More Than Maybe - Erin Hahn Page 0,51
I check that Phil’s office is locked and turn off the lights so only the dim Exit lights are lit.
“Vada?” I can hardly make him out, and his voice is barely above a whisper. He grabs my hand, stopping me from opening the door, but not cornering me.
My skin is on fire where he’s touching me. So stupid hyperaware of every single one of the atoms that make him. “Yeah?”
It comes out in an exhale. “I don’t know what I’m doing around you.”
My heart squeezes. His profile is painted in gray, his glasses reflecting the parking lot lights, so I can’t see his eyes. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, the nearly imperceptible constriction of his throat.
“Me neither.”
His laugh comes out in a soft huff, and he raises a shaking hand to fidget with his frames and brush his hair back. I grab his fingers, pulling them between mine, and say, “I’ve never held hands with someone. Is this okay?” I’m so grateful for the darkness because I’ve never felt so ridiculous and vulnerable.
He wraps his longer fingers over mine and squeezes them in a way that is an instant balm to my nerves. “Like this,” he says.
“See?” I say. “Easy-peasy.”
With my free hand, I pull open the door, and we step out into the light. Mike is there, sitting on the hood of his car, waiting, and I wave him away. Luke’s got Cullen’s car, but it’s parked next to mine. He has to let go, and already I miss the feeling of his hand. Reluctantly, I reach in, turning on my car to get the heat going. Luke does the same and looks over the top of his car to smile at me. We stand there smiling like idiots for probably too long. I should feel self-conscious, but for some reason, I don’t anymore.
“Good night, Luke.”
“Night, Vada.”
We get in our cars and pull out into the night. A few minutes after I’ve made it back home and am getting ready for bed, my phone chimes.
LUKE
YouTube: Kodaline “What It Is”
* * *
I’m finishing responding to comments on my blog to distract myself from swooning over Luke when I decide to check my email before bed. I nearly auto-delete the first, assuming it’s spam, but thank goodness my eyes are faster than my shaking fingers. This can’t be real. No frigging way this is real life.
Ms. Carsewell,
We’re thrilled to offer you the opportunity to apply for a place on our newly developed, on-the-ground teen music review team at Rolling Stone online. Everything will be done remotely, but we would like to commission teens to attend shows and report back on performances for our website. The tickets will be paid for in advance, but payment per review only comes upon acceptance.
Should you choose to apply for the position, we are asking you to submit a sample of your writing that is appropriate to the position (i.e., music related) as well as a letter of recommendation from a source within the music industry.
The attachment outlines the pay scale per article and the potential timeline of events. The scheduling is flexible since this is a team comprised of college students. I’d have a handler of sorts within Rolling Stone who would coordinate my scheduling.
I click through the document looking for the lie. This can’t be real. But everything checks out. They claim to have found me through Behind the Music. I’m to expect a follow-up phone call if I’m interested.
If I’m interested. Like. What?
I immediately email back because I’m not an idiot and then take time to calm my breathing because this can’t be real even though it definitely sounds real. I check my email again, hoping for a response, but it’s only an automated confirmation (on Rolling Stone letterhead, no less) that they’ve gotten my response and will be in touch soon.
Fair. It’s close to midnight.
I open up my Behind the Music drafts and scroll through for a sample to use, but if they’ve already seen my blog, should I use something new? I need to go to another show immediately, if so. But this week sucks, and next week isn’t much better. I could always review an album, but it’s not the same. My gig is live music. It’s what makes me stand apart from the rest. Relax, Vada. The deadline isn’t for a few months, I think. I can definitely see a show and write up a review in that time.
What I really need is Liberty Live.