Page 62 of Goode to Be Bad

“We’re all right,” he said. “A little rusty. We’ll do a quick run-through tomorrow, and we’ll have it down by then.” He winked at me. “You know who looks great? You.”

I snorted. “Quit winking. It’s smarmy and stupid.” He was quiet, and I knew he had something to say. I poked his ribs. “Well? Out with it.”

“I want you to do something for me.”

“No promises. But what?”

“Practice some songs. Your own. Your favorites. The ones that really show the world who you are. Your best songs.”

“My songs, like my own personal ones?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He just stared. “You know.”

“I’m not going on stage with you.”

He chugged more water. “You are.”

“I can’t play in front of fifty thousand people, Myles.”

“You can.”

“I’ll suck.”

“You won’t,” he said with utter confidence. Not a shred of doubt in him.

“I’ll mess up.”

“They won’t know.”

“I’ll embarrass you.”

“Never.”

“Myles, I can’t.”

“Lexie, you can.” He crumpled the plastic bottle, twisted the top back on to suction it closed, and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. He turned to face me, and took my hands. “Listen to me, Alexandra.”

“The full name, is it?” I went for breezy, came off snarky.

“Eyes.”

I begrudgingly met his gaze. “What, Myles?”

“I believe in you.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“Hear me. Don’t look away. Don’t give me fuckin’ attitude.” He was serious, harsh. “I—believe—in you.”

I blinked, my eyes were wet with tears. “Please stop.”

“You need to hear it. Know it. I believe in you.” He gestured—Jupiter, Brand, and Zan were standing, watching, listening. “They believe in you.”

“Sure as fuck,” Jupiter said. “You’re the real deal, Lex.”