Page 70 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
A melody starts, soft and familiar. And my breath catches.
I know this song.
The one from The Late Show I’ve been listening to on repeat when I can’t sleep.
The breath leaves me in a rush, and I lower the phone without meaning to.
Ryder’s eyes snap to me.
His hand shifts, fingers catching the wrong string, and the note rings out ugly and discordant. We both wince.
“Ugh.” His gaze drops to his hand. The tremor is faint but visible, running through his fingers where they grip the neck of the guitar.
“Hey, it was just one note,” I say.
“It’s never just one note.” His voice is clipped, as if he’s talking to himself, which is worse to witness. “Dang it. I was in my head, and I kind of forgot you were watching.”
“Aren’t you used to being watched?”
Ryder swipes a hand over his face as his brow creases. “You’d think.”
“You’re being really hard on yourself.”
Ryder lifts his hand, and the tremor in his fingers is real. “This is what happens when I play solo.”
“Nerves? You?”
“I’d puke after every open-mic night before Miranda found me. That’s why I’m here. Stuck in this town. Stuck in this band.”
“You want to play solo?”
He cautiously cracks a smile. “It’s the dream.”
I find the courage to smile back. “You’re already a rockstar. I think you’re living your dream.”
He shakes his head, his frown creeping back. “Not yet.”
My mind goes back to the Late Show clip. The way the song opens with that small stumble before he found his footing and made it soar.
I’d memorised that imperfection. I found it charming without understanding why.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, lifting the phone to cover my face, “the stumble is the best part of the song.”
His head tilts. “What do you mean?”
“I just...” I can feel my face heating. “I recognized the song from your Late Show performance.”
“You watched it?”
“I saw a clip,” I reply defensively. “It’s not like I sought it out or anything.”
“I didn’t say you did.” There’s a pensive look on his face, and I instinctively snap a photo as the late afternoon light catches his profile. “Did you like it?”
My fingers tremble around the phone. “Yeah. It’s... it’s good.”
“You never told me you heard it.”
I wipe the sweat from my brow. “I just did.”
