In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(44)
“Yeah, maybe…” Casey says, pausing when our eyes meet. It’s awkward for a second—a second too long—and he takes a step back, putting the kitchen island between us again.
“So, why the Friday-night visit?” I ask. Mental high-fives are happening in my head for having the balls to just come out and ask.
“I’ve gotta gig in the city, and just got off from work so I thought maybe I’d see if you wanted to…I don’t know…come see what I do?” His hand comes back to his chin, and I wait to hear the scratching sound before I answer. Really cheesy eighties music drowns it out though, because my dad’s started the movie in the other room. It catches both of our attention, and we can’t help but look into the living room.
“Ghostbusters…nice!” Casey says. I snap my eyes to him as he’s watching the screen in the distance. He’s smiling, looking on at my family, and the sight of that makes me smile. It also makes me a little sad, because after last weekend’s dinner, I understand the difference between Friday nights in my house growing up and Friday nights in his.
“You want me to watch you work?” I ask, not sure what I would do hanging out at a club in some corner, probably sipping on sodas and water for six hours.
“Yeah,” he says, his eyes finally coming back to me. “The club I’m at is this new joint on top of the bank building downtown. It’s a pretty big gig, and I don’t know…I thought maybe if you didn’t have anything to do. But you’ve got family plans…I probably should have called…”
“No, it’s okay. I can go. I mean…I’d like to go. It’s just movie night, and we do this…well, we do this a lot,” I say, leaning forward and cupping my mouth to whisper “we watched this movie last Friday.”
“And the one before that,” my dad adds in a monotone voice as he rounds the corner, a golden soda in his hand. I eye it and he swings it behind his back. I scowl at him as he shrugs. “I buy them, so I figure that means I can drink them when I want.”
My scowl is fake, and I laugh and lean into his arm.
“So this is the famous Casey Coffield,” my father says. The red creeps back into its familiar place on my skin.
“In the flesh, I guess,” Casey says. There’s the charm. I recognize it. He reaches out a hand and my father takes it, shaking firmly.
“I hear you two are working on a recording project together with some big studio?” My dad doesn’t really follow today’s music, but he has a decent business mind, so I caught him up on the plan before I met Casey to record. He’s playing coy, but he’s fully aware of my arrangement with Casey. He may not know John Maxwell, but he knows contracts. He worked as a district attorney before he and my mom both decided to get their real-estate licenses when my grandmother left them three properties. They wanted a way to spend more time at home for Lane. Their business grew quickly, and my father ends up traveling around the state a lot. My mom’s usually near home, though. And I help when I can.
“We are. In fact,” Casey says, glancing at me and raising his brow. My tummy grows excited. “I was able to get in with John today. He’s the guy who runs the company.” He says that part to my father, but this next part is just for me. “He had me transfer the file to his iPod so he could spend some time with it this weekend. He said he’d get me his feedback Monday.”
I’m frozen for a second, but the knowledge that this is really happening starts to hit me, and my mouth curves slowly at first, until it has nowhere to go but up. My fingertips find my lips, and I’m stuck between wanting to chew away my nails and cover my mouth in amazement. “Really?” I ask, opting instead to lay my palm flat against my cheek.
“Really,” Casey repeats, brown eyes and dimple there to top it off like warm fudge and whipped cream.
“I have a good feeling,” he says, and his eyes stick on mine while I remain in my pose. I don’t know what to say. My father gets me going again.
“You should. Murphy is gifted. Always has been. She’s overcome so much, too. Makes for one hell of an inspiring story. I mean, I’m inspired by her.” My dad delivers what is known in some circles as diarrhea of the mouth, and I lean to the side and slowly—but firmly—push my elbow into his ribs. He gets the hint, and stops before he makes me wish I could just fall and hit my head on something again.
Casey’s confused look means I didn’t stop him quickly enough, so I make a rash decision to change the subject.
“Dad, if you guys don’t mind, I’d like to spend the night at the club watching Casey work, so I can see what goes into everything he does—maybe learn something,” I say, making excuses. They’re thin, and both my father and Casey see right through them. My dad’s assuming I’m going because I want to spend the night with the guy who inspired this song they’ve teased me about endlessly…since finding out the guy in the lyrics was real. Casey is assuming I’m going to change the subject from all of my overcoming.
They’re both right.
“You’re an adult, Murph. You can go out with a cute boy on a Friday night if you want to; you don’t need to ask permission,” my dad says, getting one last tease in. The red flares up, and my eyes close.
“Excellent,” I say, feeling my way around the counter with my eyes still shut. “Casey, I’ll be out in a few minutes. Just let me change. And die.”