Aimee and the Heartthrob, page 5
She made her way down a hallway, trying to find an exit, when she walked into the wrong room, bumping into a couple sucking face against the door. “Oh, sorry!”
They peeled apart. Aimee didn’t recognize the guy, but the girl was one of the makeup artists. “It’s okay.” She smiled, wiped the drool off her bottom lip, then practically pushed the guy out the door. “Didn’t think anyone was around.”
“I was just leaving,” Aimee said, a blush prickling her cheeks. “Trying to leave.”
“Wait. Who are you here with?”
“With? No one,” she said, folding her arms over that still tender area above her heart. “I mean, I used to have a crush on—”
“No,” the girl said, laughing. “I meant, I saw you in the tent at dinner. You were at the Not Tonight table with the parents and stuff.”
“My brother was busy, so Marsha invited me to eat with her.”
“You know Marsha Carlisle?”
“Miles and I kinda grew up together.”
“Really?” The girl’s thin, penciled-in eyebrows lifted. “I’m Deb. I do makeup.”
“I know. I saw you with the other wardrobe people.”
Deb was probably around twenty-five, had short red hair cut in a severe angle, which really suited her face. And when she turned toward the light, Aimee saw a tiny diamond stud on her nose. “We call ourselves the glam squad.”
Aimee laughed and leaned on the doorframe, feeling less like a trespasser. “I’m sure the guys just love that.”
“Oh, they completely hate it, but someone has to keep them from getting too conceited. So, you actually know Miles?” Deb walked to a table and started loading makeup brushes into a Tupperware box.
“I guess. Though you probably know him better than I do now. He’s been away from home for two years. I don’t know what this Miles is like.”
“Probably the same. He seems really grounded, normal, probably because his mother’s here.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’m Aimee Bingham, by the way.”
“Oh, you’re that intern’s sister. Nick, right? He’s hunky.”
Aimee crinkled her nose. “I try not to think about my brother like that.”
“Well, trust me, he’s been getting looks from the girls all day. He’ll definitely be a hot topic in our bus tonight. Speaking of, you’re staying in Hanging On?”
“Yeah.”
“These buses are really nice compared to others I’ve been on. I traveled with a certain girl group two summers ago.” She made a face. “Seriously, the buses were super old and falling apart, and I swear, I was afraid I’d catch an STD from the seats. Hashtag skanky hoes.” She laughed. “Anyway, the ones for S2J are as nice as hotels, especially The One.”
This sparked Aimee’s interest. “You’ve seen the inside of The One?”
Deb shook her head. “No one has, if you’re not in the band. There’s a rule about it and everything. They have private security—I’m sure you’ll meet Beau, their head bodyguard. You can’t get two steps up before he’ll throw your ass off. If we’re traveling and one of the guys needs to meet with a tutor or doctor or do an interview, it’s always on another bus. They’re really strict about it. The One is totally decked out, though. I heard they each have a personal massaging recliner.”
“Nice.”
“And like three sixty-inch flat-screens, every gaming system known to man, complete wifi hookups so they can stream anytime they want, even in the middle of the desert. And each of their bunks has memory foam beds, noise-canceling earphones, iPads, laptops, and even personal recording devices. It’s all state of the art.”
“Sounds amazing,” Aimee said, even more curious to see it, now. Though that would obviously never happen, especially if there was an S2J cop at the door. Plus, she didn’t want to make trouble for Nick.
“You headed back to the buses now?” Deb asked. “I’ll walk with you.”
“Don’t you have to…?” Aimee made the motion of powdering her forehead. “During their breaks or whatever?”
“There’s a crew backstage in the wings for that, but I’m off tonight. I just had to get them ready.”
“Oh. Cool. Need me to carry anything?”
“I’m only in charge of the brushes, toner, and concealer.”
“Concealer.” Aimee couldn’t help laughing.
“These boys don’t need much. I worked an eighties hair band reunion last New Year’s.” She paused and whistled. “I’ve never gone through so much eyeliner ever.”
Aimee laughed again. “You must have so many stories.”
“I do.” She stacked three boxes and balanced them in her arms. “Though you’ll never catch me writing one of those tell-all books. Can you believe that?”
Aimee held the door open for Deb. “Believe what?” she asked as they stepped out into the surprisingly warm San Francisco evening air.
“You know, that book about Miles?”
Aimee wrinkled her forehead in thought. Ever since their explosion on Rockstars Live, there’d been loads of books written about S2J, and a new one cropped up every month about one of the members, Miles included. Aimee had made sure to steer away from those, though Becky couldn’t get enough.
“I haven’t read any. It’s all gossip, isn’t it?”
“Most of them, but this one was different. During the mini-tour last year, one of the hair girls brought it on the bus one night and we flipped through it. Bitch was vicious.”
“Who wrote it?”
“His ex. That singer he was with maybe a year and a half ago?”
Aimee knew exactly who Deb meant.
Kelly and Miles had been bigger than Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez, or Blake Shelton and Miranda Lambert, or whoever the power music couple was at the time. Whenever Aimee happened to see a photo of them on a magazine cover, she died a little.
Kelly was like the most beautiful girl on the planet. They weren’t together for more than six months, and their breakup got more screen time than the royal wedding. Now that Aimee thought about it, she did remember something about Kelly writing a book.
“What was so bad about it?”
“It was really personal. She wrote about how they lost their virginity together. Like, exactly where and when…how. Really private things, details only a ratchet psycho chick would ever share. And she basically admitted her career got a huge boost because of being with him, almost like she was using him, though she didn’t come right out and say it. Miles was asked about it at every interview for months. He tried to blow it off, but everyone around here knows it really messed him up. After that, he wasn’t around girls much and hated talking to the press. Like he didn’t trust anyone.”
Aimee understood that and couldn’t blame him. Being hurt by someone you thought you could trust, even loved, was an awful feeling. Maybe one of the worst.
“How sucky,” she said. “I had no clue. I’ve tried hard to stay away from all that, actually.”
“That’s refreshing. I’m sure Miles wishes there were more people like you out there. Real friends.”
“Yeah.” It was a little knife twist. She and Miles weren’t really friends anymore, or had they ever been? Maybe it was naïve of her, but before he’d left home for the audition, she’d thought they were. But after what Nick had told her, she knew the truth.
More bricks around her heart stacked in place. Good, she needed to stop thinking about him, feeling sorry for him. No one needed to feel sorry for Miles Carlisle.
“You sure you don’t need help?” Aimee asked.
“I do this every night. All under control.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“This is your first night on the bus, right?” Deb asked, to which Aimee nodded. “I used to have a really hard time falling asleep. The buses are nice, but they’re still buses. If you have trouble sleeping, let me know, I’ve got some pills.”
“Thanks,” Aimee said. “Sorry again for walking in on you and…” She felt another blush.
“Who? Tom? He’s one of the roadies on my bus.” She winked. “I’m sure we’ll pick up where we left off.”
Aimee smiled. “Um, good. Well, see ya.”
The parking lot behind the arena was lit up, and even at this distance, Aimee still felt the thumping bass of the music from inside, still heard the low vibration of the roaring crowd—the Miles High Club in full effect.
The excuse she’d given Marsha about having a headache hadn’t been true at the time, but now Aimee felt pressure building inside her skull. She boarded Hanging On, relieved to be the only one inside the bus.
Her bunk was near the back, but was the top of three. First making sure no one was asleep in the bottom bunk, she stood on its edge and reached for her toothbrush and facial cleanser. The bathroom was tiny but surprisingly economical when it came to storage. She quickly brushed and washed. Back at the sleeping quarters, using the first and second bunks as a ladder, she crawled inside her own bunk before kicking off her shoes and pulling her dress over her head. She grabbed a tank top and sleep shorts, then folded her dress alongside her other clothes in the cubby, happy she’d brought outfits that wouldn’t wrinkle.
She pulled the heavy velvet curtain closed, slid under the covers, and exhaled, staring up at the dark ceiling of her bunk, two feet above her head. Talk about close quarters. She rolled to her side, trying not to hear the thrumming of the concert, the screaming girls calling out for Miles.
Well, it wasn’t such a terrible day, she thought. I met five hugely famous pop stars, got propositioned by one in terrible French, hit on by another, and offered sleeping pills—which might as well have been drugs. Not too shabby for my first day as an unwilling groupie.
Not long after, Aimee was fast asleep, barely stirring when the other passengers of Hanging On came aboard and the bus pulled onto the road, headed for tomorrow’s stop.
…
The hours following a big show were always raucous. Last night had been no exception. Miles had still been high on adrenaline and everyone was totally wound up, even when they hit the highway. To avoid any incidents with fans, The One was always ready to pull out directly after the last note of the show, usually hours before the other buses.
The finale of this concert offered additional challenges. Someone had the brilliant idea that they should perform “Women Every Time” (or “WET”) while being flooded by heavy-duty rain sprinklers overhead.
The idea was cool in theory, but no one thought about the huge puddles of what felt like five thousand gallons of water would make, or how slippery the stage would be. In rehearsal, Will was first to face-plant, though it eventually happened to each of them. Ryder proved to be the most uncoordinated, or maybe he did it on purpose in hopes that the number would get tossed. He hated dancing more than anyone.
It was a relief that not all the venues would be equipped for the “rain dance.” The spin on that was, the ticket-buyers wouldn’t know which concert would include that finale. After last night’s show—the first time they’d done it in front of an audience—Miles finally understood the appeal of having five wet guys gyrating onstage in front of girls who’d already been whipped into a screaming hormonal frenzy. He’d almost laughed himself to death when Trevin peeled off his wet shirt onstage at the end, making the crowd go certifiably bonkers. Maybe he’d give that a shot next time.
As they’d been escorted out, soaked to the skin, Miles was able to say a quick good night to Mum backstage, grateful for the millionth time she’d traveled with him since the beginning. He’d never voice this to the fellas, but he sometimes felt sorry for them, being away from their families for so long.
Seconds to Juliet had become a sort of surrogate family; his bandmates were as close to him as brothers, and when LJ wasn’t being a pain in the arse, he was the closest thing to a father figure he had. But real family was irreplaceable.
That was why it was so awesome to have Nick around, even though they obviously wouldn’t be able to hang all that often. Just knowing he was there made Miles feel slightly more normal. Right before boarding the bus, he’d been able to slap his buddy a couple high fives. Then he caught himself looking past Nick’s shoulder, wondering if Aimee had been with him.
He wanted to apologize for mowing her over backstage. He hadn’t seen her as he’d rushed to get his guitar, and barely had time to register it had been her. When he did realize it, it also registered where exactly he had touched.
Well, Nick couldn’t be mad at him for that. Copping a feel had been a total accident; he hadn’t even had time to enjoy it. Though the memory—especially when he played it back in slow motion—was pretty frickin’ nice.
The next day, this was still on Miles’s mind when he spotted Aimee walking from the buses to where the craft service tents were pitched in the back parking lot. It wasn’t like he was following her, since he was headed that way, anyway. Though he did enjoy the view of her from the back.
She was in another dress. Miles couldn’t remember ever seeing Aimee wear a dress when they were younger. Maybe she’d been in a tomboy streak. Thank the holy queen she’d grown out of it, because not many girls could rock a pink, flowing dress like this chick could.
The Portland, Oregon, air was chilly. Over her dress, Aimee had on a little red sweater and brown boots with fuzz on the tops. She looked mesmerizing, and he quite enjoyed how just watching her made his breathing slow down. Yes, he was completely aware he wasn’t supposed to think about her like that, but it was only a passing observation.
Her hair was up in a ponytail, making him wonder if maybe she didn’t like the shower on her bus. Or maybe it was broken and she couldn’t wash her hair. He thought about asking her about it when he told himself to shut up. Aimee’s shower, and whatever she did in there, wasn’t his biz.
“Good morning,” he said, when he got close enough to speak. She was in the middle of tugging her sweater sleeve back up over her bare shoulder where it had slid down. It was that exact moment he pictured her naked in the shower. Heat rushed through his body, settling low in his stomach, and he felt his face go red. “So, h-how did you sleep?” he asked, unable to look her in the eye.
Such a clever greeting, tool bag. No wonder you haven’t been able to write a complete song in months.
“It’s one in the afternoon,” she said. “And I slept fine, thanks. It’s kind of cool waking up in a new place.”
“Yeah, it is,” he said, finally able to look at her. “But it can be a blur. Real easy to forget what city you’re in when all you see is the inside of a venue.” How did you get so smooth? And how did you ever con Nick—and the world!—into thinking you’re any kind of player? “Have you eaten yet?” He pointed toward the tables set up with food, steam coming out from under the lids.
“That’s why I’m here in the food tent.”
He chuckled and pushed up his sleeves. “Oh, right.”
“Don’t you guys ever stay at hotels?”
“A few times a week, but only when the schedule allows for it. If we have back-to-backs in one city, we can. But like last night, we had to drive straight on. I think we’re staying at a hotel tonight.” Bloody hell, you’re talking a lot. “More than two or three days on the bus is rough—for everyone, even for the crew. LJ tries to make all of our schedules less hellish.”
“I can see how that’d be hellish,” Aimee said. “Nice that LJ’s looking out for you.” She got in line behind two girls from the wardrobe crew and dished up a bowl of fruit. “Aren’t you eating?”
“We have food on our bus.” He made a face. “The stuff they set out here, I don’t really like. Reminds me too much of what Ms. Fletcher gave us at Pali High.”
Aimee stared at him for a moment, then blinked.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. I sometimes forget we went to the same schools.” She smiled, then her nose wrinkled like she was smelling Ryder’s feet. “Remember that assistant lunch lady at Pali?”
“Ms. Styles?”
“Yeah!” Aimee’s eyes lit up. “She would slop out that disgusting stewed spinach like it was her mission in life to make someone in line blow chunks.”
“Right?” Miles laughed, noticing how Aimee’s hair turned a little red in the sunlight. He wished he could reach out and touch it again, remembering how it smelled like vanilla. What would happen if he did? Just a few strands. Would it count if Nick wasn’t around? “And what about that torn hairnet she wore every day?” he added before he really did reach out and touch her.
“And her mole?” Aimee’s cute little nose wrinkled again.
“How was she even allowed to serve us food?”
“Who knows!”
He smiled at her and crossed his arms, fighting to stifle that urge to hug her again. “But I shouldn’t have compared the food here to Ms. Styles’s. It’s not bad. I guess we’re spoiled on the bus.”
“You’ve already had lunch?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you, then. I’m sure you’re super busy.”
Was he being overly observant, or did Aimee’s moods turn on a dime when she was around him? “No, it’s fine. Do you want a sandwich?”
“Um.” She gripped her tray and didn’t move for a second. “Sure.”
Miles loaded up her plate then pointed at an empty table by a row of trees. It was late enough that most everyone had already eaten and was off setting up for tonight’s show. He hadn’t meant to rush over here just to sit with her. He did have things to do. But should he go off and ditch her when she didn’t know anybody, and Mum was dealing with the fan club stuff?
“Are you settling in okay?”
She speared a grape. “So far.”
“And your bed’s, um, comfortable?”
“It’s fine, kind of cramped, though. I kept waking up.”
“That’s because you’re tall, your legs are so long. Oh, I mean, not that I noticed your long—your legs or anything else.”
What was happening to his mind? Just because a seriously hot girl sat across from him bathed in sunlight with her sweater sliding off her shoulder didn’t mean he was licensed to turn into a babbling idiot. “Anyway, yeah, the bunks are pretty small.”
