The Fake Boyfriend Experiment(42)

My hand felt so warm in his. Just perfect. “That’s forever. Don’t you miss it?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to come here and watch my parents scream at each other.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

We fell silent for a moment, and I watched a woman fix a bouquet that was on the stage between the two pianos. “So, how come you’re here now?”



He glanced at me, something simmering in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher. “Because I wanted to bring you here.”

“Oh.” Warmth filled me, and I ducked my head against the sudden urge to hug him.

I looked away, noticing that the room was filling up with patrons. It was getting loud and rowdy. People were laughing and clearly fired up for a good time. Then I sat up and stared at a woman across the room. She was wearing jeans and a sparkly red top, and she was talking to Rafe’s mom. Laughing with Rafe’s mom. She almost looked like... “Rafe? Is that your aunt?”

He followed my glance, then nodded. “Yeah, she’s a regular here on Tuesday nights.”

“Really?” I watched Crusty as she turned to an attractive older guy wearing khakis and a polo shirt. She said something that made him laugh, then she tucked her arm though his. She was smiling at him and laughing. She looked so casual, relaxed and happy. It was so weird I almost couldn’t even comprehend it. “She looks so normal. I never thought of her as having a life outside the music school. Is that her boyfriend?”

“Yeah. He’s a fire fighter.”

“No way! Crusty’s dating someone who gets dirty for a living?” Unbelievable. How could this be the same woman who tortured me daily?

Rafe grabbed a couple chips from our basket and popped them in his mouth. “I told you, she’s pretty cool. She’s the one who gave me permission to get a tattoo. My parents never would have.”

I eyed his tattoo. “What is it, exactly? I can’t figure it out.”

“My tattoo?” Rafe turned his arm toward me and shoved up his sleeve, giving me a clear view. It was a mosaic of all sorts of different shapes in brilliant colors, so vibrant it nearly leapt off his arm. “It’s music,” he said.

“Music?” I peered more closely, but I couldn’t see any notes or instruments. “I don’t understand. Is it like modern art or something?” I touched a bright blue geometric shape on his biceps. “Like is that supposed to be a piano?”

He laughed. “No, it’s not literally music. It’s what music feels like to me when I play it.” He pointed to a lightning bolt. “See this? That’s what I feel like when I hit that first beat on my drum. Like something leaps to life inside me. All the colors and shapes are what I feel when I play. It’s like…” He paused, as if he were trying to think. “It’s like an explosion inside me, and every note I play is another color, another shape, like the sun exploded and turned into a million pieces of the rainbow.”



I stared at him in shock, overwhelmed by his description. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.” I was suddenly filled with a desperate need to feel what he was talking about. “My music has never been like that,” I said. “That’s incredible.”

He smiled, a huge warm smile. “I knew you’d understand what I meant.”

“But I don’t. I’ve never experienced it.” I laid my hand over his tattoo, pressing my palm to it, as if I could absorb that kind of energy simply by touch. “I want that,” I whispered. “I want to feel what you’re talking about.”

He put his hand over mine, holding my palm to his arm. “You will,” he said. “That’s why we’re here tonight.”

“Really?” I searched his face, and saw only genuine honesty. “You think I can feel like your tattoo?” I ran my fingers over his arm, pretending I was flying over piano keys instead of his skin.

“I know it.” He stared at me, and for a moment, everything fell away. The noise, the bustle, the glaring lights of the stage, the people. The world just stopped, until there was nothing left but Rafe, me, and the promise of his tattoo coming to life for me.

Rafe leaned toward me, his eyes searching mine, still holding my hand to his arm. “I have to ask you something.”

I felt my throat tighten at the intensity of his expression. My heart began to thunder in my ears. “What?”

I saw questions in his eyes, a yearning I didn’t understand. “On Sunday,” he said, “were you asking me to go to your semi-formal with you?”

Oh…that’s what he wanted to know? I pressed my lips together. What answer did he want? “I...”