This is getting off track. I can already see the tentacles of this argument unfurling in every direction, a thousand possible endings. And somehow, I have to find the one that doesn’t turn out with the both of us hating each other again.
“The point that I’m trying to make is…I mean…people know people, Jamie. Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid? My dad and Ruoxi work together. It’s not like I can just avoid her.”
“Paranoid?”
“A little bit, yes! It’s not like I was sliding her a crisp hundred under the table and telling her to make sure I get through to the final round. She was asking me when Parker’s going to reopen campus after winter break. That was literally it.”
The whole conversation could not possibly have been moremundane. Neither of us brought up Stockholm. Intentionally—because despite what Jamie seems to think, people do actually care about the ethics of it all.
“I know you aren’t really…I mean, you haven’t been in the New York music scene all that long,” I say, phrasing it as carefully as I can, because Jamie is—apparently—a delicate flower. “But you’re just going to have to trust me on this. It’s incestuous. The rule about not interacting with judges is not something anyone thinks they can actually enforce. I mean, you can’t have a judge be your actual teacher or something like that, but…”
The grimace on Jamie’s face darkens. “Right. Don’t worry, I’m not at risk of forgetting just how much of an outsider I am in your world. It’s not like you don’t throw it in my face every chance you get.”
“Excuse me,what? Are you serious right now? I don’t throw anything in your face. You’re delusional.”
Seriously, screw this guy. I can tolerate him being a bit sensitive. I can deal with his general abrasiveness when he has so many other good things about him.
But I’m not going to sit here and let him insult me.
“You need to stop,” I tell him. “Just for five seconds. You need to stop andthinkabout what you’re saying. About what you’re accusing me of. Because it’s extremely not fucking okay.”
And to my very great surprise, Jamie Larson shuts his mouth and thinks about what he’s saying.
I wait in silence, trying not to get ahead of myself and predict what he’s going to say next. I’ve had plenty of mental arguments with him where I construct entirewell-and-then-he’d-probably-says, and they only ever make me even more pissed off.
So I give him a chance. I let those cogs churn in his mind.
“I’m sorry,” he says at last, blowing out a heavy breath. “You’reright. I—I promise you I’m trying to be less, well, ridiculous about this. But it’s hard.”
I lift a brow. “It’s hard not being an asshole?”
He shrugs expansively. “I mean, yeah, apparently. What can I say? It’s basically an ingrained personality trait at this point.”
He looks contrite enough that I decide…fine, he can catch a break. Just this one time, though. “You’re on thin ice,” I say, but I can feel that smile already tugging at one corner of my mouth. It’s hard to stay mad at him for long.
“Don’t I know it.” He edges closer to me, then hesitates. “Can I…I mean. Do you want a hug?”
The uncertain way he says it is enough to do me in. “Yes. Please.”
He slides his arms around my waist, and I press my face in against his shoulder, breathing in the warm scent of him. One of his large hands smooths along my back, rubbing a steady pattern against my spine.
“I know you worked hard to get here,” he says after a while. I feel his chest rumble beneath my cheek as he speaks, his voice soft and deep. “You deserve this. You’ve earned it. And I’m happy for you.”
“Are you?”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I might have a funny way of showing it, but…yeah. I am. And you’re going to be fantastic.”
Where was this Jamie the past three years? Somehow the words mean that much more coming from him. Because if anybody was going to say it’s all nepotism, it’s James Larson. I just wish he was around to say that to the dumb little self-defeating voice in my brain every time I start thinking there’s some nefarious reason why I ever succeed at anything.
“A part of me thinks it might be pity,” I admit, because here, with my eyes shut and my face buried against his chest, it feels like I can actually put that fear into words. “Because of the…because my mom died. What if I only got the spot because they feel sorry for me?”
Jamie pulls back, both hands firm on my shoulders as he looks me in the eye. “That,” he says, “isnottrue. The Phil doesn’t invite soloists because they have a really good sob story. They invite soloists who aregood.And that’s what you are. Okay? You’re good, and the Phil wants to have a rising star on their program. They want to be able to look back in five years when you’re mega-famous and sayWe had her first.”
God, now I feel like I might cry. I blink against the prickling in my eyes and laugh a little, despite myself. “Yeah. Maybe. I mean…probably. Hopefully, anyway.”
“Brains are stupid,” Jamie says.
“Brainsarestupid.” I smile for real this time, and he dips down to kiss me, one hand finding my face, his thumb skimming along my cheekbone to trace the curve of my ear.
