it’s just his guilt for being such a jerk. He’s not interested in me, especially after he sent his friend in to finish the job. That was a real jerk move.
The silence in the car thickens, and I find myself stealing another glance at Jake, unable to help it. This time, he catches me staring and grins knowingly, which irritates me. I tense up and narrow my eyes at him, but he just laughs.
“I know you hate me,” he says, his tone light.
“That’s very observant of you,” I reply, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right.
“I ruined things, but I’m gonna show you I’m not that guy.”
“Okay, whatever,” I say dismissively. “Just because we’re fake dating doesn’t mean we have to talk or anything when my dad isn’t around.”
“Sure,” he says, still smirking. “Whatever you want, boss.”
I roll my eyes at him, but secretly, I’m relieved. This whole thing is awkward enough without forced conversation.
As he parks on a back road near the garage where Broken Gears practices, I brace myself to get out of the car. The place, used by our lead guitarist’s uncle mainly for storage, is our makeshift rehearsal space.
“I have good news for you,” Jake interrupts the silence.
