“You sounded really good tonight,” I offer, and Shawn smiles wider, giving the butterflies in my stomach a little puff of confidence.
“Thanks.” He starts to turn away again, but I speak up to keep his attention.
“The riff you did in your last song,” I blurt, blushing when he turns back toward me, “it’s amazing. I can never quite get that one.”
“You play?” Shawn’s entire body shifts in my direction, his knees coming to rest against mine. Both of us have worn-through shreds at the knees, and I swear my skin tingles where his brushes against mine. He gives me his complete attention, and it’s like every light in the room focuses its heat on me, like every word I say is being documented for the record.
A shadow falls over me, and the Abercrombie model from before glowers down at me, all blonde hair and demon eyes. “You’re in my seat.”
Shawn’s hand lands on my knee to keep me from moving. “You play?” he asks again.
My eyes are glued to his hand—his hand on my knee—when Demon Eyes whines, “Shawn, she’s in my seat.”
“So find a new one,” he counters, casting her a glance before returning his attention to me. When she finally walks away, my cheeks are candy apples that have been left out in the sun too long.
Shawn stares at me expectantly, and I stare back at him for a loserly amount of time before remembering I’m supposed to be answering a question. “Yeah,” I finally say, my heart cartwheeling in my chest at the feel of his heavy hand still resting on my knee. “I watched you . . . at a middle school talent show”—please don’t throw up, please don’t throw up, please don’t throw up—“a few years ago, and”—oh God, am I really doing this?—“and it made me want to learn to play. Because you were so good. I mean, you ARE so good. Still, I mean”—train wreck, train wreck, train wreck!—“You’re still really, really good . . . ”
My attempt to salvage my heartfelt reasons is rewarded with a warm smile that makes all the embarrassment worth it. “You started playing because of me?”
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing hard and resisting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut while I wait for his reaction.
“Really?” Shawn asks, and before I know what he’s doing, he removes his fingers from my knee to take my hands in his. He studies the calluses on the pads of my fingers, rubbing his thumbs over them and melting me from the inside out. “You any good?”
A cocky smile curves his lips when he lifts his gaze, and I confess, “Not as good as you.”
His smile softens, and he releases my hands. “You’ve been to a few of our shows, right? Normally wear glasses?”
Is that me? The girl in the freaking glasses? I’ve screamed from the front row for more than a few of the band’s shows at the local rec center, but I never thought Shawn noticed me. And now when I think about how dorky I probably looked with my thick, square frames . . . I’m not so sure I’m glad he did. “Yeah. I just got contacts last month—”
“They look good,” he says, and the blush that’s been creeping across my cheeks blooms to epic proportions. I can feel the heat in my face, my neck, my bones. “You have pretty eyes.”
“Thanks.”
Shawn smiles, and I smile back, but before either of us can say another word, Joel is pushing at his arm to get his attention. He’s shouting and laughing about some joke Adam told, and Shawn shifts away from me to rejoin their conversation.
And just like that, the moment is over and I didn’t say anything even close to what I came here to say. I didn’t say thank you or tell him that he changed my life or express anything even remotely meaningful.
“Hey, Shawn,” I start, tapping at his shoulder again when Joel’s laughter dies down.
Shawn turns a curious gaze on me. “Yeah?”
“I actually wanted to ask you something.”
He turns his body back toward me, and I realize I have no fucking clue what to say next. I actually wanted to ask you something? Of all the things that could have come out of my mouth, that’s what my brain settled on? The desperate, girly part of me that I don’t like to acknowledge wants to tell him that I love him and beg him not to move away. But then I’d have to go drown myself in the pool.
“Oh yeah?” Shawn asks me over the music someone just turned up, and to stall for time, I lean toward his ear. He leans forward to meet me, and as I breathe in the scent of his shower-fresh cologne, my mind goes completely blank. I’ve lost the ability to form words, even simple ones like thank you. He’s moving away soon, and I’m blowing my last chance to tell him how I feel. With my cheek next to his, I turn my face, and then Shawn’s eyes are right in front of mine and our noses are practically brushing and his lips are centimeters away—and my brain says fuck it. And I lean forward.