Page 71 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
He smirks, looking off into the distance, hovering his hand over the guitar strings. “Fair point.”
“Don’t move,” I say quickly. “The light’s perfect right now.”
I take the shot. He idly strums the guitar, tentative and casual. I take another shot, a perfectly unmanicured composition. Effortless and unfiltered. A portrait of someone else making art.
A rush takes over me as everything aligns with satisfaction.
And I created it.
Ouch.
The grief burrows in my chest.
I created it.
Just like the hundreds of photos I posted online. Every piece I curated for my parents, I made sure showcased my artistic signature. And now it’s meaningless.
Everything I loved is gone. Nothing left matters.
The phone slips from my hand.
“Alice?” Ryder’s voice sounds far away, like he’s speaking through water.
Everything blurs in two, and then three. I’m dizzy. Spinning. The ground tilts.
“Got you,” his voice is soft and his arms catch me. “You okay?”
I’m reclined in his arms, looking up at his chiseled face, and feeling his strong hands pressing into my back.
“You caught me,” I say weakly. “Even with trembling hands.”
He whispers a laugh.
For a moment, I want to feel good, but then my stomach lurches. I’m gonna hurl.
I bat my hands against him, wanting his arms off me. He makes sure I’m steady on my feet before his hands lift away.
“What happened?”
I’m breathless. “Nothing.”
I swoop down to collect his phone, but I swivel as everything blurs in different directions.
“Whoa, Alice,” he murmurs, grabbing my shoulder. “Leave it. It’s okay.”
I bat his arm away. “Don’t.”
“But you…”
“But nothing,” I blurt, swiping the hair off my clammy face. “I’m fine.”
Ryder picks up his phone, and I take my chance to move away from him. My legs are unsteady, and I stumble on my way toward my backpack.
“Alice, you’re not fine.”
I keep my back to him, not dignifying his statement with a response.
“Hey, you did a good job with these.”
