CHAPTER8
Jess
Idon’t practice at all that day—not at all, not even a little, for the first time in as long as I can remember. I’m still on cloud nine by the time Sam’s mom drops him off so we can go to the symphony for tryouts. But as soon as he gets out of her car, with Lagerfeld trailing behind him, it hits me just how crazy this is.
And reckless.
And impossible.
Sam bursts in the front door, and right away I can tell he can feel a change in the vibes. He’s like a heat-seeking missile—I can get away with nothing. And time for real talk: I did just lose my virginity and I’m sure it’s written all over both my face and my body.
Sam’s eyes go wide and intense, and he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Queen. Spill it.”
My mouth opens to make a word, but nothing comes out, but my face lights up in what feels like a five-alarm blush.
His eyes dart over to his dad, who is sitting on the sofa answering emails on his phone, with his yummy thighs spread wide and just a hint of a bulge.
Just a glance at him makes my pussy pulse and my nipples tighten. I automatically press my hand to the solitaire, and I avert my eyes.
“So, how was it?” I say.
But Sam narrows his eyes at me. I’m never one for small talk, and right now it feels especially weird.
“That’s some obviously-not-cubic-zirconia you’ve got there, Queen.”
Oh no. Instantly I am transported back to my childhood, and the way my mom would stare at me when she actually caught my hand in the actual cookie jar. That horrible feeling of having done something naughty that you just know is against the rules.
“It’s…” I say, trailing off, searching for some plausible reason why twenty-four hours ago I had no necklace and now I have this necklace, which probably cost almost as much as my violin.
“Alright kids. Let’s get this done,” Mike says. The tone of it, though, it’s very much Sam’s dad, not Mike. But then he glances at me, all dark and broody. The desire in his eyes is pure Daddy.
And my whole body turns to hot chocolate inside.
I busy myself with getting my violin and music, double- and triple-checking that I have everything that I need. I’m just making sure my rosin is where it should be and that I have plenty when there’s a knock at the door, and Sam’s mom comes in, holding Sam’s phone.
“You forgot this, sweetheart.” She says and I feel like the temperature in the room drops twenty degrees.
I’ve met her before, but it was quite a while ago. And it’s clear immediately where Sam got his superpower of sensing emotions and situations without a word.
Her perfectly made-up eyes go from me, to Mike, and back again. And the expression on her face says, Oh I see.
Mike comes between us, and says, “You remember Jess, don’t you?”
One perfectly groomed eyebrow slides up. “I have. But you were just a kid when I met you. And you’re not a kid anymore.”
Another five-alarm blush blazes across my cheeks. I know it’s absolutely obvious to everybody. The curse of red hair and freckles.
“Oh you know,” I say, with a sort of painfully awkward giggle. “Just, growing up!” To which I add a horribly awkward Tony the Tiger pump of my fist. Nice one, Jess. Nice!
I cross my arms in front of me, trying to stop myself from more awkward movements. As I do, I guess I must make my cleavage spill out in some kind of way, because I’m positive I hear Mike growl-sigh beside me.
Sam’s mom inhales slowly. Somehow, it’s quite clear to me that she knows exactly what’s going on between us.
Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.
I turn away, staying as far away from Mike as possible, tying my Converse and doing a quadruple-check of my case and music bag.
Sam’s mom continues, talking to Mike. “Sam tells me you made a big donation to the symphony, which is great and all, but isn’t everybody going to think it’s Nepotism City if he ends up with first chair? Or,” she says, pausing for effect, “if Jess does?”