Page 94 of Kind of Famous
Tomorrow came a hell of a lot earlier than I ever thought possible. I nearly slept through my alarm. Shane didn’t stir until I broke out of his stranglehold to turn my phone off. Then he grabbed me and pulled me back into him, whispering, “Stay.”
“I can’t.”
“I know.” He frowned. “Hurry back home. I’ll make dinner.”
“You cook?” This man would never stop surprising me.
“I’m an amazing cook. Just you wait.”
I could not wait. But work also couldn’t, so I got up, showered, and dressed, planting one last kiss on my gorgeous drummer boy before heading out for the day.
Fortunately, the day was routine. I had meetings. I put in my headphones and worked on a new proposal based on tools I’d found lacking while working on my blog post. I chatted in the breakroom with Ajit about his plans to take his kids to Disney for the first time. I got an email from Lars about setting up a rehearsal with Whiplash in a couple of weeks and nearly fell out of my chair. I texted the news to Ash and basked in her gushing.
At five, I yawned and stretched, closed my laptop, and made the mental trip from my cube, down the elevator, out to the street, into the subway station, through the tunnels, and finally up the stairs into Brooklyn where Shane waited for me. From there, my thoughts turned pornographic. Was it possible to wear him out?
Whatever hesitation I’d felt at the start of this fling or whatever it was, I’d only grown more attached to him. And he’d become more trusting. Everything was perfect.
I pictured him sitting in his apartment staring at the door, wearing nothing but a towel. My thighs cramped in agony.
When I opened the front door, Shane did sit on the sofa, elbows on his knees, staring at his open laptop on the coffee table. He so rarely cracked out the big tech, I wondered if he was writing music. My face broke out into the stupidest grin, thinking he might be writing me a love song.
“Whatcha doing?” I plopped beside him, expecting him to start talking a mile a minute about music or kiss me or jump up and cook me a sumptuous dinner.
Instead, he pegged me with narrowed eyes. “Do you happen to know Adam’s middle name?”
“Joshua,” I said without missing a beat, and then the universe expanded and collapsed in an earth-shattering heartbeat, and I understood. “I only know that because—”
“Because you’re not just a casual fan. You’re number one, president-of-the-fan-club level of fan. Right?”
“I’m what?”
“You literally have a fan club.”
“Well, not exactly—”
“No, exactly.” He lifted the laptop screen so I could see what he’d been looking at. The Talking Disaster banner was the one displaying the neck of a guitar with Adam’s fingers fretting a C chord.
“Why are you looking at that?”
He frowned so hard, I didn’t recognize him. “ ‘Noah’s ass is a work of art.’ ” He gestured at the screen where those exact words stared back at me beside my username. Never mind it was dated two years ago.
I’d been posting on my fan site for years. It would take some digging to find specific posts where I’d said anything that could be construed as infatuation for any of the musicians. “How did you find that?”
“What does it matter? A better question would be, why didn’t you mention that you were more interested in my band than you are in me? And oh, my God, are you interested in Adam! Was that your ultimate goal?” He laughed, a bitter nasty laugh. “Of course, it was. You got it, too. You played on Jo, one of the most trusting people I’ve ever known, and Micah, and me. Congrats. You got your invitation to hang with the band. Is that why you took a job at the magazine? How’s it feel to be on the inside?”
I touched his arm. “Shane.”
He jerked like I’d scorched him. I dropped my hand.
“How about this one?” He clicked on a tab along the top. Adam’s face filled the screen. Shane scrolled until he reached my comment and read, “ ‘That’s one of my favorites. Wouldn’t mind trading places with that microphone.’ ”
“Shane. It’s not like that. I had no intentions. Things just happened.”
“Things just happened? That’s a convenient excuse.”
“I never planned to meet any of you. I swear.” He was freaking me out. I’d never seen him angry, and he looked about ready to burst a vein.
His finger wagged at the laptop. “That comment is from the night I met you.”
