“Yeah, I do know.”
Nerves. Twitching, pulsing, tingling, lighting every part of me on fire. Like in this very moment when all I can think about is Adam’s hand accidentally touching mine at breakfast, how he left it there for a second before pulling away, and how close he is right now. Nerves that notice the windows fogged up and nerves that can’t hide themselves as they set my legs bouncing. Nerves that usually lead me to say something stupid.
“I should go,” I say, checking the time on my phone. “I can’t be late.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks for meeting me this morning.”
“Thank you for breakfast,” I say, reaching in to give him a hug.
But as he moves toward me, he doesn’t lean to the side like I do. He lifts a hand to my face, briefly, stopping all time and action, and then he tilts his head and brings his lips toward mine. And it’s happening. My first kiss. My first kiss with Adam.
His full, soft lips meet mine, and he holds them there, gently, for just a moment. Nothing crazy. No tongue or smacking or anything other than a sweet, perfect first kiss. Not anything other than sweet, perfect bliss. My heart is writing songs.
When he pulls away, I open my eyes and sink into his, the dark green-and-brown swirls there pouring over me and melting me to my core. He doesn’t say anything, nor do I. He just brushes a thumb across my cheek, and I try with all my might to keep leaning toward him as if the seat buckle weren’t digging into my hip.
My phone rings. The clock starts to tick again. The world turns once more.
“Probably Dan,” I whisper without checking my phone. I lean back over to my seat, take a breath, and slow my spinning mind. “I’d better get in there.”
He nods. “Cool, yeah, of course,” he says.
“Thanks again for breakfast,” I say, holding up my pancakes.
He grins. “My pleasure.”
I reach for the handle again, and this time pop the door open. Adam leans across the seat as I get out. “Hey, Bird?” he calls. I bend down to look back in, pushing my long red locks out of my face. “I play the 5 Spot on the twenty-third if you want to come,” he says hopefully, almost bashfully. “I mean, I’d really love it if you were there.”
I nod furiously. “Yeah,” I promise. “Yes, totally. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Sweet,” he says, looking adorably relieved. “It’s not for a couple of weeks, but I’ll text you.” I smile, stand back up and shut the door, then give him a little wave as I walk up the sidewalk toward the studio.
And like a total cheese ball from a dumb romantic comedy, I cup my hand to that spot on my face, the place his thumb caressed while we finally kissed, and I hold his warmth there, wishing I had time for just one more.
“I think we got it,” Jack says into my headphones. “Take five, and we’re moving on.”
I nod and give the guys in the booth a thumbs-up. It hasn’t really felt like work today. Ever since Adam dropped me off, I’ve had the energy to do take after take. Jack even commented that my voice sounds better than ever. I guess that’s what happens to a girl when the guy she writes songs about finally does notice her.
Then Dan shows up, pushing the door open and motioning for me to leave the booth and join him in the hall. Surprised, I take my headphones off.
“Hey, Dan,” I say timidly, hoping that he’s in a good mood.
“Bird! You sound terrific. Just checking in. Everything okay?”
“Good,” I answer, wringing my hands nervously. “Everything’s good.”
“Good,” he echoes. “I’ll let you get back to it, then.”
“Actually,” I say, stopping him as he turns to go. “I wonder if I can talk to you about something real quick?”
“Sure,” he says. “Shoot.”
“Well,” I start, not knowing exactly how to word my request. But Adam was right: I went with Dan because he’s all about the music, my music, and I’m more like a collaborator here than a puppet. Armed with that confidence, I pitch my idea to Dan. “It’s just—I have this idea for the song we’re doing next week. It’s got a rock feel, but it’s bluegrass, too, and I think I know the perfect guy to play lead guitar on it.”
Dan’s eyebrows arch up so high that McDonald’s would be jealous. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” I say, surging ahead. “My friend, Adam Dean? He’s this really talented musician who’s played the same circuit as my family’s band for the past couple of years, and his own music is, well, amazing, and he would kill the guitar solo, not to mention that I’m comfortable with him already, and he could even do the backup harmonies, which, since I already know him so well, will probably sound really amazing and—”
“Bird,” Dan says, shaking his head as I take a big breath. “We talked about this. We want seasoned guys on this album. We want the quality to be the highest caliber there is.”
“Me too,” I say, nodding. “That’s why I think, if you’d just give him a chance—”
“Bird,” Dan interrupts.
But I push on. “Just hear him play—he has tracks on his website—you’d see that he’d be—”
“Bird,” Dan says again.
But I can’t stop now. “The people at GAM think he’s good enough to play for their new artist and—”
“Bird!” Dan says, raising his voice and stopping me in my tracks. “We’ve already got your family on two tracks. I told you from the start that I wanted pros, and this guy, I’ve never heard of him.”
“Well, you’d never heard of me before that night at the Bluebird,” I say quietly.
Dan takes a deep breath and runs his hand over his balding head. “Bird, I’m sorry, but listen. I’m under a lot of pressure. I want Open Highway to be big. I want people to take notice. And I want that for you, too. I want Bird Barrett to be the next big thing. I want people to know you. I want you to sell out arenas, to land talk shows and tours. I want you to make it, Bird. Can you understand that?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.
“I know this has all taken some getting used to,” he says, gesturing around the studio, “but really, you’ve got to trust me here. Okay?”
I nod again. “Okay,” I whisper, looking past his shoulder.
When he nods, I take that as my cue to head back into the recording booth. I need some space. I need a minute.
I grab my purse from the couch and plop down in its place. I dig through its contents, hunting for my phone so I can text Stella. Ever since getting a deal, I’ve actually found myself feeling a little lonely, and music was never like that before. For me, music was always about people coming together—that’s why the BFB was formed in the first place—and it’s killing me now that I can’t share any of this with the people closest to me.
I sigh heavily. I’m tired, I’m mad, and the cloud I was floating on when Adam kissed me this morning is evaporating. I unlock my phone and see a text waiting for me from Adam:
I can’t stop thinking about… pancakes.
I lie back on the couch and stare at the ceiling as tears spring up without warning. How am I going to tell Adam that my label doesn’t want him? Why did I open my big mouth again, anyway?
And then I remember why: Kayelee Ford. I do a quick Web search of her name on my phone. When a Barbie in cowboy boots pops up on-screen, my height but curvier, my age but prettier, I think about Adam playing music with her instead of me and let the tears fall.
STELLA, WHO IS waiting for me in the lobby of the discount movie theater, throws the glass door open as I approach. “I cannot believe…” she states dramatically. “You just met”—she pauses, then drags his name out—“Jason Samuels! The Jason Samuels. Hot as hell, sexy as sin, you can play tic-tac-toe on his abs Jason Samuels.”
I’ve spent more time in the studio this week than I have at my own house, so I’m excited about a night off to hang with Stella. I didn’t record today, but I was still working. Anita pulled some strings, and we visited the set of a major motion picture, our goal to meet
the director and some of the cast in the hope that one of my songs will make its way onto the sound track. Yes, it was insane being on set. Yes, it was unbelievable to be at arm’s length from the stunning Hollywood faces I usually only see in the tabloids. And yes, I cried after the first three takes of Jason Samuels’s death scene (spoiler alert). But while hanging out with movie stars is fun and all, nothing beats a Friday night out with your bestie.
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I didn’t actually meet him,” I confess.
“What?” Her face falls.
“Yeah, Anita was livid,” I say as we walk through the crowded lobby and join the concessions line. “It’s a historical romance set in the 1800s or something. So when we walked over during a break to introduce ourselves, his publicist cut us off and said he never drops character and meeting me would be like ‘stepping back into an alternate world.’ ” I raise one eyebrow. “That’s a direct quote. I think your celebrity boyfriend is crazy town.”
“Not crazy—dedicated,” she defends him, starry-eyed. She links an elbow through mine as we consider the menu. “Do you remember him from that vampire show where he fell in love with every girl he was about to kill, so he couldn’t bring himself to drink their blood and finally had to suck only the blood of dudes so he wouldn’t starve to death? I loved that show. Brilliant. He’s so freaking hot. I can’t believe you almost met him.”
“I slipped his makeup artist your number,” I joke, unwrapping my scarf. “Of course, the only way Jason Samuels can have hair and makeup people around him is if they pretend to be nurses checking on him between takes.”
She looks at me skeptically.
I raise both palms in defense. “I can’t make this stuff up.”
“Okay, so my future husband may have a few quirks. What about yours? Have you talked to Adam lately?” she asks.
“We’ve texted. He had rehearsal yesterday for that gig with Kayelee Ford.” I sigh heavily.
“Yuck.”
“Exactly.”
“So you haven’t seen him since last Friday’s… breakfast?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“No,” I respond, blushing.
Stella grabs my phone, pulling up the camera. “Okay, so get your gloss and use the phone as a mirror,” she commands, aiming the screen toward me so that I see my own reflection. I look okay, thanks to Amanda sending over an outfit and Anita touching up my makeup in her car right before we went onto the movie set today, but Stella clearly has something up her sleeve.
“Why?” I ask slowly, while following directions. I grab my lip gloss from my purse and smear it on, totally nervous about the mischievous gleam in her eyes. “What?” I ask. “What is it?”
“I got you a present,” she says mysteriously.
“Stella!” I hear a familiar voice call. Dylan is across the theater, walking toward us with her big purse in his hands.
“My brother is here?” I ask, completely surprised.
“Brothers,” she corrects. “But that’s not the present.”
I frown. “I hope not.”
“But when Dylan texted me earlier to ask if I’d heard about the James Bond marathon here,” she says, “and to ask if I wanted to come along tonight with him and Jacob and their ‘good buddy from the road,’ ” she continues, making air quotes, “I suggested that we go to the one that started after you got off work.” Her eyes gleam, and my own go wide as saucers. “So,” she says, clearly satisfied, “the gang’s all here. They’re saving seats for us inside.”
Stupefied, I stare at her. Then I have a tiny freak-out, squealing as I throw both arms around her. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I cannot freaking believe this.” I spin us both around as Dylan approaches.
“Tell me you’re not as hung up on that tool Jason Samuels as Stella is,” he moans, totally misinterpreting my excitement. “If I have to hear about his gorgeous eyes one more time…”
Stella hip-checks him. “Don’t be jealous, Dylan. If you’d rather, I could talk about his butt. It’s a masterpiece, like it was carved out of stone.”
“Ha!” I laugh out loud at the same time as my brother covers his ears.
“This is exactly what I was talking about,” he says, shaking his head. “That dude needs to get an action flick on lockdown stat or he might as well turn in his man card.”
Stella rolls her eyes, but after being on set today, I kind of agree with Dylan.
“Hey,” Dylan says, uncomfortably holding out her orange purse like it might bite him. “You missed a phone call and I didn’t want to go through your bag so… here.”
“Oh, it was probably just me,” I say.
“Probably, but thank you, anyway,” Stella says, taking her bag from him and fishing through its contents. Then she looks up at my brother as if inspiration has just struck. “Actually, now that you’re here, why don’t you help me carry all the popcorn and drinks? Sorry, Bird, but he’s stronger. Go save our seats?”
“Yep, totally,” I say, itching to see Adam again. I slap my brother on the back. “Butter on mine? Please and thank you.”
And oh so quickly, I’m walking across the lobby toward the theater, my mind racing and my pulse beating just as fast. Adam is here. Ever since the Pancake Pantry, I’ve been on a roller coaster of feelings, on a total high when I think about our kiss and on a complete low when I think about having to tell him that he can’t play on my album after all. And even right now, as I open the door to the dark theater, I’m equal parts apprehensive and eager to see him.
As my eyes adjust, I scan the shadows and pull out my cell phone to find the guys, but then I hear my name.
“Bird!” Adam calls, standing up awkwardly and waving one arm.
I flash a big smile and wave in return as I carefully make my way up to where he and Jacob are saving seats. For a brief second, I worry about where I’m expected to sit, but Adam moves Stella’s coat over, freeing up the seat next to him, and I’m relieved. I get a cold chill as I head toward them.
“So basically, the next time we play Black Ops, you need to get a better headset, man,” Jacob continues, obviously talking about their new gaming obsession as I slide past him. “Hey, Bird.”
“Hey, guys,” I say, trying to play it cool as I step over Adam’s legs and settle in.
“You got here just in time,” Adam says, turning toward me, his face just inches from my own. “The previews haven’t even started.”
“Oh, good,” I say. I swing my hair over one shoulder and nervously finger-comb it, trying to distract myself from his full pink lips and what it would feel like to kiss them again. My pulse is racing. “I love the previews.”
“Me too,” he says, smiling.
I can’t believe I’m on another date with Adam.
“Did you see Dylan?” Jacob asks, leaning forward.
Okay, a date with Adam and my brothers.
“He’s got it so bad for your friend Stella,” Jacob continues. Adam shakes his head and chuckles, which spurs Jacob on. “Seriously, he was carrying her purse. Did you see him? It’s ten times worse than with Whitney.”
I look at him in disbelief. “I think they’re just friends, Jacob.”
“They are,” he says, “because she’s not into him. I mean, she’s got this artsy, cool vibe, and he’s like, I don’t know, square. It’d never work.”
“What he means is,” Adam translates, “he thinks she ought to go out with him instead.”
Jacob looks at Adam like he’s wounded, starts to protest, but then cracks up instead, his neck reddening the slightest bit. He shrugs, owning it. “She’s hot.”
They laugh together, so I join in, but from this exchange, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s them joking around. Does Dylan actually like Stella, or is Jacob just giving him a hard time about carrying her purse? And does Jacob really like her, or is Adam just teasing him, too?
The theater is full by the time Stella and Dylan show up. They file down the row and get situated as t
he opening scene rolls, James Bond in a tuxedo and in what seems to be an impossible escape situation. They pass everybody their snacks, and I watch them both closely to see if there are any signs of a budding relationship, but Dylan acts normal, checking that the ringer is off on his phone before putting it in his pocket, and Stella, who, thankfully, sat next to me and kicked Dylan to the end, seems more excited about my quasi-date with Adam than about either of my brothers being here.
“You didn’t get a drink?” Adam whispers on my other side, taking a sip of his gigantic beverage.
“Guess not,” I answer, frowning. “I told Dylan about the popcorn and forgot all about the Coke.”
Adam’s expression is pained. “How could you forget?”
I laugh. “Well, I didn’t know you were going to be here,” I say. “And it’s not technically after a gig, so…”
“You’re right.” He nods. “This isn’t business; it’s pleasure.” He is definitely flirting. I am definitely in heaven. “If you give me a few bites of that popcorn, though, I’ll let you have a few sips of my Coke. Deal?”
I envision our fingertips brushing in the cardboard tub, imagine his lips on the same straw that I’ll be using, wish more than anything that my brother wasn’t sitting on the other side of him. I haven’t stopped thinking about that first kiss since it happened, and sitting next to him in a dark theater isn’t helping matters. I focus, flash Adam my warmest smile, and agree. “Deal.”
By the time M has given Bond his mission, my forearm is touching Adam’s as we share the armrest. He glances over at me with a sideways smile when I laugh at Bond’s cheeky banter with a statuesque beauty. After about an hour, Adam shifts his body so that he’s leaning my way, and I, as nonchalantly as possible, lean toward him. He’s so close I can smell that fresh-laundry scent of his that I love—I can actually feel heat coming off his body—and this closeness is all I can think about as James Bond runs across buildings and smashes sports cars. When the credits finally roll, I can’t even tell you what Bond’s mission was. I was too focused on the few moments when Adam chanced brushing his pinkie against mine.
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