Page 85 of Worth Every Game
“Yeah,” Kate says. “I do. Can we talk?”
The two of them seem to have forgotten I’m there, so I announce that I’m going for a shower, and walk towards Elly. If we were alone I’d kiss her or pull her against me, but with Kate staring at my back, I can’t do any of that. I’m about to keep walking past when Elly grabs my hand.
“You lost your phone?” she hisses, quiet enough that Kate won’t be able to hear.
I shrug one shoulder. “Last night. But it was only at Nico’s. I knew it was safe.”
Her brow creases, and her blue eyes are pools of worry. “The photos. You deleted them, right?”
My pulse beats in my ears.Would it be wrong to lie, if it soothes her concern?Without thinking it through, I commit to the falsehood. “Yes.” It’s only a white lie. I’ll delete them as soon as I have a moment.
Elly sags with relief. “Okay.” She puts her hands on either side of my face and kisses me, brief and soft, and when it’s over I don’t hang around to hear whatever Kate has to say about it. I need to shower and get the fuck out of the house before Mum decides to show her face.
I’m halfway up the stairs when I take my phone from the pocket of my hoody and select every one of Elly’s beautiful photos, intending to delete them. But right as my thumb hovers over the button, I can’t press it. She’s so beautiful, the photos so sexy, and what if this thing between us doesn’t work out? What if Kate warns her off, and all I have left at the end are these pictures?
I can’t delete them.I can’t.
30
ELLY
When Jack has left the kitchen, Kate paces towards me, and my heart thuds like a bass drum. I have no idea what she wants to say about this, or what she thinks of it. I feel both guilty and defensive, and she hasn’t said a word yet.
“I thought you didn’t like my brother.”
I brace at her statement, even though I’m not sure if she’s accusing me of lying, or if she’s genuinely curious.
My first impulse is to reply, “I don’t,” but even as the words rise, popping against my tongue, I wonder why. Why has that been my stance all these years?I don’t like Jack Lansen.It’s been a mantra I‘ve lived with since the first time I met him at Kate’s house when I was sixteen. I’d happily flirt with him and tease him, but I always maintained that I didn’t like him.
Now that I think about it, I have no fucking clue why. Was it all the women? All the money? Am I really that judgmental?
If I dismiss those objections, I have nothing to back up my dislike. All this time, I’ve been fooling myself; trying to convince myself that I didn’t like him. But I can’t do that anymore.
Not only do I definitely like him, there’s a chance that what I feel for him is more than that.
“I was wrong,” I admit.
Kate’s face is very still, and then she smiles. “God, you two,” she says, as though we’re kids who’ve exasperated her, and she can’t believe the antics we’ve got up to while she’s had her back turned. A tinge of worry creases her brow. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t.”
Kate tips her head back to look at the ceiling and lets out a sad-sounding sigh. “If it doesn’t work out, promise me it won’t affect our friendship. I won’t have Jack messing this up for us.” Her concern unsettles me. I don’t want to consider how this could all go wrong. I’m not sure I feel secure enough to handle that yet. Kate must read all this on my face, because she hugs me and whispers, “I love you too, you know.”
“Oh, I don’t think he loves me,” I choke out.
Kate doesn’t reply, but she squeezes me a little tighter.
The studio owned by Jack’s mate is none other than Elmwood Studios, owned by Dan Elmwood himself, where Amy Moritz recorded her first album, when she was only seventeen, which hit the top 50 in the US charts. She went from being unknown to world-famous almost overnight.
I’m completely overwhelmed. Walking into the building earlier, I wanted to grab Jack’s hand and never let go; the excitement was almost too much to bear. The walls were plastered with Platinum records in sleek black frames and signed images of famous pop stars and rock bands.
Never in all my life did I really think I’d get to record in a place like this, let alone with Dan himself, who is one of Jack’s old friends from school. He made time for us on a Sunday. He said it’s a favour, but I’m sure Jack must have paid for the time, and it can’t have been cheap.
We’ve been here all day, and Jack has taken photos of me the entire time. He must have hundreds by now. It’s been hard to concentrate, with him simmering in the corner, taking more photos, reminding me of how he took pictures of me on the piano... I’m blushing at the memory.
“You won’t have any storage left if you keep clicking like that,” I say to him.
“I’ll shift you to my hard drive.” He raises a suggestive eyebrow, and my responding giggle sounds ridiculous.