Page 56 of One Wrong Step
“Right. I’ve lost track of the days already. How long have we been on this trip? A week?”
I laugh. “Two days.”
It’s your standard bar, but it has a stage, and someone is singing about looking for love in all the wrong places. And they aren’t doing it well. Mostly because they keep falling down on the stage.
We miraculously find an empty table. I slide into one side of the booth. Vivian slides in beside me. “There’s another seat right there.” I motion to the seat across from me.
“Yes, but I like this one.” I don’t fight him too hard on it. Vivian orders a rum and Coke. I’m sure he expects me to order a beer, but I order the same.
“Look at you, Jonah, all grown up.”
“We’re the same age.” That gets me another grin.
“What do you think?” he asks, and I have to lean in so I can hear him over the woman screeching to Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life.”
In the short amount of time he had to get ready, Vivan transformed himself from a weary traveler to a hot guy ready to party. His makeup makes his eyes pop and his lips…kissable. I have a hard time focusing. “Think? About what?”
“What should we sing?”
I laugh. But he doesn’t appear to be joking. “You’re going to sing? In front of people?”
“Rude.”
I don’t want to upset him, but I’m confused. “You don’t sing in front of crowds. Ever.”
“That’s not true.”
“Vivian, you froze up during the senior recital.”
His gaze sweeps over the bar. And then he looks at me. “Jonah, I don’t mind singing in front of people. I just don’t want people to see me sing.”
I stare at him, my mouth open. I’m not even sure what to say. “Isn’t that the same thing?”
He tilts his head. “It’s not. Do you even listen to me?”
I think over his words. I get there’s a nuance, but I don’t understand it. Thankfully, our drinks come, and it gives me a few minutes to figure it out.
Vivian takes a long sip and taps his fingers on the table. “My dad has a way of finding me wherever I am. And that comes with a healthy dose of disapproval.”
“He doesn’t want you to sing?”
“Oh, it’s not about singing. It’s about wasting my life.” He laughs. “About never being good enough.” And then he takes another drink.
“And now?”
He studies me. “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “You’re willing to sing now, and you weren’t before, so…”
“Nothing I do will ever be good enough for him. I know it looks like I have tons of money, but I’m just thrifty, and my bestie is generous to a fault. My dad has an iron grip on my trust fund. I can’t access it until I meet the requirements.”
“And what are those?” I ask softly.
He taps the table again. “To gain access, I have to be successful. And that success is entirely defined by my father.”
“He uses it as a loophole to control you.”
His eyes dart to mine. His mouth opens slightly. “No, he just has high standards—” But I can see the realization taking hold in his eyes.
