He set his sandwich down. “Come on, man.”
“What?”
“That’s fucked up, even for you. You’re not just screwing her over, but any other music student who needs to use those rooms.” He leaned back against the counter, studying me. “What is it with you and this girl?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve been pulling shit on Harper Tinsley for as long as I’ve known you. Why? Is there a point to it or what?”
I took a long drink of my beer, buyingtime. How was I supposed to explain decades of family bullshit and the way she looked right through me like I didn’t exist? How she made me feel like that twelve-year-old kid who’d had a crush on her before I learned the hard way why you should never trust a Tinsley.
“She’s a Tinsley.”
The excuse fell off my tongue with ease, but Gordy’s stare like he was waiting for more of an explanation left a niggling sensation at the back of my neck that I hated. Why couldn’t he just support me without asking questions?
When I didn’t elaborate, he picked up his sandwich again.
The uncomfortable twist in my chest returned. “She shouldn’t have messed with me at the auction.”
Gordy stared at me thoughtfully as he chewed and then gave a subtle shrug. “If you say so.”
His casual indifference was somehow worse than if he’d argued with me. I stared at my beer, trying to figure out why his reaction bothered me so much.
“Look, she started this,” I said finally. “I’m just finishing it.”
“Started what, exactly?” Gordy picked up his plate and put it in the dishwasher before walking toward the stairs. “Because from where I’m sitting, this looks like you two going back and forth for however long you’ve been at each other’s throats. So, how’s this supposed to end?”
He gave me a look before he walked out without another word, and I took another swig of my beer.
I’d been born into this feud. How the hell was I supposed to know how to end it? Every time I thought I’d gotten the upper hand on Tinsley, she retaliated in kind. And I could not, under any circumstances, let her have the last word.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Liam
Murphy’s at 9?
Me
See you there.
Getting drunk at the only bar in town where we could use our fake IDs would be a good distraction. And if I played my cards right, maybe I could find some uncomplicated fun with a girl who didn’t make me question every stupid decision I’d ever made like a certain curly-haired redhead always did.
THREE
I stood backstage in the recital hall, peeking through the curtain at the modest but respectable crowd that had gathered. A few of my professors were scattered throughout the audience, and I could see my roommates, Rachel, Ayanna, and Talia, sitting in the third row, probably ready to cheer way too loudly when I finished. Brody’s boyfriend, Jared, was sitting next to them.
But the real entertainment wasn’t in the audience at all. He was standing near the backstage exit, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else on the planet.
Drew Dumontier, in all his reluctant glory, was wearing the black #TinsleyHypeCrew shirt that fit him annoyingly well. His sandy hair was more disheveled than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his jaw was clenched so tight I was surprised his teeth hadn’t cracked.
He looked like he was about to lose his damn mind.
Perfect.
“Harper, you’re on in five,” Brody said, appearing at my elbow with his usual pre-performance buzz of excitement.He would be on cello during our quartet performance, but my violin solo was first. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” I said, and I meant it, despite the huge wrench that had been thrown into my plans when the practice rooms ended up locked for three days straight. I’d only gone into a minor panic at first—okay, maybe I’d full-on hyperventilated that first day because I had a strict practice schedule to make sure I pulled off this piece tonight. But by day two, I decided it was time to take things into my own hands and got creative with my practice spaces. It had meant some very late nights and a few favors called in to get access to other places to rehearse, but I was ready.
