In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(25)
“Yes, Murphy. I work there,” I answer, suppressing the inner voice adding that I’ve been there for three days, and so far have sat in on one very intimidating meeting and have pulled tapes and samples from old hard drives in a dirty basement.
“Okay,” she says.
I nod, not really sure what okay means. Okay, you can pitch my song, play my demo, make her famous? Or, okay, good for you for getting a job Casey, now get the f*ck out of my house?
“When will you know?” she asks, her mouth moving slightly upward. It’s almost a smile. It’s enough of a smile.
“I’ll pitch it this week. And then we’ll just see,” I say, my heart beginning to pound on adrenaline.
“Alright,” she says, her voice breaking with a small giggle. That sound—it’s her getting excited. That’s her giving me a shot, her own hope on the line.
“Alright,” I repeat, my right side of my mouth leading my left one into a full cheek-aching grin.
“Oh my god,” she breathes out, bringing her hands to cup her mouth, my phone still held in them.
“You can call me Casey,” I say, causing her to roll her eyes. It also makes her relax, her shoulders falling back into place. I reach to her hand, and she gets stiff before realizing I’m reaching for my phone.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” she says, handing it to me.
“Don’t be. You’ve made my day, Murphy Sullivan,” I smile. Our eyes lock briefly, the awkward pause making her cheeks turn red. I can’t see myself, but I think I might be red, too.
“No pressure,” she giggles again, stepping closer to her door. I know I should leave. I’ve gotten what I came for, but now that I have it…
“Dinner,” I blurt as I reach her door. “I…I was planning on grabbing a bite when I left your house, if you’d like to come. We could talk about the song, oh…and I should probably get a better recording of the original to mix. We should meet in the studio, maybe tomorrow. Or at my place—I have equipment. That might be faster—”
“I’m not interested in you, Casey,” she cuts in, her rejection swift and harsh. I’m at a loss for words. The paddles are back on my chest, but this time it’s not for explosions and fireworks. This time, I think I just died. I’ve never really felt foolish before. My dad—he’s made me feel small; he’s made me feel scared, or like a screw-up. But right now—I feel like an idiot. “We’re just partnering on this song. That’s…that’s it,” she stammers out.
Her eyes flit from me and dance around the room. She swallows away about a thousand pounds of tension as she takes a nervous step back.
“Right,” I say, a slight shake to my head. The heat around my face is intense. “Uhm…I only meant business. I want to pitch the best quality recording, and I ripped that one from the YouTube video, so…”
“Right,” she blinks and laughs nervously. A minute ago, I thought her nervous laughter was cute, but right now—my chest still heavy with the brakes she put on me—I kinda resent it. “Recording is probably smart. Tomorrow is okay, after I’m done with class. Just tell me where,” she says.
I think she might feel bad. I’m pretty sure I feel worse, though. Maybe I was just taken with the song and her dream. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I didn’t really feel butterflies at all.
“What’s your number?” I ask, back to all business. I can’t look her in her eyes anymore. And I can’t really smile. I’m shit at faking it.
She hesitates, and the battle she’s having with herself in front of me over giving me her number is making my palms sweat. You’d think I was some goddamn creeper praying on teens at the roller rink.
“Murphy, this is business for me too. Frankly, you’re not my type. So quit thinking I’m out to get you in bed and just give me your damn number,” I say, regretting it the second I see her eyes tear up and widen in a flash. I open my mouth to fix it, but then my brain kicks in, knowing it’s better leaving that line in place—despite how tactlessly I drew it. I shut my mouth and keep the million I’m sorrys begging to spill out tucked deep inside. I say one in my head, though, to the sad gray eyes that now look like they regret ever saying yes to me at all.
“Right,” she swallows. “Here,” she says, taking my phone back into her now trembling hands. She types her number nervously and sends herself a text.
“Good, now you have mine, too,” I say. She nods, but won’t fully look at me. This is what Houston was talking about when he said too much Casey. Though, the voice that came out of me…it kind of sounded like my father’s.
“I’ll call you when I’m done with class, and you can give me directions, or whatever,” she says, turning from me, flitting her hand over her shoulder as if our meeting again is no big deal. A voice in the back of my head tells me to rush over to her and grab her hand before she can take it away. My feet stay put.
In a matter of seconds, I’ve given this girl all the confidence in the world and stripped her of it just as fast. What a f*cking *. I’m not even sure how to write this one down on my personal list of flaws. But I know it’s at the top.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say, trying to sound softer. As if that can some how make up for my bad reaction to what was probably just her being nervous.