Claire (Hart University Book 2) (2 page)

This was the first time Ted had come to visit me in Massachusetts. He was pre-med at the University of Iowa, not far from our home town, so it had made more sense for me to visit him last year. We’d been together all summer, and I’d tried hard to be the perfect girlfriend to make up for the year we’d spent twelve hundred miles apart.

Maybe I’d tried too hard. Ted and I kept getting into fights no matter what I did, and when he announced that he was going to spend a week with me at Hart before he started his school year, I was so relieved he wasn’t breaking up with me I’d almost cried.

The thing I was most excited about was the gig at the football party. Ted had seen me sing before but not with a band, and I wanted to share that part of my life with him. Maybe that would help us get back to the way we’d been in high school.

But in order for that magic to happen, he’d have to actually be here.

By the time the band was set up and ready to go, Ted still hadn’t shown. I’d sent a bunch of texts with no response, and I was starting to worry.

I ducked outside where it was quieter and called Rikki.

“Hey, Claire. How’s the gig?”

“It’s just about to start. Could you do me a huge favor?”

“Sure.”

When I’d left Bracton an hour ago, Ted had been in my room reading. I’d entered the lottery for a single this year so he and I could have privacy if he visited, and I’d been thrilled when I won—especially when he actually came to see me.

“Would you go down the hall to see if Ted’s in my room? He’s supposed to be here at the gig and he’s not, and he’s not answering his phone, either.”

“No problem,” Rikki said. “Hang on a sec.”

A moment later I heard the sound of knocking followed by muffled voices. Then:

“Hey, Claire.”

I was so surprised I almost dropped my phone. “Ted! Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“But I thought you were coming to hear me play.” I couldn’t imagine what had happened, considering I’d given him detailed directions to the football house. “Did you forget how to get here?”

“No.” There was a short silence. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really up for noise and crowds tonight. Do you mind?”

Did I
mind
?

I was so disappointed it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I didn’t know what to say, so I focused on a detail.

“Why didn’t you let me know? Or at least, you know, answer one of my texts?”

“I didn’t hear the phone. It’s probably dead. I’ll charge it while you’re out, okay?”

Ted’s phone was
never
dead. He was always charging it. It was one of his obsessions.

But I couldn’t get into a fight with him now. Rikki was there, for one thing—Ted was talking on her phone. And in five minutes I had to sing in front of a crowd. That meant I couldn’t cry, because crying makes your voice sound like shit.

I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said. “Have a good night.” Then I ended the call and stuck my phone in my pocket.

I went back inside to find Burns, our drummer, handing around a flask. “It’s mezcal. Want a shot?”

I didn’t usually drink before a gig, but I was willing to make an exception tonight.

“Yes,” I said, taking the flask from Jocelyn when she was done. I tilted my head back and relished the burn of the alcohol, gulping down enough for a double. Then I handed it to Milton, our guitarist, who shook his head as he passed it back to Burns.

“I’m good.”

“Okay, then,” I said, looking around at the group. We’d been together a while but this was our first paying gig, and I would’ve felt nervous if my anxiety hadn’t been swamped by pissed-off-ness. “Are we ready to go?”

Nods all around, and we took our positions—Milton on guitar, Jocelyn on bass, Burns on drums, and me at the microphone.

I’d been planning to do a short intro—our names, thanks for having us, we do a mix of covers and originals, hope you like it—but then I happened to see Will sitting on a couch over by the wall.

He wasn’t alone. Two girls were draped all over him, and it looked like one of them had her tongue stuck in his ear.

I was so mad I started to shake. Of course it couldn’t be Will I was mad at—he wasn’t my boyfriend, so it shouldn’t matter to me if he was flirting with a hundred girls. Ted was the one I was mad at, and I was just projecting it onto Will.

I was projecting so hard I wanted to kill him.

I went over to Burns. “Give me another shot,” I said.

“I thought we were starting,” he said, but he pulled the flask out of his pocket and handed it over.

I took a big gulp. “We are.” I handed the flask back and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m changing up the set list.”

Milton started to object. “But we’ve been practicing those songs all week. Why would you—”

“I’m going with my gut, all right? I want to do our fuck-you set.”

The fuck-you set was actually Milton’s creation, put together last May when he broke up with his boyfriend.

Milton, Burns and Jocelyn all looked at each other, and then they looked at me.

“Okay here,” Burns said.

“Yeah, okay,” Jocelyn said.

We all looked at Milton, who brushed his thick bangs off his forehead and sighed. “Well, it’s my set list. I’m fine with it. But tell me this before we start, Claire. Who are you pissed at?”

Ted. I’m pissed at Ted.

But then I looked over at Will, and saw that the cute brunette who’d been whispering in his ear was now in his lap, her arms around his neck and her tits in his face.

“Everyone,” I said. Then I gripped the mic tighter and stepped forward. No one was paying attention yet, but I didn’t care.

“Are you going to do an intro?” Milton asked.

“Nope.” I took a breath and belted out, “One, two, three,
four
!”

We killed it.

I mean we absolutely
killed
it.

I belted out songs like I was Amy Winehouse, singing like every note might be my last. The set list we’d practiced for this gig was jock-friendly—created with the help of Andre, a football player as well as our former bassist—while our fuck-you set was more alt-and-indie rock friendly.

But the crowd ate it up.

I made eye contact with every guy in the room like I wanted to kill them or screw them, and I knew—I
knew
—I had them eating out of my hand.

I’d never felt like that before. This wasn’t my style at all. I usually let my voice speak for me, not doing a lot of showy stuff on stage.

But tonight was different. Fueled by anger, I rocked out like my body was a lethal weapon, and when the crowd pressed close, dancing to the beat and shouting their approval between songs, I fed off their energy like it was a living thing—like we were all making something together, the four of us in the band and the people in the audience, creating electricity out of music and sweat and passion.

The one place I didn’t look was over at the couch where Will had been. I didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to think about him. But during the last song before our break, I couldn’t help seeing him. He was in the middle of the crowd with Andre beside him, and he was staring straight at me.

A fresh pulse of anger shot through my veins. Sweat was getting into my eyes and it stung, and that pissed me off too.

I pulled off my camisole top and used it to wipe the perspiration from my face, and when the audience howled I tossed my shirt to them, finishing the song in my pink satin bra.

Cheers filled the room when the set was done, and I caught my breath before telling the crowd, “We’ll be back in a few. In the meantime, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Holy
shit
!” Jocelyn exulted as the four of us stumbled outside. The night air was a balm on my sweat-damp skin.

“What she said,” Milton added, combing his hands through his shaggy dark hair. “Why have you been holding out on us?”

I grinned. “I guess I should sing mad more often.”

And then, suddenly, Will was there. “Do you mind if I borrow Claire for a minute?”

Without waiting for an answer he grabbed my arm and pulled me around to the side of the house. There wasn’t anyone else there, and the only light came from the windows above us. We could hear the rowdy crowd inside but it was about a hundred times quieter than it had been five minutes ago.

“What are you—” I started to say, but then Will was pulling a shirt over my head. He tugged my arms through the sleeves like I was a little kid and stood there glaring at me.

He was bare-chested. He was standing there in jeans and nothing else, which must mean—

I looked down at myself. Will had given me the shirt off his back, which in this case was a football jersey way too big for me.

I started to take it off. “What’s your fucking problem? I don’t—”

He grabbed my hands and held them away from the hem of the jersey. “I couldn’t find your shirt, so you can wear mine instead. This is a football crowd, right? They’ll love it.”

Will’s bare chest was all hard muscle and smooth skin. Remembering the girls who’d been all over him, I felt anger rocketing up from my belly.

“And I guess your little groupies will love this, huh?” I asked, jerking my hands free of Will’s grip and gesturing at his bare torso. His jeans hung low on his hips, showing the waistband of his navy blue boxers.

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean the girls who looked ready to do you on the couch. What would your girlfriend say if she knew about that?”

His jaw tightened. “Considering she broke up with me two months ago, I’m thinking she wouldn’t care a whole hell of a lot.”

A hundred things happened inside of me. In the midst of it all, I hung onto being mad.

“I see. So that’s your excuse for turning into a manwhore? Your girlfriend broke up with you?”

He looked incredulous. “Are you kidding? I wasn’t the one doing a strip tease in front of a hundred strangers. What the hell were you thinking? You’re too talented to do that shit. You were belittling yourself.”

“I was expressing myself.” I reached for the hem of the jersey again. “And I’m going to keep on expressing myself. Maybe I’ll lose the bra for the second set. Maybe I’ll—”

Will grabbed my hands and we started to struggle, me trying to pull the shirt off and him trying to stop me.

We were both breathing hard. “You’re going to rip it,” I said through clenched teeth. “Let
go
.”

“Only if you promise to—”

“What the hell is going on here?”

I froze. Then I turned around, slowly, and saw Ted standing a few yards away.

In that moment I realized a couple of things. One, I was drunker than I’d realized—drunk enough that I wasn’t quite steady on my feet. And two, that little scuffle between me and Will was probably easy to misconstrue.

“What are you doing here?” I asked blankly.

“I saw a clip on YouTube of you singing in your bra, so I thought I’d better get down here.” Ted’s eyes shifted to Will. “You and I haven’t had the pleasure. I’m Claire’s boyfriend. Who the fuck are you?”

“He’s no one,” I said quickly. Will jerked his head around to look at me, and I knew I’d hurt his feelings.

One problem at a time. Ted’s your boyfriend; he has to be your priority.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said, keeping my focus on Ted. “You’ll be able to see our second set.”

“Not until you tell me the deal with your first set.” Ted looked at Will again. “Would you mind giving us some privacy? You could use the opportunity to put a shirt on.”

I’d known Will for a year, and he was always pretty easygoing. Ted was acting a little obnoxious but I didn’t think Will would be bothered by it. I expected him to roll his eyes, mutter something under his breath, and take off.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Will took three steps forward and stopped right in front of Ted. He had about four inches and fifty pounds on him, and I didn’t blame Ted for taking a step back.

“I’d be happy to put on my shirt, but your girlfriend’s wearing it at the moment. Maybe if you’d been here to look out for her she wouldn’t have to.”

“I don’t need anyone to look out for me,” I sputtered indignantly—but I might as well have been talking to myself.

“That’s your shirt?” Ted asked, glancing at the jersey with the big number 12 on it.

“Yeah, that’s my shirt. I’m the quarterback of the Hart Panthers.”

I’d never heard Will talk like that—like he was bragging about football. If anything, he usually played it down.

“Well, aren’t you special. Looking for an excuse to show Claire how tough you are?”

“Not really. But I am looking for an excuse to punch you in the mouth for making her cry.”

“I’m not crying,” I protested before Ted could say anything. “I haven’t
been
crying.”

Will turned his scowl on me. “Not tonight. Last year. All those times you came to dinner with red eyes? I knew your so-called boyfriend was to blame.”

He was right, although I had no idea how he knew that. I never cried in front of anyone and I never talked about my arguments with Ted.

Ted was staring at me. And then, somehow, the fight changed.

It wasn’t a fight anymore. It was a breakup.

I don’t know how I knew that, but I did. I could see it in Ted’s eyes—a kind of defeated resignation.

But maybe I could still stop it.

I turned to Will almost savagely. “Get out of here.”

“I don’t—”

“Please, Will. Please.”

He looked from me to Ted, who wasn’t saying anything. Maybe he saw the same thing in Ted’s eyes that I did. Whatever the reason, Will walked off without another word, going around the corner of the house to the front yard and out of sight.

“Don’t do this,” I said at the same time Ted said, “Claire.”

We were both quiet for a second. Then:

“You know when I showed up tonight, and you were arguing with that guy?”

My hands were clenched into fists. Inside me, it felt like my heart was clenched, too.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Will.”

Ted sighed. “I know. That’s not what I—”