He smiled. “Kensington. Close. Yes, perhaps. I came out singing. And writing songs. They were not amused.”
He shifted then, and his leg rubbed up against my bare knee—casual, but there was no mistaking it. For a moment he left it there, and then just as casually he drew it away.
“Did you attend Harvard?”
“I went to Brown. And then Columbia for a master’s in arts administration.”
“Did that piss the professor off?”
“A bit.” I smiled.
“Not as much as blowing off Cambridge to start a boy band, I bet.”
I laughed. “Is that what you did? Did someone put you together?”
“Iput us together, thank you very much.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Does that impress you? I’m going to print up some calling cards: Hayes ‘I Put the Band Together’ Campbell.”
I laughed, setting down my fork and knife. “So how did you manage that exactly?”
“I went to Westminster, which is this pretty posh school in London where half your year ends up going to Oxford or Cambridge. And instead of that route, I decided to convince a couple of mates who I’d sung with there to join me in forming a group. We were initially supposed to be more of a pop band, but we kept losing our drummer. And Simon’s bass sucks… and we all wanted to sing lead,” he laughed. “So it was quite a bit of an interesting start. But we were lucky. We were really, really,trulylucky.”
His eyes were dancing. He was so comfortable, animated, happy.
“Is that all stuff I can find online?”
“Um, probably. Yes.”
“Hmm.” I returned to my omelet. “Tell me something I can’t find online.”
He smiled then, leaning back in his seat. “You want to know all my secrets, do you?”
“Just the big ones.”
“The big ones? Okay.” He was fingering his lower lip. I assumed it was an unconscious habit, but it worked wonders in drawing attention to his ripe mouth. “I lost my virginity to my best friend’s sister when I was fourteen. She was nineteen at the time.”
“Whoa…” It was both horrifying and impressive. “What… What did you look like at fourteen?”
“Kind of like this, but shorter. I’d just gotten my braces off,” he laughed. “So, you know, instant swagger.”
“Fourteen is so young.” I was doing my best not to picture Isabelle. Fourteen was around the corner.
“I know; it was naughty.Iwas naughty.”
“Shewas naughty. Nineteen? I assume that’s not legal in England.”
“Yes, well, since I spent two years hoping and praying it would happen, I didn’t exactly rush to file charges.” His smile was salacious. “Anyway, you’re not going to find that on the Internet, and if it ever got out it would ruin everything: friendships, the band—”
“The band?” It clicked. “Whose sister did you sleep with? Who’s your best friend, Hayes?”
For a moment, he didn’t speak, just sat there tugging on his lip, debating. And then, finally: “Oliver.”
He reached across the table for his Ray-Bans and placed them on his face.
The waiter arrived to clear our plates. Hayes declined dessert but ordered himself a pot of green tea. I did the same.
