“With a super-hot, stubbly, penniless Irish guitarist?” Jasmine sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re the same species. Have you never heard of a bit of rough?”
I tried to imagine Connor in a room full of women who spent more on clothes than we did on rent. I wasn’t actually sure who’d be the hunter and who the hunted. He’d no doubt enjoy it, though, and I did need to keep him sweet….
I hesitated. Something inside me didn’t want to be pushing him into a room full of other women.
Stupid. What do I care who he sleeps with?
“Fine. I’ll call him.” I opened the door and shivered as icy air blasted me. “You go ahead. I have to make a phone call.”
Jasmine danced happily off down the street towards Harper’s. I pulled out my phone and stared at my father’s name in the contacts list. I’d been putting off phoning him since the day before, when I’d almost blown everything by telling him about Dan and the recital. What would have happened, if I hadn’t heard the girl talking in Harper’s—or hadn’t heard her in time? My father would be helping me pack to go back to Boston. My future had been saved by pure chance…and it was still hanging by a thread.
I pressed “Call” and tried to control my breathing.
“Are you okay?” my father asked immediately.
“Fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call. There was a last minute hitch with my recital, but it’s all fixed now.”
“What sort of hitch?”
“Dan broke his arm. But he’s fine.”
“How did he break his arm? He wasn’t drinking, was he?”
My father had a thing about alcohol. And parties. And men.
“He was mugged a few nights ago.” I conveniently left out the cocktails at Flicker.
“Shouldn’t have been out on the streets at night. You weren’t with him, were you?”
My throat closed up. “No. Of course not.” Why did everything have to be an accusation? Why did everything always have to be someone’s fault? This was why I knew I couldn’t fail. The very first words out of his mouth would be “What did you do wrong?”
“Good. Who are you partnering with?”
“His name’s Connor. Very talented.” That much, at least, was true.
“Another violinist?”
I caught my breath. I didn’t want to lie, but if I said, “No, actually he plays the electric guitar in bars and he’s probably going to flunk out before the recital,” my father would be in New York that afternoon.
“Mm-hmm,” I said. If I didn’t actually say the word “Yes,” it seemed less like lying. A guitar’s kind of like a violin, I thought desperately.
“Okay. Keep me posted.” His voice softened a little. “Are you okay? No…funny episodes?”
By funny episodes he meant freaking out and finding yourself on a rooftop. He’d never understood my fear of public speaking—I’d tried to explain the terror I felt and he’d just looked at me as if I was mad. In his mind, what happened in Boston had been down to me not managing my time well and not being ready for my presentation. I knew that in a moment, he’d remind me to be prepared and manage things, as if by writing the perfect paper I’d magically be able to present it. This was why I always wrote the assignments, even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand up in front of everyone and deliver them. It felt like I was disappointing him a little less if I did that.
“No,” I told him. “I’m fine.”
“Well, you know…just be prepared. Manage things.”
I felt like weeping. “I will. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
Chapter 6
Saturday morning. I’d been putting off calling Connor, partially because I was nervous about calling and partially because I figured that if I left it late enough, he’d make other plans. It was the day of the party—he’d be busy by now, surely?
“Karen,” he said when he answered, and it threw me for a second because it sounded good, hearing him say it. He has an Irish accent, you idiot. Anything sounds good.
No need to be nervous—I wasn’t asking him out on a date. It was just a party. “You’re busy tonight, I presume?”
I heard him stretch and fabric move. Then a creak.
“Are you in bed?!” I asked, horrified.
“Yeah. So? You sound horrified.”
I felt myself flush. “No, not at all. It’s your life. Just…surprised.”
“What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
He yawned. “I should probably get up. Six hours is enough.”