“Oh. My. God!” A girl in a royal-blue tube top and long aquamarine skirt gapes as I walk past. “I love your dress!”
I smile at the expression on her face and thank her, and then, before we’re too far away, I shout, “It was designed by Deandra Dawson! Look her up!”
Dee beams as she continues walking, and I do my best to do her dress justice. I swallow my nerves, I straighten my posture, and I pretend to possess her unshakable confidence as we get closer to the pond.
Closer to Mike.
He’s standing with a group of fans, showing them the drumstick twirls I taught him, until one of the guys notices me over his shoulder. His eyes get wide, and when Mike follows his gaze, his do too. His drumstick slips from his fingers, dropping to the grass, and Dee and Rowan both giggle at my sides as they continue marching me to him.
He forgets all about his drumstick and meets me halfway.
“Wow,” he breathes, stealing all oxygen from the air. I’m breathless at the look in his eyes, but Dee isn’t impressed.
“Wow? Really? That’s the best you can do?”
Mike glances from her to Rowan, but Rowan doesn’t help him out. Instead, she grins as Dee lifts my hand into the air and twirls me around. Blushing fiercely, I spin for the man in front of me, and when Mike’s eyes meet mine again, they’re full of even more admiration than before.
“Try again,” Dee instructs him, and he doesn’t hesitate.
“You took my breath away,” he says, his voice full of veneration that I don’t think even Dee was expecting. I swear I hear her swoon beside me, and my cheeks are as red as my dress when she nudges me with her elbow.
“See, and you were worried he wouldn’t like your dress.”
There’s no word to describe the color my face turns. My skin flushes itself into a brand-new shade of just-kill-me-now, and Mike’s lips curve into a soft, amused smile.
“Can I take you for a walk?” he asks, and the prospect causes the butterflies in my stomach to riot.
“Don’t you have to start shooting soon?”
Mike gives me an honest yes at the same time Dee and Rowan both blurt no. Then Dee gives me a gentle push forward, and before I know it, Mike’s hand slides into mine.
Chapter 30
It’s strange, how intimate something as simple as holding hands can be, when it’s with the right person. Last summer, I held hands with Billy Lynch on the Ferris wheel at the Apple Harvest Festival. The view was beautiful: white lights strung along the streets, carnival rides flashing as they spun in the air, balloons and cotton candy swimming over the ground far, far below. And nothing. Not one butterfly, not one spark.
But here, with Mike, with nothing to see but tech equipment and unknown faces, my heart is a wild mustang that bucks in my chest. I hope my palm isn’t sweating, but I really can’t tell, because I’m holding on for dear life.
“What time did you get here this morning?” I ask to try to maintain the fa?ade that I’m the kind of girl that can hold hands with a rock star. I can be cool. I can be calm. I can do words.
“Around seven this morning,” Mike says, and I gape at him. Dee and Rowan told me that the video isn’t scheduled to wrap until around three in the morning. That’s a twenty-freaking-hour workday.
“That’s insane,” I say, hoping that the crew at least fed him. I should have called before I left home to find out if he wanted me to bring anything: sandwiches or coffee or a pizza or—
“Yeah, well, I mean, I didn’t really have to be here that early,” Mike says, interrupting my mental checklist. “But Shawn always has to micromanage everything, and I figured he could use the company.”
It strikes me—what a Mike thing that is for him to say—and I realize he does this a lot: does incredibly sweet things and takes no credit for them. It makes my heart grow as I stare up at him, and when he meets my eyes, I make sure he knows, “You’re a good man.”
Mike chuckles and stops drumming on my hand, holding it tighter. “I’m not that good.”
“Yes, you are.”
He smirks and shakes his head, and when I wait for him to explain, he nods his chin toward a group of guys who are very shamelessly checking out my dress. “I’m a selfish man. I’m about to steal you from your fan club.”
He tugs me toward the woods, and as I let him lead me, I spot the path we took last time.
The cabin. He’s taking me to the cabin.
Last time, the entire path was lined with trees that looked like they were bleeding, they were so dressed in red leaves. Now, those leaves are withering under our feet. Each crackle weighs heavily on my nerves, reminding me that Mike is single, that he’s holding my hand, that we’re walking into the woods, that he told me he loved me.
None of this should be happening. He’s my cousin’s ex-boyfriend. He’s leaving on tour. He’s a freaking rock star. And if Danica jumped out from behind a tree right now and saw me holding his hand, she’d throw me out of our apartment, she’d get her dad to stop paying my tuition, she’d revel in the annihilation of my dreams . . . and then she’d murder me with her bare hands just for the fun of it.
Sliding my fingers from Mike’s, I swoop down to pick up a vibrant red leaf, pretending that my fascination with it is the reason I pulled my hand away.
It’s not that I’m afraid Danica is going to catch me here tonight—I know she won’t, since Shawn told her the video was rescheduled for tomorrow—it’s just that even if she doesn’t catch us tonight, even if she doesn’t catch us tomorrow . . . she’d catch us eventually. I’m smart enough to know that, and I care about Mike too much to pretend that I don’t. I don’t want to lead him on.
I twirl the dry leaf stem between my fingers, trying to ignore the loss I already feel at the absence of his touch.
“So you’ve been friends with Shawn a long time, huh?” I ask to change the subject, and when I look up at Mike, the expression on his face is unreadable.
He studies me for a long moment, and then he tucks his freed hand in his pocket. “Since we were kids.”
“How’d you meet? I mean, I know you went to school together, but how did you end up in a band together?”