Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [57]
“What do you mean?”
“They’re discussing like where I should play, when I should solo, what I should play, where I should go to college.” He heard a toilet flush and smiled. “Are you in the bathroom?”
“Where else can I talk?”
He laughed. “Thanks for calling me back. Just hearing your voice makes me happy. I’ll catch you later.”
“Why are your teacher and an agent discussing where you should go to college?”
“ ’Cause the agent thinks that going to a regular college is a waste of time for my career.”
“Harvard isn’t a regular college.”
“It isn’t Juilliard. It doesn’t even have a performance department.”
“Do you even need a music department? You’re probably better than anyone they could hire for faculty.”
“See, that’s why I need you. My ego can’t function without your compliments.”
“I just say what’s true. Dumb question but I take it you got into Juilliard?”
“Yeah, and nothing you say is dumb.”
“Tell my bio teacher that. Do you want to go to Juilliard?”
“I dunno. Probably. It makes the most sense.”
“More than Harvard?”
“I dunno. I thought it might be fun to go to a regular university—someplace that wasn’t obsessed with music. I could also go to SC, you know. Nick is here, not in Boston.”
“What do you really want, Gabe? That’s the only thing that’s important.”
“I dunno. I’m so used to being led by the nose, I never thought about it.” He heard a bell in the background. “You have to go?”
“I can be a few minutes late.” She paused. “I know how you feel. It’s like my dad has determined my future. In his mind, he’s already sitting at my graduation from medical school. I mean, I might want to be a doctor, but it might be nice to have a choice.”
“I have no doubt that you could rule the world if you wanted to.”
“You’re the best,” she told him. “I really, really miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Did you really have a dream about kissing me?”
“Yes.” Her voice became breathy. “And I kept wanting it to last, but I woke up and couldn’t get it back. It was really frustrating.”
“I guess we’ll have to make the dream a reality.”
“What a great idea.” Another bell rang. “That’s the tardy bell. I’ve got to go.”
“Thanks for calling me, Yasmine. I have to go back in and play some Chopin anyway. That’s cool. I like Chopin. But not as much as I like you, cuckoo bird.”
There was a pause. He could feel her smile. She said, “You know I adore you.”
“I adore you, too,” Gabe told her. “Kisses.”
“Kisses.” She hung up.
Every time he stopped talking to her, he felt low. He hated it. He wanted not to care so much, but all he could think about was how much he liked her. How happy he was whenever they were together. He loved their early mornings together, sitting in the corner at Coffee Bean, holding hands under the table, stealing kisses when no one was looking. The way she talked about opera or school or her sisters or whatever while squeezing his leg. The way she allowed him to put his hand underneath her skirt, his fingers walking up her bare thigh until he almost reached the golden spot. And then she’d giggle and swat his hand away. And then he’d do it all over again.
He was tired, he was confused, he was frustrated, and he was lonely. Most of all, he was horny.
All hormones.
Chris was right.
Damn him.
Chapter Eighteen
An overcast sky teased the L.A. basin with the promise of rain. Instead all the city got was bleak weather—dirty fog and damp air. The low sixties bordered on coat weather, but a good cable-knit sweater would do in a pinch. The only reason Marge wore her leather jacket was for fashion. She had purchased it last year at the Camarillo Outlets—a favorite meeting spot for her and her boyfriend, Will, who worked in Santa Barbara. Theirs was a long-distance relationship that worked well.
Lisbeth and Ramon Holly’s house was her last stop before she and Oliver were kicked loose. The address put them at a sixties ranch house in a neighborhood of modest homes on small lots and no sidewalks. Lawns were dotted with mature trees, most of them bare except for the pines and cedars