The Happy Ever After Playlist - Abby Jimenez Page 0,27
my signature move, and I didn’t disappoint today. My eyelid dove into a full-fledged twitching rebellion at the stress of the situation. I let out an exasperated sigh and pressed my finger to my eye. My face went either sheet white or bright red. Maybe the colors were rotating. There was no telling. I was so embarrassed. I don’t think I could have looked crazier if I tried.
“My eyelid twitches when I’m nervous,” I said miserably, trying to explain my weirdness.
Jason studied my face. “Don’t you think I’m nervous too?”
I stared at him with one eye.
“I like you. And I get nervous around beautiful women I have crushes on.”
Surely he knew this was not even remotely the same thing. The man had a fanbase. My face called bullshit and his eyes danced like this was the most fun he’d had all year.
We stared at each other in a Mexican-restaurant standoff of silence, and almost comically, the waitress dropped a basket of chips and salsa between us. It broke the tension and I launched into manic giggling. This made him laugh, and when I snorted, we both lost it.
It took us a minute to get a hold of ourselves.
“Jason, I listen to your music,” I said a moment later, biting my lip. “A lot. I love it. Your last album got me through a really rough time in my life.”
He wiped at his eyes, still recovering. “And I’ve eaten the food from your blog. I’m probably a bigger fan of yours than you are of mine.”
“I doubt that. And at least I told you about my blog.”
“Well, you had to or I’d have never let you on my zombie apocalypse survival team.”
I scoffed.
“I didn’t tell you who I was because it’s not a big deal. I was still a bartender up until two years ago. My success is a very new thing, and I just wanted you to get to know me without it influencing what you thought of me. Besides, I’m not that famous.”
I made a noise that indicated I disagreed. On a fame scale from one to ten, he was probably a solid seven. And anyway, it wasn’t what everyone else thought about him that was freaking me out. It was the fact that I loved his music so much. God, no wonder I’d loved the sound of his voice from the very first phone call. Ugh.
I put my elbow on the table, still holding my twitching eyelid down. “I just need a little while to get used to this idea.”
“Do you want me to sing something for you?” He grinned.
“Not unless you want to resuscitate me after.”
He laughed. “That bad, huh?”
“Oh yeah. That bad. I may be one of your biggest fans, seriously.”
“And yet you had no idea what I looked like,” he deadpanned.
“Your viral video is Claymation. And you’re not on your album cover! It’s just a picture of that weird red-eyed duck.”
“A loon?” He grinned. “You could have googled me.”
“Come on, who googles pictures of singers? Your appearance has no bearing on your ability to make good music.”
“Just like your appearance has no bearing on your ability to be a good dog-sitter?”
“Exactly.”
* * *
By the time our food came, things were almost back to normal—as normal as a first date with your favorite recording artist could be.
The margarita I was having was helping immensely.
My strategy for dealing with this new Jaxon development was to try to forget who he was. Jason assured me he didn’t get recognized very often, so hopefully that would aid in my attempt. If other people swooned, I was going to swoon in solidarity.
I was glad he hadn’t told me. He was right—it might have changed things, mostly because if I had known sooner, my resulting weirdness would have probably scared him off.
“So do I still get one question a day?” he asked, taking a bite of his taco.
“Sure, why not?”
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “What does Kristen say about our date?”
I blanched. “Where to begin? Are you sure you’re ready for this? She’s pretty vulgar.”
He picked up his beer. “I like her already.”
“She told me to climb you like a tree.”
He practically choked on his Corona.
“I was also advised to shake your branches. I’m afraid to think too much about that one. And all this before she knew who you really were.”
He grinned. “And now?”
“Let’s just say that both her and her husband are rooting for you,” I said, talking into my margarita glass.