Love Song (Stage Dive #4.7) - Kylie Scott Page 0,20
It was irritating how easy he made looking like a walking, talking dream seem. He’d been made for gracing billboards and magazine covers, really. Also, he smelled magnificent after his shower. It was a real test of my strength not to stick my nose in his neck again. Sad but true.
I sat on the couch with my feet tucked up underneath me, trying to get a grip on the goings-on of the internet. Stunned was a good word. Followed quickly by baffled. “Someone identified me from the pictures taken downstairs.”
“Shit.” Any happy or calm disappeared from his face. “I’m sorry, Jill.”
“I-it’s okay.”
He tipped his chin. “That didn’t sound believable at all.”
“What can I say?” I asked. “You’re famous. Living in denial about it hasn’t gotten me far. I guess I’ll have to learn to deal with it. It’s just that the songs were mostly you being a big deal from afar. These photos are…different. Oh good, they grabbed some shots off social media of me. Because I look amazing with my mouth open mid-sentence and my eyes half-closed. I told Ana not to post that photo. Ugh.”
He sat down next to me, stretching his arms across the back of the couch.
I slid my finger across the screen, scrolling through the most hastily put-together nonsense article I’d ever seen in my life. “You’re being painted as the hero. You valiantly came to my rescue after I had a meltdown due to our breakup. So, this is good press for you.”
“Except that we broke up a year ago.”
“Yeah. Wow. I sound so fragile and pathetic.”
A grunt from him.
“I mean, they’re not completely wrong. I was upset because of you. However, no mental breakdown is currently occurring as far as I’m aware. You’re off the hook there.”
His brows drew in tight. “Not sure if I should apologize again or what.”
“Oh excellent, some commenters believe I’m a money-hungry ho. Little do they know, huh?”
“Fuck’s sake. Don’t read the comments. Rule number one in dealing with the internet: never let that crap take up room inside your skull. It leads to nowhere good.”
“Oh, wait! Now they’re hoping that I’ll sex you and leave you again, resulting in another great album.” My laughter was a brittle broken thing. “I’m so glad our emotional trauma entertains them.”
Adam said a whole lot of nothing and scratched at his jawline.
“At least she’s trying to put a positive spin on things, I guess.” I scrolled on. “This guy says I’m a toxic bitch while he’d make you happy and treat you right. Might want to reach out for his number.”
“Baby?”
“Hmm?” I looked up to find Adam wearing a pained if patient expression. “What?”
“Put the cell down.”
I slowly did as I was told. That he’d called me baby would be ignored in totality.
“These are complete strangers casting judgement on shit they know nothing about,” he said. “They don’t know you or me. They don’t know anything about us, okay?”
My fingers fidgeted in my lap, picking at my cuticles, a sure sign of nerves. “I’ve never made headlines before.”
“Yeah. Well…unfortunately it’s a side effect of getting to play my music.” He sighed. “Since it’s making news, they’ll probably hang outside for a while, hoping to get another shot. Might be best if you stayed here for a bit…”
“Maybe.”
“Thanks for cleaning up after the haircut.” He reached out, sliding his hand over mine. I needed the contact more than I was willing to admit. Instant internet infamy was kind of nerve-wracking. His skin was so warm. The calluses on his fingers were so familiar. “I would have done it.”
“Not a big deal.” I shrugged, letting him hold my hand. Because I was a damn fool. “So what do you want to do? Watch TV, play guitar, do some gaming, have another nap, what?”
“Whatever you want. I’m just happy you’re here.”
“Adam…”
“Am I not supposed to say that?” he asked, shuffling closer. “Martha has one rule.”
“Wait. Martha? Your manager?”
“That’s right. If she works her ass off to give me an opportunity, then I’m not allowed to waste it.”
Oh, boy. “Ha.”
“This is me not wasting my chance with you.”
“I wouldn’t say the woman worked her ass off to get me into your car. I was willing—to a certain degree. Also, this is about you and me and doesn’t involve your manager. Stop looking at me that way.”
“What way?”
“Adam,” I growled.
“You know, I’d kind of forgotten how good we were together.”
“Had you now?”
“Figured I was just putting a shine on old memories or something,” he said, moving