Bring Down the Stars (Beautiful Hearts Duet #1)(14)

“You have a date,” Ruby said in a song-song voice. “With Connor Drake.”

I rolled my eyes at her through the bathroom mirror. She lay on her stomach on my bed, crossed ankles swinging.

“It’s not a date,” I said for the millionth time. “Some people are going to Yancy’s, and so are we. That’s all.”

“Some people including Connor.”

“Yes.”

“And he invited you.”

“We probably would’ve gone anyway.”

“My ass.” Ruby snorted. “In two years, I’ve never been able to drag you out on the first weekend after class starts.”

I shot her a stink-eye through the mirror. “We don’t need his invitation to go to a place we hang out at regularly.”

“Semi-regularly and God, you are so stubborn. And picky.” Ruby raised her eyebrows. “If this isn’t a date, why are you obsessing over what to wear?”

I fussed with my dress, the third one I’d tried on. It was navy blue with white flowers, flowing prettily around the knees with cute buttons up the front. A designer label I’d found squashed on a rack in a thrift store.

“I want to look nice,” I said, “but not like I’m dressing nice for him.”

“God forbid,” Ruby muttered.

I sagged and turned around to face my roommate. “This is a bad idea.”

Ruby sighed. “We’re going to hang out at Yancy’s and Connor might be there, just like you said. No pressure. Just try to have some fun.”

I nodded. “You’re right. I’m being silly. I’m not used to…casual.”

“Clearly.” Ruby rolled off the bed and joined me at the mirror. She looked effortlessly pretty in a black skirt and black blouse. She hadn’t straightened her hair, but let it spring from behind a colorful band.

She slung her arm around my shoulders. “Have a drink or two, get to know him. That’s it.”

“That’s it,” I said. “Two drinks, max. I’m on a budget and you know how I get when I drink too much.”

“I do,” Ruby said. “You get fun.”

I elbowed my friend then grabbed her arm. “What if Mark is there? With her?”

“All the more reason to hang with Connor.” She pursed her lips. “No offense, but Mark’s a little boy compared to Mr. Drake.”

I started to defend Mark but my cheeks warmed. “No comment.”

Ruby laughed. “Atta girl.”

We went outside to wait for the Uber. The September night was cool, and I pulled on a dark cardigan, while Ruby slipped on a jean jacket. I never wore jeans—after eighteen years of jeans on the farm, I’d vowed never to wear denim again.

“What’s Connor’s roommate’s name again?” Ruby asked. “Wesley?”

“Weston,” I said.

“What’s he like?”

“Econ major. Intelligent. But prickly.”

“How so?”

“Cynical. He compared feelings to tonsils.”

“Ouch.” Ruby laughed. “Is he hot?”

The unhesitant thought, he’s gorgeous, caught me off guard. “I guess so,” I said. “Tall. Blond. Blue eyes. He’s a track and field runner.”

“Track and field…” Ruby’s eyes widened. “Oh wait, Wes Turner? Oh my God, where’s my head? Of course. The Amherst Asshole.”

I stared. “The what?”

“You really have been on another planet, haven’t you? That’s Wes’s nickname on the track, on account of his sunny disposition,” she said with a laugh. “He’s a real dick to his opponents, apparently.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s too bad. We had a nice talk.”

Except that Weston hadn’t been too friendly. Not at first.

But we warmed up to each other, eventually.

“He has a rep for being quite skilled in the bedroom department, too.” Ruby grinned. “This night just got a whole lot more interesting.”

I glanced at my friend under the streetlamp. She was beautiful, smart, and the boy-crazy act was only one manifestation of her bottomless well of self-confidence that I envied.

If Weston tried to mess with her like he did me, she’d snap right back. They might hit it off.

The thought was oddly unsettling.

The Uber took us down Pleasant Drive to the little town of Amherst. Yancy’s Saloon was only a block away from the Panache Blanc.

“I’m not staying out too late,” I told Ruby as we exited the car. “I have to work my double shift tomorrow.”

“Tell that to Connor when he takes you home tonight,” Ruby said.

“No one’s taking me home but you.”

Ruby did her best—which meant terrible—Jack Nicholson impersonation. “I tell you, buddy, I’d be the luckiest gal alive if that did it for me.”

We pushed through the swinging doors into a fog of beer and greasy pub food. Wood furnishings and warm yellow lights. Purple and white Amherst banners plastered on the walls. “Be Mine” by Ofenbach played over the sound system. I recognized it instantly. We didn’t get much alternative music back home, and I’d fallen in love with it at Amherst. Like denim, my mother’s oldies and Dad’s blues were things I left at the farm.