While the prospect of listening to a complete playlist of KPOP songs sounds worse than hours of Korean language homework, I keep my trap shut. No sense in creating any more tension between us. I’m officially on my best behavior.
We sit in silence a minute before he says, “Did you learn about music from being at your father’s company?”
I shift in my seat, buying time and searching for the most diplomatic way of talking about Dad. “I’ve actually never had any formal musical training—I mean, besides basic piano—although my dad tried to get me to take classes all the time. I picked up a lot just being around the business, but I was never taught composition like my bro—” I stop myself before I slip up, a jolt of panic skipping through me.
If Jason notices me falter, he doesn’t address it. “It surprises me that you can know so much without being taught.”
“Was that … was that a compliment?”
He scoffs, but the edges of his lips curl up like they want to smile and he won’t let them. “I just meant that you have a natural talent for music composition. But that’s more of a compliment to your parents and their genes than to you.”
“Well, what about you?” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “How did the great Jason Bae become KPOP’s newest rising star?”
He’s quiet so long, I fear he won’t answer. I take the time to notice the stiffness in his shoulders and how his hands clench and unclench.
“I started playing guitar when I was ten,” he says, voice tight. “My father bought me my first as a Christmas present. Tae Hwa and I would play together when he visited, and when Sophie and I moved back to Korea, Tae Hwa and I decided to pursue a career in music.”
“Just like that? You guys must have been pretty lucky to get picked up so fast.”
“Tae Hwa’s father knew someone who worked for the record company.”
“Ahh, so you cashed in on connections.”
Anger flashes in his eyes so fierce, I’m muted. Tension nestles between us, making the library seem even quieter than it did before.
“It was much more than that,” he murmurs. “We worked hard for our debut.”
I clear my throat. “I’m sure.”
He stares a hole into the floor, muttering just loud enough for me to catch, “We worked a lot harder than Yoon Jae.”
The easiness of our interaction having been shattered, I search for a way to regain any sort of politeness in the conversation. I flip to the next page in our Korean textbook, though I can’t focus on the grammar lesson. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed strain in the relationship between Jason and his bandmate, but I can’t imagine why, besides Jason resenting Yoon Jae’s easier road to fame.
We finish our study session around eight and head out of the library together. He unlocks a bike from the rack as I make to head back to the dorms.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
“Wait, are you walking back?”
“Well, I’m not sleeping at the library tonight.”
He doesn’t take the bait. “I’ll give you a ride.”
I imagine what it would feel like to sit behind him on the bike, my arms wrapped around his waist. That now-familiar heat radiates through my body again. How is it that Jason has turned me into the blushing type of girl?
“Don’t worry about me.” I wave my hand in dismissal. “I’ll be fine.”
He straddles the bike’s frame. “I don’t mind. Get on.”
I hesitate a moment, but when I see that he isn’t budging, I step up to the bike. “Uhh … how am I supposed to ride this thing?”
He pats the metal rack on the back of the bike, made for hauling inanimate objects.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not going to kill you. Just trust me.”
Trust. Such a small word. Which implies so much. I lost my trust in boys when Isaac cheated on me, then lied to my face about it.
Jason’s gaze softens just a hair. “Come on, you’ll be fine.”
Biting my lip, I straddle the bike, stomping down any fear that threatens to grow in my chest.
Jason turns around to look at me. “Sit sideways, like riding a horse sidesaddle. More comfortable.”
I follow his instructions, not sure how I’m going to balance myself. When I rode with Sophie, I was more afraid of falling and cracking my head open on the pavement, but with Jason, my fear lies more in my body’s response to being so close to him.
Blowing out a slow breath to ease my nerves, I settle onto the metal rack behind his seat and pull up my feet. I knot trembling fingers in the fabric of his T-shirt, which hangs away from his body. But when he pushes the bike into motion, on instinct, I grab onto something more substantial. My eyes snap closed, and it takes me a good thirty seconds to realize my fingers are digging into his sides.
Though the wind that blows against us chills my skin, I’m so hot I feel I might spontaneously combust. Every time I attempt to let go of him, the bike teeters to the side.
“Hold on tighter,” he says over his shoulder.
I spend the entire ride in my own personal Hades, torn between fear of falling and fear of Jason.
When he pulls up to my dorm, I jump off the bike so fast I stumble. He grabs my arm to steady me, and it takes an excruciating amount of effort not to rip myself away from his grasp. Memories of us dancing, of him leaning against me in the limo, flash through my brain, and a fresh stab of longing cuts through my chest. Seeing him sitting there, it seems like Saturday night wasn’t even real.
“Grace?”
My heart sprints. “Yeah?”
He picks at one of the bike’s handlebars in one of those rare instances of discomfort. “Do you want to go with us to the music video shoot next Friday?”
“What?”
“I’m sure Sophie would have asked you, anyway,” he adds. “But I just thought you should go. So we can work on the song some more.”
“The song. Right. Umm … sure.” I wait for the fog to clear from inside my head, but it lingers. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in class. For the test.”
“If my legs can get me home. You were heavy to carry here.”
I gape at him until I realize that was his idea of a joke. Jason just told a joke.
He gives an awkward wave. “Good night, Grace.”