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“Sorry.” I adjust my grip on the drumsticks, rolling my shoulders. “Let’s take it from the top.”
“Maybe we should take five,” Cass suggests, setting his guitar down. “You’ve been off all morning.”
They’re right. I have been off. My mind keeps drifting back to four days ago—to the way her skin felt under my fingertips, tohow her breath hitched when I got too close. The kitchen had been painfully quiet when she came down for coffee the next morning, but I could still taste her on my lips, still feel the phantom pressure of her body against mine.
No mention of our almost-moment the night before, no acknowledgment of the electricity that had crackled between us in the darkness. Just polite small talk about her early flight and promises to stay in touch via texting.
I’d watched her wheel her suitcase to the car they sent for her, wanting to say something—anything—to break through the awkward tension. But what could I say? That I couldn’t stop thinking about her? That this is all beginning to feel a little too genuine?
“Stone,” Vince waves a hand in front of my face. “Where are you, man?”
“Just tired,” I lie, standing up from behind my kit. “Coffee?”
The guys follow me to the break room, and I can feel their questioning looks. We’ve been playing together too long for them not to notice when something’s off.
My phone buzzes as I’m pouring coffee, and I can’t help the smile that forms when I see Lacey’s name.
Lacey: ‘Just finished another mind-numbing meeting. Save me.’
Me: ‘Come back to Jax. We’ll hide out in my music room.’
Lacey: ‘Tempting. But Rachel would hunt us down.’
Me: ‘I’ll protect you.’
Lacey: ‘My hero! But I have the premier this week! Fingers crossed!’
Me: ‘It will be great. Don’t worry. Sorry I can’t be there for you.’
Lacey: ‘NP. You’re as busy as I am, drummer boy.’
At least this part hasn’t changed. Our text conversations still flow easily, and we still have that playful banter that makes me smile at her humor. We’re good at keeping it light, keeping it within the boundaries of our arrangement.
“That Lacey?” Cass asks, peering over my shoulder.
I lock my screen quickly. “Yeah. Just checking in.”
“Right.” He gives me a knowing look. “Just checking in. That’s why you’re grinning like an idiot.”
“Shut up.” I need to get my head in the game because we have a one-night performance in Denver coming up.
“You want to try that bridge again?” Cass asks with a hand squeeze on my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I drain my coffee, pushing away thoughts of Lacey and how I would have liked to have been there for her movie premier. “Let’s nail it this time.”
But as I settle back behind my drums, I can’t help wondering: When did pretending to be attracted to Lacey become easier than pretending not to be?
We manage to get through the rest of our practice without any more missed transitions, but my mind isn’t fully there. Six months seemed like a long time when we signed those contracts. Now, barely two weeks in, I’m already struggling to remember where the lines are drawn.
After a frantic flight from Denver to California, I sit in the back seat, watching as the L.A. streets blur past. Finally, the black SUV stops outside the historic theater in Hollywood. The screams hit me the moment I step out of the car. Hundreds of fans line the barriers outside, their phones raised high, trying to capture every arrival. But I’m not here as a rockstar tonight—I’m here for Lacey.
Rachel materializes at my elbow, steering me toward the red carpet. “Remember, this is Lacey’s night. Let her shine.”
As if I could ever overshadow her. The thought makes me snort, earning a sharp look from Rachel.
“Where is she?” I scan the crowd, adjusting my tie. The designer suit feels stiff compared to my usual stage wear, but being here for Lacey is worth every uncomfortable moment.
“Coming up behind you in about two minutes. Remember, this is supposed to be a surprise.”