Haze by Andrea Wolfe (best motivational books for students txt) 📕

The driver was very friendly, so friendly that he probably would have told me exactly where we were headed had I asked. I wanted a surprise, however, so I kept my mouth shut. I just wouldn't know where we were going until we got there.

Excitement bloomed inside of me, every passing block only making it worse. I was giddy as hell—this wasn't like a date I was used to.

The destination turned out to be a casual bar and grill sort of restaurant. Being new to the city, I had never been to it. The line in front of the building was a good sign, however. Jack was standing right in front of the crowd, his hair perfectly messy, his jeans perfectly tight. He opened the cab door for me.

"Effie! So nice of you to join me! You look terrific."

"Couldn't you have sent a limo?" I asked jokingly, instinctively deflecting his compliment and putting the attention on something less serious. I wasn't ready to start blushing.

"Next time," he said.

"Jack!" I complained, knowing that he probably wasn't kidding. He extended his arm and I accepted it, emerging into the warm night air.

Jack handed some cash to the driver and then led me inside, cutting through the rows of people waiting to get in. The interior was pretty much what I would have expected. There was a stage for live music and an expansive bar. Jack had a table for us near the stage, one that seemed exclusive, even if it wasn't. I couldn't tell if he was privileged here, or if he just made the proper reservations.

We started with a couple of drinks—he got a Manhattan again; I got a gin and tonic—and with their arrival came his inquisition.

"Effie, I want to know about you. Why are you here? Why are you giving me a chance? I'm sure tons of guys bother you all the time." It was the first round of drinks, so I couldn't blame it on the alcohol—yet.

I was taken aback by his forwardness, but I liked that he was being blunt. It blew my mind that he was asking me about being hit on, because I wanted to ask the same of him. He was the music star while I was just nothing. Maybe it was just him manipulating me, but even if it was, I liked it. It leveled the playing field entirely by making us both equal.

No lie emerged from my lips, even though I felt that his question was a little unjustified this early on. I was as honest as possible with him, withholding no details, keeping no secrets. When I mentioned my history with Timothy, he laughed.

"I know people like that," he said. "You made the right decision. It might have been okay for a year, but then you'd start realizing what you missed out on." Despite his preaching to the choir, I really appreciated his sympathy. It felt warm and genuine, even if it was redundant.

"I didn't even get that far. I just didn't want to do it." I sipped my drink, thankful that it was strong in that moment. Some of these memories were heavy to say the least, so it helped me keep moving forward.

"Well, it sounds like you got out of it okay. That's always a positive. Do you like it here?"

"I guess so," I said. "It hasn't been that long."

"Sure. Right." He took a big gulp of his drink and then moved to a sip of water. "I do like quieter places much better. The city certainly has its appeal, though, especially from a business perspective."

I watched him all night with great fascination, amazed at the things he knew about. He was so charming, so endlessly clever and bold. It was obvious why he had been able to succeed in the music business. Even if he had been telling me about quantum physics, it would have been the best lecture I'd ever listened to.

"Jack, how old are you?" I asked. The question seemed appropriate given everything else leading up to it.

"Guess," he said.

"Twenty-eight."

"Exactly right." His smile was deceiving.

"You're a liar."

"I'm thirty, all right?" He lowered his head, solemnly staring into the surface of the table. "When we're done here, we can go plan my funeral. I know a couple of good funeral homes in the area." He broke into a laugh that swelled over the roar of conversation in the restaurant.

I giggled in response, his silliness utterly contagious. "Talking about your own death is a great way to win over a girl on the first date." It was incredible to realize how much he had experienced in such a few short years after his success started rolling. He was only six years older than I was, and already he had done more than I would have done in ten lifetimes.

One thing was for sure—he had grown weary of huge companies within the music and film industries. He talked more about his career than his private life, but I wasn't ready to ask him anything too personal, despite the fact that he'd already dug into my past. He was fighting for artists who just didn't have a voice against huge corporate entities.

His passionate fight was kind of sexy, no doubt. It made me want to go out and protest something too, just anything, really. Monsanto, the government, other big corporations...

Anyhow, the conversation was perfect. I wanted to enjoy, not overanalyze. We ate, continuing to drink throughout the whole meal. By the time the table was cleared, the live music for the night had begun. It was a female singer-songwriter, one brandishing an acoustic guitar and a humble attitude. She began singing, and I just had to turn my head.

"She's great," I said. "Her voice is beautiful!" Hell, she was beautiful too. A cute little brunette, one wearing a pair of torn up jeans and a hoodie. I felt as if I were hearing something already produced for the radio, a product