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.”
I pressed my fingers against my closed eyelids. “It doesn’t mean anything, Shane. It’s a fan forum.”
“I have more. Shall I go through them?”
He clicked another tab. He had an ungodly number of web pages open. Had he been sitting here all day saving my past infractions for this confrontation?
I gave him a pleading look. “Are you telling me you’ve never been a fan? The Police. The Who. David Bowie. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t lose your mind if you met them.”
“I admire those artists.” He waved at the monitor. “I don’t spend my time worshiping them. Lusting after them.”
“I don’t lust after anyone besides you, Shane, though you’re making me reassess even that. I’m just a fan.”
His cold eyes, barely visible through slits, cut toward me. “If that’s true, then you won’t mind staying away from Adam.”
Boom.
My head felt like it was full of cotton. Had I lost my hearing? “Excuse me?”
“Don’t go to their rehearsal Friday. Don’t hang out with Eden while I’m gone. In fact, steer clear of Jo. Show me how little they matter to you.”
Boom.
Every detonation blew a hole in my capacity to think logically. I had no name for what I was feeling. Confused, appalled, defensive, sorry, angry. It was new territory for me, and I didn’t like it one bit. I didn’t like the way he looked at me.
“Are you fucking crazy, Shane?”
He leaned in, uncomfortably close while wearing that sneer. “Me? I’m not the one desperately trying to sleep my way into a band’s inner circle.”
With that, my emotions crystallized into one single action: escape.
“Nope,” I said and stood, intending to walk away from him.
“What do you mean, ‘Nope?’ ” He followed behind me and tugged my elbow.
I wrested free and ran up the stairs where I shoved anything within grabbing distance into a suitcase. I didn’t know where I was going. I just had to get out.
“Stop, Layla.”
I stopped. “What?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m walking away, Shane. You gave me an ultimatum, and I’m choosing not to play by your rules. You don’t control who