bench. “Of course.”
Eric’s eyes slid away from me as I walked past him to the corner of the room. Lacey, elbows still on the piano, leaned toward him, giving him an easy view of what her low-cut top barely concealed.
I turned my attention to the bookshelf behind me.
“What do you want me to play?” Eric asked, his fingers plucking a light tune across the keys.
“You pick,” Lacey said.
I slid my hands over the glossy spines, searching for a title I recognized. Most of it was sci-fi, the only kind of books Charlie was into. I pulled one of the older paperbacks from the shelf, then grimaced at the cover. Ridiculous looking aliens fought each other with swords while a half-clothed woman lay on the ground beneath them. No thanks. I slid the book back in place.
“Okay,” Eric replied. “I’ve got a song in mind.” His fingers pounded out some chords, harsh and loud. I couldn’t identify the song. It didn’t sound familiar without the band’s instruments behind him. My fingers absently tapped against the bookshelf along to the music. When the first words of the song pierced the room, I froze.
Eric was singing “Cry Me a River.” Not Justin Timberlake’s version, but the original first made famous by Julie London and then revived by Michael Bublé.
I slowly turned around. Eric wasn’t looking at me as he sang, but I knew he meant the song for me. He’d caught me crying and this is what he thought of it. Talk about a slap in the face.
I clenched my jaw and tried to ignore how much Eric was getting into the song. How much he was enjoying it. How much he meant it, even if the lyrics weren’t completely true. I wanted to run from the room, but I wouldn’t do that again.
Eric pounded on the piano and I flinched at every harsh chord. The lyrics cut like razor blades. I felt sick, the lemon rice and souvlaki I’d slaved over threatened to come right back up. I glanced around the room to see if anyone else could tell what Eric was doing. Charlie and Mari were both staring at me.
These past eight years had changed Eric, all right. I never knew he could be so mean, so cruel. Yes, I had hurt him, and I still felt awful about it. I had cried over him, more than he would ever know. But it wasn’t like Eric to attack like this.
I didn’t know him anymore.
I looked away, unable to bear the sight of this stranger in front of me. Grabbing a random book off the shelf, I sat in a chair and pretended to read. As much as I wanted to run away, I had to show Eric that his song wasn’t doing a thing to me.
The last notes died from the piano and silence filled the room.
“Well, that was awkward,” Mari said.
I kept my gaze lasered on the book. A moment later, I heard footsteps, and then whispering.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Charlie hissed.
Eric tried to sound innocent. “What? I like that song.”
“Don’t be a tool,” Charlie replied.
Even though Charlie was coming to my defense, and I appreciated it, part of me felt even more humiliated. Small and pathetic, like I couldn’t handle myself. Poor Ava, who needed someone to come to her rescue, who was trying to play the victim. I didn’t want to be anyone’s victim. I was tempted to one-up him by taking over the piano and belting out “Really Don’t Care,” but I wouldn’t stoop to his level. Plus, I couldn’t sing.
I dropped the book on my chair and strode to the piano. “Hey, it’s no big deal.” Both their heads swiveled to me. “I like that song. Eric does it especially well.” I gave Eric a tight-lipped smile. It was the best I could do. I turned away from him.
After a brief moment, Eric launched into “Heartache Tonight.” Lacey started to dance in the middle of the room, shimmying her hips like she was at a club. Mari and Charlie joined her, doing a terrible version of country-swing. When Lacey called out for me to join them, I shook my head. I wanted to, but I felt stiff, like my body wasn’t my own. I picked up my discarded
Eric’s eyes slid away from me as I walked past him to the corner of the room. Lacey, elbows still on the piano, leaned toward him, giving him an easy view of what her low-cut top barely concealed.
I turned my attention to the bookshelf behind me.
“What do you want me to play?” Eric asked, his fingers plucking a light tune across the keys.
“You pick,” Lacey said.
I slid my hands over the glossy spines, searching for a title I recognized. Most of it was sci-fi, the only kind of books Charlie was into. I pulled one of the older paperbacks from the shelf, then grimaced at the cover. Ridiculous looking aliens fought each other with swords while a half-clothed woman lay on the ground beneath them. No thanks. I slid the book back in place.
“Okay,” Eric replied. “I’ve got a song in mind.” His fingers pounded out some chords, harsh and loud. I couldn’t identify the song. It didn’t sound familiar without the band’s instruments behind him. My fingers absently tapped against the bookshelf along to the music. When the first words of the song pierced the room, I froze.
Eric was singing “Cry Me a River.” Not Justin Timberlake’s version, but the original first made famous by Julie London and then revived by Michael Bublé.
I slowly turned around. Eric wasn’t looking at me as he sang, but I knew he meant the song for me. He’d caught me crying and this is what he thought of it. Talk about a slap in the face.
I clenched my jaw and tried to ignore how much Eric was getting into the song. How much he was enjoying it. How much he meant it, even if the lyrics weren’t completely true. I wanted to run from the room, but I wouldn’t do that again.
Eric pounded on the piano and I flinched at every harsh chord. The lyrics cut like razor blades. I felt sick, the lemon rice and souvlaki I’d slaved over threatened to come right back up. I glanced around the room to see if anyone else could tell what Eric was doing. Charlie and Mari were both staring at me.
These past eight years had changed Eric, all right. I never knew he could be so mean, so cruel. Yes, I had hurt him, and I still felt awful about it. I had cried over him, more than he would ever know. But it wasn’t like Eric to attack like this.
I didn’t know him anymore.
I looked away, unable to bear the sight of this stranger in front of me. Grabbing a random book off the shelf, I sat in a chair and pretended to read. As much as I wanted to run away, I had to show Eric that his song wasn’t doing a thing to me.
The last notes died from the piano and silence filled the room.
“Well, that was awkward,” Mari said.
I kept my gaze lasered on the book. A moment later, I heard footsteps, and then whispering.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Charlie hissed.
Eric tried to sound innocent. “What? I like that song.”
“Don’t be a tool,” Charlie replied.
Even though Charlie was coming to my defense, and I appreciated it, part of me felt even more humiliated. Small and pathetic, like I couldn’t handle myself. Poor Ava, who needed someone to come to her rescue, who was trying to play the victim. I didn’t want to be anyone’s victim. I was tempted to one-up him by taking over the piano and belting out “Really Don’t Care,” but I wouldn’t stoop to his level. Plus, I couldn’t sing.
I dropped the book on my chair and strode to the piano. “Hey, it’s no big deal.” Both their heads swiveled to me. “I like that song. Eric does it especially well.” I gave Eric a tight-lipped smile. It was the best I could do. I turned away from him.
After a brief moment, Eric launched into “Heartache Tonight.” Lacey started to dance in the middle of the room, shimmying her hips like she was at a club. Mari and Charlie joined her, doing a terrible version of country-swing. When Lacey called out for me to join them, I shook my head. I wanted to, but I felt stiff, like my body wasn’t my own. I picked up my discarded
Similar Books
