Page 67 of Layla

“Any instruments?” James asks, and for once he doesn’t look the slightest bit grumpy.

“We have that Rock Band game for the PlayStation,” Beth says, opening the door to the common room and promptly ending the conversation because the kidsfreakout. Seriously, they go nuts. They’re nearly as loud as the sold-out venues that the band has been playing when they see Intrigue. James definitely doesn’t look grumpy right now. None of them do. They’re all grinning as widely as I’ve ever seen them.

And damn it, Layla is beautiful when she smiles.

I move to follow them onto the make-shift stage set up in front, but Louis stops me. “Go hang out in the back,” he says. “The band’s fine.”

I start to argue and he holds up a hand. “Seriously, John. It’s a charity thing. These are little kids. She’sfine.” He meets my eyes and I read the part he’s not saying.This is a big deal for Layla. Let her have some space.

I nod, stepping back, and he follows the band up onto the stage. I make my way to the back of the room, like he said, telling myself he’s right, that there’s no way one of these kids is going to pose any kind of threat.

I still don’t like the distance between us.

But from back here, I soon realize, I don’t have to pretend like I’m not watching her, and her alone. And it’s a damn good thing, because I can’t keep my eyes off of her.

The crowd is mostly made up of kids and tweens, though I do see a couple older teens mixed in. Beth was right—they have a million questions. About the tour, about recording, about being famous. Many of them are some variation on “do you know this specific celebrity I like.” Since most of my job revolves around watching the five people on the stage, I’ve seen them answer countless questions from reporters and radio hosts over the past few weeks. They’re always good at it—they’re all engaging in different ways, from James’s dedicated intensity to Dylan’s flirty silliness. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen them as natural and at-ease as they are today.

Haylee tells stories about parties they’ve been to in Hollywood. Lance talks about what it was like to tour with Ransom in Europe. A pre-teen girl asks Haylee if she’s really dating Lennon, which leads to a bunch of girls squealing about Daltrey Ransome. Dylan shoots the girls a wounded look. “Why aren’t any of you squealing for me?” So then, of course, they do. And the next girl who raises her hand asks if she can come up and give him a kiss—which Beth quickly squashes.

They’re good,I think, watching them. They have all the kids laughing and having a good time without even touching their instruments. Even more impressive, they somehow manage not to curse at all, which is really saying something considering how dirty their mouths usually are.

After the third girl asks if she can kiss Dylan, Beth puts an end to question time, releasing the band to go hang out with the kids. Lance and Dylan immediately make a bee line for the PlayStation while Haylee drags James over to a trunk of play clothes, giggling manically when a passel of little girls immediately start plying him with tiaras and feather boas.

I lose Layla for a moment in the contained chaos. The kids are all trying to get as close to the band as they can and many of them are clearly getting hyperactive with all the excitement. A shot of worry goes through me as I scan the room—she wouldn’t have left, would she?

Then I get a glimpse of purple over in the corner, and I find myself walking in that direction without even thinking, like my body is drawn to hers, even in the middle of all these happy, loud kids.

I find Layla sitting on a battered-looking couch in the back of the room, away from the crush of the crowd. There are only a few kids sitting with her—three teenagers who I’d guess are the oldest ones in the room. None of them had participated in the question session and they look far less excited to be here than most of the little kids.

Layla, though, looks completely at ease. She has her purse upended on the coffee table in front of them, most of its contents spread out as she paws through them.

“Here it is,” she says, grabbing up a tube of lipstick. “The newest from Urban Decay. Not in stores yet.”

“Sweet,” the girl next to her says, eye wide. She looks over at Layla, shy. “Can I try it?”

Layla squints at her before returning to the mess on the table and rooting around for a second tube. “Sure, but I bet this color would look better on you.”

She looks up at me and for a split second, I see the struggle in her eyes, like she can’t decide if she wants to stay pissed at me or if she’ll let her good mood extend in my direction. To my overwhelming relief, her good mood wins out and she shoots me a cheeky grin. “Girls, this is John,” she says. “He might not look it, but he’s very good at styling hair.”

The most sullen of the girls looks over at me, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“Him?”

Layla’s grin grows. “I know he looks like a boring hard ass who doesn’t know how to have fun, but he’s really passionate about hair.”

I snort but I feel better than I have since I left her room yesterday morning. And it’s not just because she doesn’t seem to be angry with me for once. There’s something about seeing her like this—happy and carefree—that has the tightness in my chest finally easing.

“Don’t tell Beth I swore,” she adds.

The sullen girl smiles—a small smile, but a smile none the less.You did that,I think, looking at Layla.That smile is for you.Out loud I say, “Can I try the lipstick too?”

“Sure,” Layla says easily.

The first girl keeps shooting me little glances, eyes narrowed, and Layla notices too. “I promise he’s not as scary as he looks,” she says. She holds up a strand of her hair. “He totally dyed this for me.”

“Seriously?” the girl asks, her eyebrows going up as she gapes at me. “Are you like, her assistant or something?”

Layla snorts with mirth and I shoot her a mock-glare. “Pretty much,” I mutter. “Layla is definitely the boss.”