Aimee and the Heartthrob, page 8
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s really good. You wrote that?”
He scribbled in his notebook then scratched it out. “It’s been floating around in my head for a while, but I can’t get it right.” He sang through the first verse, glanced at Aimee, then wrote something else down. “How about this?” He sang through it again, but the lyrics were slightly different, warmer. It gave Aimee multiple yummy head-to-toe tingles.
“I like it.”
He sang the chorus next, changing the lyrics, tweaking as he went, stopping every so often to jot it down. Aimee was mesmerized, watching as he wrote in silence for a few minutes, his sexy expression of concentration.
No, not sexy. Not sexy at all.
“Okay,” Miles said, pulling her out of her inner argument. “I’m gonna go through the first part. It’s still not finished, but it’s something.”
Aimee blew out a quiet breath, trying to still her heart, positioned herself in her seat, and listened. The song was cheery and sunny, and it had the perfect romantic hook. Plus, the way Miles looked at her while he sang, gazing into her eyes all intensely and dreamily… She knew he was just rehearsing on her, but she couldn’t shoo away the butterflies that filled her stomach every time their eyes met.
“So?” he asked at the end.
“It’s only amazing.”
He sat back and wiped his forehead, like he’d been unsure. “You think?”
“Totally.” She leaned forward, her elbows on the table between them, wondering what it would be like to touch his hand, those perfect, musical hands. “It’s so…you.”
He stared at her for a moment, then laughed and dropped his gaze to his notes.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, wondering if she’d said something wrong.
“Nothing, nothing.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’ve had trouble writing for a while. That’s why I didn’t share this with the guys earlier. It wasn’t ready, it’s still not ready. It’s two verses and a chorus without a bridge or an ending, but at least I’m writing again. Being here like this”—he paused and nodded at her—“made it almost easy.”
The way he gazed at her, like when he’d been singing, made her lightheaded.
“I think it would be better on piano, though,” he added.
“I can see that. More mellow and soulful.”
“Too bad I don’t play piano.” He strummed his guitar, picking the intro to “Purple Rain.” “I might have better luck if I were more versatile. The piano would help.”
“You could learn,” Aimee suggested.
“Someday maybe.” He laughed under his breath and strummed again. “Prince can play every instrument known to man. He writes, produces, and arranges all his tracks. Bloody amazing.”
“You played trumpet in the marching band. That’s versatile.”
“I guess, but that was a long time ago.”
She couldn’t help looking at his mouth, his lips, imagining how skilled they must be from the trumpet. When her head felt like it was about to float away from her body, she said, “Prince is still your favorite singer?”
“Still?”
She crossed her legs under the table. “You and Nick blasted his music nonstop. I had no idea who he was, but Mom and Dad did.”
“Wish I could be ashamed of that, but the man’s a musical genius. His record from last year rivals any of the retro stuff. Freakin’ unreal. If I could write like him…” He shook his head. “Anyway, this was a productive session. I really needed it. Thank you.” He stood and gathered up his notes, ready to leave.
But Aimee wasn’t ready. She’d loved being with him like this, seeing this side of him. Not her brother’s best friend, not the boy she’d had a crush on back before she knew what really liking someone meant. He wasn’t the boy on TV or the face in the magazines or the voice on the radio.
He was a musician. If she wasn’t careful, she’d fall for this guy, too, then be crushed all over again.
“Thanks for letting me be here.”
“Anytime,” he said. “I mean it. You were my muse today. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
…
Miles was anxious to get to the bus, rewrite his notes, and make sure he got the fraction-of-a-song down before he lost it. He hadn’t felt this inspired in months.
Once on the empty bus, he headed straight for the back—the makeshift recording room. For the next hour, he feverishly laid down a quick demo, not wanting the burst of creativity to disappear before his iPhone could record it. When he was done, he looked down at his notes. He hadn’t realized he’d jotted Aimee’s name in the corner.
“’Sup, Kilo,” Trevin said when Miles came out of the back. “Been recording?”
“Yeah.” Miles dumped his notebook and phone on his bunk. “Something new. I wrote it after the group session.”
“When you were with Aimee?”
He paused over his guitar case. “She was in there with me, yeah, but…”
Trevin laughed. “Hey, no judgment here. It’s probably natural for you to write love songs about her.”
“We’re just friends.” The words sounded like a broken record, because he’d been repeating them over and over in his mind. “She just happened to be in the room when inspiration struck. It was cool having someone there to play for, get that instant reaction.”
“And what was her instant reaction, buddy?”
Miles couldn’t help picturing the way she’d looked at him when he sang it through the last time. The big smile on her face, the way her smile made him feel…alive. “She really liked it.”
“Bet she did.”
“Shut up, dude.” His tiny breakthrough had nothing to do with Aimee. Okay, so maybe he’d felt inspired to write about a girl with brown hair and brown eyes, but that was half the female population on the planet. He hadn’t been writing about Aimee. Or her eyes.
Tonight’s concert was no different than any of the others, but Miles felt extra excited and energetic. He told himself that wasn’t because he’d spotted Aimee in the wings, right where she’d been last time.
After the show, it was another drive-straight-through-to-the-next-city kind of night. Miles was already tired of being soaking wet on the way to the bus, but he was happy he had time to get back to writing. He was still hyped up from earlier today, and knew he had more songs in him.
But the second he was alone in his bunk with an open notebook, his mind went blank.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. What was on his mind was a girl with brown hair, brown eyes, and a smile with the power to fuel a rocket, just begging to be sketched into a love song.
He shook his head, trying to clear away the image. For the next hour, all he did was stare down at a blank page. How had he gone from being so inspired to having zilch? After a while, he wandered out to the front of the bus to join Trevin in front of the PlayStation. If nothing, killing man-eating alien zombies would take his mind off where it shouldn’t be.
Chapter Seven
Aimee waited around the breakfast room long after she’d finished eating. Not to see Miles, but every time the door opened and it wasn’t him, her stupid heart sank. It had nothing to do with how hella-fine he’d looked onstage last night, or those six times he’d made eye contact with her, or how sexy he’d looked in that wet T-shirt during the finale.
Holy nut-burgers, was he beautiful.
No! It was nothing like that. But okay, she did want to hang out with him, ’cause it had been really cool—interesting and educational—to watch him write yesterday.
Just as she’d decided to go off on her own, back up to her hotel room or see if Deb needed help setting up the makeup, Miles strolled in. And her stupid heart did a stupid backflip.
“Hey.” His blond hair was tousled and he wore a bright blue T-shirt with the Superman logo across his chest. And she almost whimpered at his cuteness.
“Hi.” Why did she feel faint with nerves? It was just Miles. Her friend Miles.
“Did you already eat?”
“Yep,” she said. “All done. Just heading back to our room—I mean my room.” Stop talking, Aimee.
Miles pulled back a smile and ran a hand along the back of his hair, messing it up. “So you’re not epically bored or anything?”
“Not at all.” She pictured the virtual stack of books to read and review for her vlog, not to mention that other stack she was supposed to read for next year’s AP English class.
“Oh.” He pulled at the neck of his T-shirt. “I was hoping you were bored so I could rescue you.”
Dammit, why is he so hot? “What do you have in mind?”
Not that she’d object to hanging with him as friends. And how seriously cute did her friend look in the morning?
“I think I might want to write some more. But if that sounds boring—”
Boring? As if. “Um, sure, that’s cool.” Yeah, try not to act too excited, Aimee. “Do you want to eat first?” She gestured at the trays of food.
“I already did. I just came in here to find you.”
She tried exceptionally hard not to feel all hyper-euphoric at his words as they walked out the door in silence. Instead of heading to the conference rooms like yesterday, Aimee followed him outside toward his bus.
“I have to grab my guitar. Be right back.”
She watched him climb the stairs of The One. That perfect, cute boy butt. She was still curious about what kind of things were aboard that bus. The high tech gaming and whatever. Maybe if she stood on her toes and… Before she could get even a peek, Miles came down the stairs, guitar case in one hand, notebook in the other.
“It’s warm outside,” he said, squinting into the sun. “Since I’ve been living like a vampire lately, do you mind if we stay out here?”
“Good idea.”
So he didn’t want to be all alone in a room with her like yesterday. Could he sense she’d been excited about seeing him, so now he was trying to head off any feelings she might have? After all, he’d been oblivious to her crush before, maybe now he was being hyper-sensitive so he wouldn’t hurt her feelings again.
That was nice of him, even though she didn’t have feelings. Shut it, pounding heart.
They walked past the line of buses, across the parking lot, and to a picnic area under a tree. Surrounded by semi-trucks, she couldn’t see any fans, though every once in a while, she’d hear screams, reminding her that they were there. Miles didn’t seem to notice as he lowered himself onto the grass across from her, sitting cross-legged with his guitar.
“I recorded that song yesterday, right after we finished.”
“Do you think it’ll be on your new album?”
He held a pick between his lips and adjusted the nobs on the guitar neck. “Dunno. I really like it—well, such as it is, but that doesn’t mean the world will.”
“If you plan on playing it for females, believe me, it’ll be a solid gold hit.”
Miles stopped strumming and looked at her. “You think?”
“I know.”
He smiled and rested his arms on top of the guitar. “I tried to write last night after the show, but it was the damnedest thing, I couldn’t. My mind kept spinning back to…” He paused purposefully and shifted his sitting position.
“Back to what?”
He looked down at the grass blowing in the wind. “Nothing. Anyway, I couldn’t write, so I hung out with the guys, played way too much Grand Theft Auto, ate way too many Pop-Tarts.”
“Is that your secret rock ‘n’ roll private bus party food?”
He dipped his chin and laughed, turning a page in his notebook. “Very secret.”
“What kind of song do you want to write today?”
“Not sure. I was thinking of something sad, like a breakup song.”
“I guess those are necessary. Can’t have all happy on an album.”
“Nope. Gotta mix it up.”
“Do you write from personal experiences?”
“I try to. It’s easier that way, to not fake the feelings. Though I don’t really feel like going all T-Swizzle and tapping into personal experience to write a sad song.” He strummed the chorus to another Prince song, “Raspberry Beret.” “Here’s an idea, why don’t you tell me a tragic, brokenhearted story?” He laughed. “Be my inspiration again.”
Aimee’s mouth went dry, then tasted sour. “No thanks, I have too much experience with that.”
Miles stopped playing. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean about me.”
She laughed and threw a handful of grass at him. “I didn’t mean about you either, Miles. Try to keep that ego in check.”
“Sorry.” He glanced down and smiled. “But…you do have other experiences? A bad breakup?”
She so didn’t want to talk about it, but she’d opened this can of worms. “My boyfriend last year. He was the first guy I really, really liked—oh, I mean, except…” She could only nod at Miles, too mortified to say the words. But he nodded in return and let her go on. “He was an exchange student.”
“From where?”
“France.”
“Figures. The guy was a literal Romeo, eh?”
“Romeo was from Italy. Don’t your private tutors make you read Shakespeare?”
Miles chuckled. “Damn, girl.”
“Anyway. I was really happy with him.” (And happy to finally be over you, she could’ve added.) “He was sweet and funny and really cute—”
“About the breakup,” Miles interrupted.
Aimee pushed her hair back. “Yeah, well, Jean-Luc had to leave Pali High at the end of the semester, in December, but he wanted to come back. He swore he’d try, he promised me and he said he loved me and…” She paused to control her breathing. “I believed him, but he didn’t come back.”
“That could’ve been for a lot of reasons. Maybe he didn’t have a choice.”
“Then why did he promise me? I know how the world works, and when you’re fifteen you can’t just announce to your parents you’re moving to another country. But I believed him and I was hopeful…and so brainless to believe him.”
“Aimee, that’s not really fair to the guy.”
“I’m not finished with the story. Anyway, a few days before we went back to school after Christmas break, Becky called me and was all ‘Have you checked Insta?’ When I did, it had totally exploded with pix of him and another girl. It was his girlfriend in Paris. They weren’t even broken up when we were together. Freaking cheater, and he’d been lying to me the whole time.”
“Wanker.”
“Yeah, he was. And I’d been so excited ’cause someone I liked finally liked me back. Anyway, it taught me a lot about myself, that I’m insecure.”
He snorted under his breath. “No, you’re not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know how you can be when you’re so beautiful.”
Aimee’s breath froze in her chest, and she didn’t know what to say. Miles thought she was beautiful.
He went back to strumming his guitar, tunelessly, no more Prince. “I mean, what do you have to be insecure about?”
“How about everything? How about making mistakes and falling for the wrong guys and trusting when my gut told me I shouldn’t? That has nothing to do with the way I look.”
“Okay, okay. I get what you’re saying. What else did you learn about yourself?”
She inhaled then pushed out a deep breath. “I’m not going to fall for the wrong guy again. If there’re warning signs or red flags, that’s it, peace out. Just because love isn’t always supposed to last forever doesn’t mean I should let myself get hurt on purpose. It was too hard and I was too sad for too long, and I just never want to have my heart broken like that again.”
“How do you know if you’re falling for the wrong guy?”
“Well, for starters, I want him to actually live in the same city as me, let alone the same country.” She looked up when Miles stopped playing. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just… I guess I can’t blame you for wanting that. Especially after that guy lied and hurt you and moved ten thousand miles away.”
“Yeah. So, do you think that’s enough fodder for a sad song?”
“Definitely. But I’ll never have the heart to write about it.”
…
“No more sad love stories,” Miles added after Aimee had finished talking. Seriously, what kind of dick was this French guy to purposely hurt a girl like her? And Jean-Luc? What a douchebag name, anyway. The look in her eyes as she’d told her story, she was still broken, even though it had happened last year. It obviously hurt enough that it affected her today.
Miles got that. Hell, his split with Kelly was longer ago than that, and it was still influencing his decisions, whether to trust or not.
“But without sad love stories, how will you get depressed enough to write a breakup song?” Aimee asked with a smile.
He chuckled and strummed his guitar. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of depressing stories.”
Aimee snorted—an adorable snort. “Like what?”
“Okay, how about the high school Christmas assembly, the first time I performed live by myself in front of an audience bigger than my mum’s living room. I thought I was the shit and it was an epic fail.”
“That’s not true.”
“Well, the first half was awful. And how would you know? You were still in middle school, so you weren’t there.”
Aimee dropped her chin and tugged at a chunk of hair. “Yeah, I was. I begged Mom to pull me out of class that day so I could go. The night before, I heard you and Nick talking about it.” She shrugged and ran her hand along the top of the grass. “I knew you were super nervous, so I thought you could use some…friendly support. I even made these signs and passed them out.” She shook her head. “So stupid. You didn’t even see them.”
“Yes, I did,” Miles said, straightening his spine. “They were way in the back. Why did you do that?”
“I thought if you knew you had fans out there, people who loved you, it’d make you less nervous.”
“Aimee, I…” He hesitated, feeling something hot and heavy push against his heart, slowing everything down. “It did help—a lot, actually.” He rubbed his chin. “I remember looking out at the crowd, everyone was talking or checking their phones. But then in back, I saw like ten signs with my name. Go Miles! We love you, Miles! I thought it was something the art class was forced to do. But it was…”
