She blushed, surprising me with her humility. "It's all Jack," she said. "I won't lie—he's really helped me learn my identity as a songwriter."
"Yeah, but I don't waste my time on just anyone." He looked at her so proudly, with so much admiration. The look was almost paternal. He had apparently cultivated her, molded her into this artist who was now attracting major-label attention and turning heads wherever she went.
"I was blown away," I said. It was the truth.
"Well, thanks again for being here. I've got to run, though. I'm doing a late show at a private club." She looked at her cell phone. "And it starts in less than an hour."
Jack laughed. "Okay, Lex. Give me a call when you're ready to go over that new material."
She smiled and nodded. "Nice meeting you, Effie."
"Same to you! Good luck tonight." Saying good luck made me feel stupid because she was really good and obviously didn't need any luck. Just a platitude that slipped out.
Lexy headed back to the stage to finish packing up her things, leaving Jack and I alone once again. "She's great," I said. "Not that you need to be told that."
"Undoubtedly. Do you want to get going soon?"
A part of me wanted to ask him where he suggested we go. However, I really liked surprises, so I kept my mouth shut. "Sure."
I took his hand as we stood up, holding it as he led us out of the restaurant and into the night. God, just touching him again made me fill with electricity, a sensation that made me tingle. I hadn't felt this way about anyone in ages. Not ever, really.
Meeting Lexy actually made me feel good, especially after hearing Jack's rant about the music industry and how it treated performers. It still was possible that he was just ripping her off to make himself money, but I didn't think it was the case. I believed he truly had her best interests in mind, no doubt. I wished that I had a time machine so I could go forward in the future and see just how big she would become...
"Something on your mind?" Jack asked. We were walking down crowded streets, the cool summer air blowing against us. I was sticking close to his body.
"I had a nice time tonight," I said.
He stopped abruptly. "Oh, so you're already calling it quits?"
"No! That's not what I meant." By the time the words were out, I realized he was playing.
"You're excited to go out clubbing? We can go take some ecstasy and dance all night! Is that what you meant?" That same sly smile returned.
"Jack! I have to work tomorrow. And I hope you're kidding about the drugs." Dancing sounded fun, but I was going to take a rain check for now if he pushed it.
He started laughing again, that innocent, deep laugh. "I'm not gonna lie—I've tried the stuff. But I'm past that now. Those were some wild nights on the west coast."
All of this random history gave him a something of a former bad boy persona. I liked it, actually. I just didn't plan on doing any drugs myself. "Do you still perform anymore?" I asked.
"On occasion. I can sing and write songs, but I don't really feel like I'm a singer. I like to write songs for others now. I feel like that's my real gift. And arrangements."
"You're probably really good," I said, thinking that for some reason it would mean something to him. "But I don't know anything."
Jack smiled and leaned down to kiss my cheek. "That's what makes you so good. You're not full of shit like the other ninety-nine percent of people I meet. Effie, you're honest."
In that moment, I didn't care if he was just trying to make me feel good. I didn't know if what he said was true, especially because I had never considered it. But right then and there, I believed him. And I wanted him more than anything. It hurt how bad I wanted him.
Why was it so powerful when he included me alongside his passions? Why was I so susceptible to his honesty, his powerful observations that fit me perfectly into his chaotic world? Everyone longed for inclusion, to be a crucial part of another's life puzzle. I guess I was discovering my place.
"Let's go back to my apartment and just chill out. How does that sound? I'll have you back early enough that you actually make it to work tomorrow."
I cuddled up against him as we walked. "Okay."
We ended up taking a cab back to his place—how he kept track of all of these different homes was beyond me—another gorgeous building in the heart of Manhattan. This was a studio apartment, one with granite countertops and modern appliances, leather couches and chairs. He had this one goofy looking ottoman/chair set in the corner, which he claimed was the most comfortable chair in the world. I didn't have a chance to try it.
"Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked.
"Sure." My eyes crawled along the walls—there were gold and platinum records hanging there. He wasn't that much older than I was, and already his talent had reached more people than I would reach the rest of my life. It made me jealous in a very superficial way.
Jack joined me by the wall and handed me a glass. "Let's go look at something more interesting." He turned me around and led me out onto his outside patio. It was yet another incredible view of the city. Skyscrapers stood innocently around us, their blinking and changing lights so fascinating in the nighttime.
We sipped in silence, our arms wrapped around each other. I quietly listened to his heartbeat, allowing it to blend in with the ambient noise of the city that never slept. His apartment was pretty high up, so the noise that reached us wasn't as harsh and abrasive as it would have been at street level. It was relatively calming, more
