Tonya Hurley_Ghostgirl_03 by Lovesick Page A

do, a little, but not very well. I like to write, so that’s really when I play,” she said, eager to let him know they had move in common than just fashion.

“You write?”

“Yeah, you know, just lyrics and stuff.”

“I have a feeling you’re being modest.”

“No, but I am being late,” she said looking at the clock on wall. “I’ve gotta get to work.”

“Where do you work?” he asked.

“IdentiTea, the café at old Hawthorne Manor,” Scarlet said. “The place for chai anxiety.”

“Hippie hangouts are cool,” Eric said politely, but she could tell by looking at him that coffehouses weren’t exactly his thing.

“Anyway, the real reason I came here was to ask if you’d be into playing a gig there,” Scarlet confessed. “Doesn’t pay much, but I manage the place and I’m starting to promote a music night.”

“Not a big deal,” Eric admitted, seeming a little more interested. “I’m not in it for the money.”

“Might be good exposure locally,” Scarlet continued, making her case. “We have a regular crowd on Thursday nights—all ages, of course, and if you have merch you can sell after the gig.”

“Cool,” Eric said offhandedly, confirming the booking. “Why don’t we head over to check the place out?”

“Okay, you can follow me; I’m parked right outside.”

“I don’t have a ride,” he said. “Do you mind if I bum one from you?”

“No problem,” Scarlet answered.

They walked outside to her car and continued to chat away. She could see the barest trace of a smile on Eric’s face when he got a look at her car.

“Nice wheels,” Eric acknowledged.

“I like it,” Scarlet giggled nervously. “It’s an oldie, but goodie, as they say.”

As they hopped into her car, flipped on the car radio, and drove off, she took the opportunity to gather information.

“Are you staying or sleeping in the band’s van or something?” Scarlet queried.

“Yeah, I’m staying around for a while,” Eric said. “I’ve got some work to do.”

“Work?” she asked. “Are you recording or something?”

“Not exactly,” he said, fumbling, still really unsure of how much he could or should say to her.

“Where are you from?” Scarlet asked.

“From around here, but I left a long time ago,” Eric said. “I bounced around New York and then moved to L.A. for a while.”

“Make it or die trying?” she said.

“Something like that,” he said.

There was a world-weary quality to Eric that Scarlet had detected from the start. He was young, but he didn’t really look it or act it. Not mature, exactly, but like a guy who had done a lot of living in a very short time.

“Those are two tough towns,” Scarlet said sympathetically, but really just regurgitating what she’d read in the music and fashion magazines.

“Yeah, New York is where dreams are born,” Eric offered. “L.A. is where they’re sold. If you’re lucky.”

They arrived at IdentiTea and parked, but before they got out of the car, Scarlet worked up her nerve.

“This might be a little forward of me,” Scarlet said, “but I’ve been trying to write some songs.”

“And?” Eric asked.

“I thought you might be able to help me,” Scarlet said.

It was a good thing, Charlotte thought, that she was good at waiting. It seemed to be taking Damen forever to return to his room, and she was getting bored. Without being too gross about it, she’d pretty much invaded every aspect of his privacy, from his closets and drawers to his notebooks and toiletry case.

Finally, she heard a key turn in the lock and the door swung open, slowly. Damen reached over to the wall for the light switch, turned it on, and closed the door behind him.

He seemed unusually tense as he dumped his backpack and a bunch of mail on his bed. He still looked great, Charlotte thought, but a bit more serious and polished than he used to. Only someone as obsessed with him as Charlotte once was would even notice, but since she’d been