“If you ask me—”
“I didn’t.”
“You have a choice,” she continues, ignoring the interruption. “You can either sit here and wallow, or you can do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“Are you asking for my help?”
I finally summon up the courage to turn my head and look at her. Any trace of animosity is gone. If anything, she looks sorry for me. Which, if my outside appearance reflects how I’m feeling on the inside, is understandable.
“I guess I am,” I admit, finally caving in. Beggars can’t be choosers. And when it comes to cleaning up the mess I made with Kolby, I’m totally prepared to beg. On my knees, if necessary.
“Good.” She rubs her hands together like a cartoon villain who’s plotting some diabolical scheme to take over the world.
I arch a brow at her. “Care to share them with me?”
“Kolby said something about you outing yourself by kissing him in the middle of an improv exercise in front of the entire class.”
“Yeah, but I can’t do that again.” And even if I could, I’m not going to get him back by doing the same old shit. It has to be bigger. Better.
“True,” she agrees. “But don’t you have some kind of performance coming up at Vino and Veritas?”
“Yeah.” My mind is whirring, and I’m starting to catch on. I think I see where she’s going with this, but I want to hear it from her. “Next week.”
She rubs her hands together again, this time adding a conspiratorial smile that reminds me of her brother. Like Kolby, she’s both super smart and a little bit scary. “Then we’d better get busy. We don’t have much time.”
“Time for what?”
“To plan the biggest gosh darned public apology this town has ever seen.”
25
Kolby
V and V is packed. Harrison and Finn are both here, along with Briar, Jamie, most of the bookstore employees, and even some of the bar staff who aren’t working tonight. From the looks of it, they’ve spent most of the day decorating. The place looks like Christmas puked red and green all over it. It’s a bit nauseating if you ask me, but I guess it adds to the festive preshow atmosphere.
The staff has brought in extra chairs for the improv showcase, too. Almost every one is already filled, and people are starting to line up against the walls. There’s one empty table right up front, but there’s a hand-lettered sign in the middle saying it’s reserved for VIPs. I’m not sure who that means. Probably the drama department faculty.
It’s the kind of thing that would normally get me psyched up. There’s nothing I like better than performing for a standing-room-only crowd. Well, almost nothing.
But tonight, no matter how full the house is, all I feel is empty.
My gaze drifts to Adam across the bar, chatting with two girls I don’t recognize. I can’t help it. It’s that heat-seeking missiles and target thing again.
One of the girls snakes a hand around Adam’s waist and slips her fingers into the pocket of his jeans. It’s a possessive move, meant to mark him as her territory, and just like I can’t keep my eyes off him, I can’t stop the irrational stab of jealousy that pierces my midsection. As if I’ve got any right to be jealous. He’s not mine. Not anymore. If he ever really was.
But man, he looks good tonight. I can’t blame the girl for wanting her hands all over him. No T-shirt, track pants, and sneakers, although I’ve always loved him in those too. He’s dressed up for the occasion in a lime green and white striped button-down shirt, brown suede bucks, and the aforementioned jeans—dark and straight legged, hugging his muscular thighs and butt. A butt that Hand-In-The-Pocket Girl is, at the moment, squeezing flirtatiously.
And there’s that stab of jealousy again, stronger this time.
“Keep staring at him like that and you’re going to set the whole place on fire before we get a chance to strut our stuff,” Ian says, coming up next to me and handing me a glass of ice water. Half the audience already has drinks in their hands, but Professor Frost made it clear that any performers caught consuming alcohol before the show will get an F as their showcase grade, which would pretty much kill any chance of passing the class. “Here. Drink this. Maybe it’ll cool you off.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip, even though there’s no way water is going to quench my thirst for Adam. I seriously need to get my sex drive in sync with my broken heart. And my head out of my rear end. Not only do I have this showcase—which my grade depends on—to get through, the music video audition is next week. I’ve worked too hard to let a little boy trouble mess that up.
Even if it’s more than a little trouble. And I’m pretty sure the boy in question has ruined me for anyone else.
“Still not speaking to each other?” Ian asks astutely.
