“That’s not what I mean.” She elbowed me in the ribs with a few nudges. “You had fun tonight?”
“Of course.” I flashed her a grin and a wink. “I always have fun at parties, this one included.”
“Because ofher?” Kaylee prompted.
I thought back to her honey-blond hair. Her pursed, pink lips. That curve of her ass as it met the small of her back. That quick intake of breath when my lips touched her ear.
My cock twitched.
“Did you at least get her number?” Kaylee asked.
I paused. I groaned.
“Shit.”
Seven
Grace
Sifting flour was harder than it seemed.
I gripped the handle of the sifter with one hand, gently jiggling it, and held the mixing bowl steady with the other to catch the falling white powder. I thought I was doing exactly as the teacher had instructed, but still, the flour was getting everywhere. It seemed to have a mind of its own.
Honestly, I had no idea how the rest of the students weren’t making the kind of mess I was.
“Once you’ve sifted the flour,” the teacher continued, enunciating the words precisely in his French-tinged accent, “it’s time to grab the sugar.”
I panicked a little. I was still in the middle of sifting. I was falling behind. I looked around for the tiny measuring cup with the sugar. It wasn’t where I’d left it.
The very first thing we had done wasmise en place, getting all the ingredients ready and putting them in easy to reach spots. But now the sugar was nowhere to be found.
“Now sprinkle the sugar into the mixing bowl,” the teacher continued.
With a frustrated sigh, I let go of the mixing bowl. This class was supposed to be fun. Or, at least, it wasn’t supposed to cause panic and stress. Maybe it had been a bad idea to take a baking class.
I’d thought that I was doing something to keep my sister’s memory alive. I’d thought it would help me work through some of my feelings.
Instead, I only felt overwhelmed and flustered.
I had enough on my plate with college. Did I really need to add this extracurricular on top of all my courses and studying and exams? I barely went anywhere or did anything to begin with. The last time I’d done anything remotely fun was weeks ago when I’d gone to that concert.
I put the sifter down on the spoon rest.
That concert. That night where I’d met Zain.
I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. For many reasons.
One was that I still couldn’t believe I’d met a rock star in an alley and blurted my guts out to him. I would have thought a rich and famous guy like him wouldn’t care about the problems of normal people. But he had.
I also couldn’t believe how completely arrogant and full of himself he’d been. I mean, sure, he had the rich and famous thing going on. But still, a person could exercise at least a little humility, couldn’t they? Apparently not, because Zain didn’t seem to have a modest bone in his body.
I couldn’t stop thinking about that night because the concert had been amazing. Their talent, their chemistry, their performances, all of it had turned what could have been a tedious experience into something exhilarating. If I hadn’t been a fan of Until We Break before, I was on my way to being one now.
And then there was the other thing.
I frowned down into the mixing bowl of dry flour.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised that, at a rock star party, someone had gotten drunk enough to crash through a glass table. After all, weren’t those kinds of parties known for being crazy and out of control?
