Page 105 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
“Because you can’t afford to fall apart in front of them anymore.”
He finally looks at me. “Exactly. I can’t call my dad after a bad rehearsal anymore. Because it’s not just me being upset. It becomes about whether the whole thing is going to work, andwhether it’s worth it. I don’t want to put that on them. But it means I’ve gotta carry it alone.”
I sit with this admission, disturbed only by the faint creak of the old house around us.
“And then you showed up,” he says.
I blink. “Me?”
“You.” There’s almost wonder in his eyes. “You don’t need me to be perfect. I don’t remember the last time I felt that from someone. I know my parents love and support me, but they’re far away. Here, I have Chase, Brooks, and Miranda. All three of them rely on me to make it. We all go down if I can’t perform.”
My throat tightens. “That’s not fair.”
He squeezes my hand. “But I think I can handle it. You’re my muse, Ally.”
My heart is doing something loud and inconvenient inside my chest.
“That’s a lot of pressure,” I manage quietly.
“No. That’s the thing. It’s the opposite. It’s the first time in a long time that playing feels like mine again. I don’t know how else to put it. Something about you just makes the music come.”
I open my mouth, not entirely sure what I’ll say, when heavy footsteps pound up the stairs and along the hallway. Tension camps between my shoulder blades as their voices and obnoxious laughter nears the open practice room door.
Chase strides in first, bass case in hand, and Brooks follows, twirling drumsticks. Both stop dead in the doorway when their eyes land on us, sitting much too close on the piano bench.
“Well, well.” Chase’s smirk spreads across his face. “Getting cozy, I see.”
My face floods with heat. I try to pull my hand away, but Ryder’s fingers tighten around mine, keeping me there.
Brooks lets out a sharp laugh. “At least she’s keeping her hands on the keyboard this time.” His gaze shifts to the cracked casing. “Instead of breaking it.”
“Brooks,” Ryder’s voice carries a warning edge.
“What?” Brooks moves further into the room, setting his sticks on the drum kit. “I’m just saying, last time she was near equipment, it didn’t end well.”
I tug my hand again. This time Ryder lets go, and I immediately stand from the stool, putting distance between us.
Chase watches the movement with calculating eyes. “Interesting.”
Ryder remains seated with a deliberately casual posture. “What do you want?”
“Practice,” Chase says, setting his bass case down with a thud. “Remember? The thing we’re supposed to do when we ditch school?”
“The showcase is in a week, Hamilton.” Brooks drops onto his drum throne. “One week, and you’ve been MIA all day.”
“I was handling something.”
“Yeah, we can see what you were handling,” Brooks mutters with a nasty grin.
I press myself against the wall, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have stayed here.
Chase pulls his bass from its case. “Look, I don’t care what you two do on your own time, but we need to nail down the setlist. My dad’s bringing executives who can make or break us, and—“
“I know the stakes,” Ryder cuts him off.
“Do you?” Chase’s voice sharpens. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re spending your Friday playing house with your tutor instead of preparing for the most important performance of your life.”
“Our lives,” Brooks adds. “This isn’t just about you, Hamilton.”
