Claire (Hart University Book 2) (3 page)

“I would never cheat on you.”

“I know that, too. Would you please just let me get through this?”

I couldn’t let him get through it. I couldn’t let him start. But when I opened my mouth to say something, anything, the ache in my throat made it impossible to speak.

And so Ted did.

“The reason I got so upset when I saw you with him… it wasn’t that I thought you were cheating on me. It was seeing you so alive. So fierce. You and I haven’t been like that in a long time.”

I didn’t say anything. Ted looked at me for a second, and then he took off his glasses, cleaned them with the hem of his shirt, and put them on again.

“The truth is, I don’t know if we were ever like that. Tell me the truth, Claire. Do you feel passionate when you’re with me?”

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re together because it’s familiar. Because it feels safe. But not because we’re in love.”

“That’s not true,” I said, my voice shaking. “You know I love you.”

“Sure. And I love you. But I’m not
in
love with you.”

His words were like a knife to my heart. Like he was standing there killing me, only I didn’t actually die.

“Ted—”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’ll be okay. Because you’re not in love with me, either.”

“How can you—”

“Claire?” It was Jocelyn, popping her head around the corner of the house. “Are you ready to go on? It’s time for our second set.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t say a word.

Jocelyn took a step toward us. “Claire?” She looked from me to Ted, the look on her face saying,
I’ll kick your ass if you’re hurting her.

Ted shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m leaving.”

“Ted!”

He took a step closer to me, but he was already gone. I could see it in his eyes.

“You’ll be fine, Claire. You just got used to me, that’s all… and you’re the most loyal person I’ve ever met. But it’s been over between us for a while.”

And then he really was gone. I tried to follow, but my feet felt heavy, like they’d been stuck in cement.

Jocelyn came over and grabbed my hand. “Shit. Was that a breakup? Did you guys just break up?”

I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to admit it. Maybe if I nodded instead of saying yes I could still keep it from being true, somehow.

So I nodded. But as soon as I did, I knew it was too late. Ted was gone.

“We can cancel the rest of the gig,” Jocelyn was saying. “It won’t be a problem. I’ll tell them…”

“No.”

The word came from some place deep inside me—deeper even than the pain of breaking up with my boyfriend.

“Are you sure?” Jocelyn asked.

“Yes. The show will fucking go on.”

“But you’re crying.”

I was?

I put a hand to my face and felt wetness. Jocelyn was right; I was crying.

I used the hem of Will’s jersey to wipe the tears away. Then I pulled it off.

“I can’t wear this. People will think I’m screwing the quarterback.”

“Milton or Burns can lend you theirs.”

I nodded. My hat had fallen off during my fight with Will, and now I picked it up from the ground and put it on again.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter Three

Watching Claire perform was always incredible.

Most people work really hard to protect themselves. To hide who they really are.

But Claire wasn’t like that. When she was onstage, she was totally herself. Raw. Naked. She put herself out there so completely it was like you could see into her heart.

The first set had been about anger, needing to feel strong and burn off steam. The second set, after Ted showed up, was about heartache and confusion, guilt and pain—all the emotions you feel after a breakup.

Her voice was like… man, I don’t even know how to describe it. Pure and sweet and soulful, with the kind of range that could hit the high note in the Star Spangled Banner with no trouble at all. It went through me, somehow, like a blade of fire.

Hearing Claire sing made me burn. Seeing her made me burn.

And now she was single.

“No.”

I jerked my head around and saw Andre next to me. After the scene outside I’d gone upstairs to put on a shirt, and by the time I’d come back down the band was playing again. Afraid of what Claire might see in my face if I got too close to her, I was hanging in the back of the room.

“What do you mean, no?”

Between all the beer I’d drunk and the effect Claire had on me I was pretty well buzzed, so I was leaning against the wall. Andre was leaning back, too, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the band.

He turned his head to look at me. “I mean don’t do it. Do not under any circumstances go after Claire tonight.”

I could have denied that’s what I wanted, or made a joke, or brushed him off. Instead I asked, “Why not? She just broke up with her boyfriend. She’s single.”

“Because this is a lose-lose situation. If you guys hook up, you’re her rebound. If you don’t, you’ll end up talking all night and comforting her and then you’ll be in the friendzone forever.”

I tried to think clearly through my buzz. “But what if she needs someone to comfort her?”

“She has people for that. Her band and a dorm full of friends. C’mon, man. Wouldn’t she be better off with someone who doesn’t want to get into her pants?”

“I don’t want to get into her pants. I mean, I do, but not just that. I want more than that. I want—”

“I know, I know. But whatever it is you want, it’s not what Claire needs right now. And it’s not what you need, either. Just trust me on this and play it cool tonight. Okay?”

Buzzed as I was, I knew Andre was probably right. I didn’t want a one-night stand or a permanent spot in the friendzone. If I was serious about getting with Claire, the smart move was to hold off, at least for now.

“Okay.”

Andre clapped me on the shoulder, almost knocking me off my feet. “Good man.”

He stayed there for one more song and then he took off. I stayed where I was for the rest of the set, resisting the urge to drink any more. I figured the more sober I was, the easier it would be to stay away from Claire.

The set ended and the crowd cheered loud and long, which made me happy.

Claire put down her mic and turned to say something to the band. Now that the show was over, the energy that had kept her going seemed to seep out of her. Her shoulders sagged, and when she turned around again she looked tired and sad.

I took a step toward her before I even realized what I was doing.

A voice in my head was shouting,
She’s hurting! Go talk to her!

But then another voice—a voice that sounded a lot like Andre’s—said,
Danger, Will McKenna.

So I did an about-face, weaving my way through the happy, drunken crowd as I headed for the stairs.

“Will! Hold up, Will!”

I stopped. Then I turned and spotted Claire coming toward me with my jersey in her hand.

It would be rude to walk away now. And anyway, this wasn’t my fault. Claire was the one who’d initiated contact. I’d been sticking to the plan, minding my own business, heading for the stairs.

By the time I got that far in my internal monologue, Claire had reached me.

“Hey,” she said.

She was sweaty and exhausted and I’d never seen her look more beautiful. The white T-shirt she’d put on—I’d used deductive reasoning to conclude it belonged to the guy on drums who’d done the second set shirtless—was soaked with perspiration and sticking to her stomach. She’d taken off her fedora and her silky blond hair was tucked behind her ears.

I wanted to slide my hands into that hair. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to haul her into my arms and carry her up to my bedroom.

“Here.”

She was holding out my jersey. I took the shirt from her, but before I could say anything she was talking again.

“I’m sorry about before. I mean…” She trailed off, frowning down at the floor.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Claire.”

She looked up again. “How about we forget it ever happened?”

“Done.”

After that we just stood there for a moment, and I was thinking that this was my second chance. I could say good night and head upstairs and—

“The only reason I didn’t wear your jersey is that I didn’t want everyone to think…” She trailed off again.

“No, I get it. It’s fine.”

I was wishing she had worn it, though. Because then I’d have something that smelled like her.

Say good night and go upstairs.

“So,” she said. “Can I ask you a favor?”

Okay, I couldn’t say good night and go upstairs just yet.

“Of course.”

“Would you mind if I crash here tonight?”

Three words echoed in my head like stones dropping into water.

Crash.

Here.

Tonight.

“Um…”

I was wishing like hell I wasn’t so buzzed. How was I supposed to navigate this?

“The band is going out to celebrate but I’m not really up for that. I’d go back to the dorm but Ted is staying in my room and I’m not sure when he’s leaving. I’d rather not—” Her face twisted in sudden pain, and in that moment I would have walked through fire to make her feel better.

“Of course. No problem.” My mind struggled to function. “You can stay in my room and I’ll stay—” Where the hell was I going to stay? “—somewhere.”

Would this relegate me to the friendzone forever? No, I decided. Not if I got her settled in my room and left quick.

No talking late into the night, no commiserating over ice cream, no braiding each others’ hair. Just good night and sweet dreams and close the door.

Claire looked relieved. “Thank you, Will. I mean it. Thank you.”

I’d never seen eyes as blue as hers. Sometimes blue eyes can look kind of washed out, but not Claire’s. They were as deep and wide and rich as the sky.

“Would you mind if I go up now?” she asked. “Then you can keep on partying or whatever.”

I’d never felt less like partying, but that would be one excuse to get me out of the room once Claire was in it.

“Sure. Come on.”

It was slow going through the crowd, but it wasn’t until we were halfway up the stairs that we faced a real obstacle.

“Where are you two headed?”

It was Andre, coming down as we were going up. He planted himself in the middle of the stairway and folded his arms, making it clear that the path to the second floor went through his large and intimidating person.

Claire blinked up at him, her blue eyes a little unfocused, and I realized for the first time that she’d been drinking, too.

“Wow, you’re big. I mean, I always knew you were big, but—” She glanced down. “Oh. You’re standing on the step above us. That probably makes you even bigger, right?”

I did my best to appear less drunk than Claire. “Claire’s staying here tonight,” I said in what I hoped was a responsible-sounding voice. “The band is heading out to party and she’s not in the mood. And since her ex might be in her room, she doesn’t feel like going back to Bracton. So I offered to let her stay in my room, while I—” Inspiration struck. “While I stay in your room. On the floor. In my sleeping bag.”

Andre frowned. “I guess that makes sense.”

There, see? I was making sense. “I’m going to get Claire settled and then come back downstairs.”

Andre finally stepped aside. “Okay. I’ll see you down there.”

Claire moved past him and I followed her, climbing the last few stairs to the second floor.

The upstairs hall was crowded with people, all waiting for the bathroom. Claire paused at the end of the line. “I need to—”

I steered her away. “I have my own bathroom.”

“You do? But won’t people be waiting for that one, too?”

I shook my head. “I locked my room before things got started.”

“Wow. So you have a private bathroom? Fancy.”

I grinned as we stopped in front of my door. “Yeah, real fancy.” I fished my key out of my pocket and let us in, ushering Claire inside and closing the door behind us.

It was suddenly a lot quieter. This was an old house, and the doors and walls were pretty solid. You could still hear people out in the hallway, but the conversations were a soft blur.

Claire was looking around. Standing behind her, I looked around, too—through her eyes.

When we first moved in here, I was all gung-ho. This was my first time living somewhere that wasn’t my parents’ house or a dorm, and I’d been full of plans to paint my room and put up some framed pictures. But preseason practice had started the next day, and once I got caught up in football I never got around to painting… or much of anything else.

The walls weren’t terrible, but they hadn’t been painted for a while and the off-white color had darkened over the years. There were also paler patches where a previous owner had hung pictures. I’d put up a few posters over some of those spots, but since I’d used Scotch tape instead of frames and picture-hanging hardware, I hadn’t exactly classed up the joint.

The posters weren’t too bad—meaning, they weren’t porn stills like the ones Delford had in his room. Not that I can’t ogle naked women with the best of them, but I wouldn’t put that shit on my walls. I stuck mostly to sports, music, and Deadpool.

There were water stains on the ceiling and on the floor around the radiator. The wood floors themselves weren’t bad—a little uneven, maybe—but they were covered with more dirty laundry than I remembered being there.

“It’s a little, uh, messy,” I said, moving past Claire and kicking some of the clothes out of the way.

“That’s okay,” Claire said, looking over to her right—where the bed was.

I’d had a decent amount of alcohol that night but nothing epic, and the last drink I’d had was more than an hour ago. Sobriety shivered through me like an electric charge, followed by a different kind of inebriation.

Claire was in my room.

God knew I’d imagined her here a hundred times. But in all those fantasies, she was here for sex. The fantasies usually started with me tearing off her clothes or her tearing off mine, depending on my mood, and ended with the two of us in my bed, our naked bodies tangled together in blissful post-sex slumber.