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“One can never be too sure,” I said as a gust of wind slipped through the parking lot, tugging at my hair. The wig strained against the clips in my real hair, making me wince. “You and the guitarist seemed pretty close.”
Harry drew his boot through the gravel on the ground, shaking his head. “Not that kind of close. Not anymore.”
Not anymore. So they had been before, but not now. I wasn’t sure what to think about that.
I gripped the edge of my car door tightly as I eyed him, trying to think of the next thing to say. “The new song was really good,” I said. “It was edgier than what you’ve written before—the beat was harder, and your voice matched it well.”
Light flickered in his eyes, like my words surprised him. Then again, I’m sure a lot of people were generic with their compliments.Great songorI absolutely loved it. A slow smile curved at his mouth. “I don’t think it’s that hard to guess the inspiration, hmm?”
Come find me on the dance floor.
“I’m not really looking to date right now,” he went on, drawing a fingertip along the glass in a way that gave me a shiver, wondering what that delicate touch would feel like on my skin. “At least, that’s what I told myself before last Saturday.”
I lifted a teasing brow. “I must be one hell of a dancer.”
“You have no idea.”
Yeah, shivers. All down my spine. Everywhere.
“Since I rescued your poor window from being shattered,” Harry continued in that same low and dreamy tone, “does that mean I get your number?”
I’ll admit, there were a few times when I imagined Harry Russo asking for my cell number. Maybe we’d accidentally bump into each other after a show, or Addy would play matchmaker and introduce us, or Harry would jump from the stage because he was so swept up with my beauty.
Okay, that last one was a little wild, but actually living this moment—Does that mean I get your number?—was better than any imagined scenario. “I—I think that sounds fair.”
Without another word, Harry pulled a thick black marker out from his pocket, offering it out to me.
“I can just plug it into your phone,” I said with a startled laugh, but grabbed the marker anyway.
“I left it back inside,” he told me, tugging up the sleeve of his jacket to offer his bare forearm to me. A few freckles dotted there too, so light that they almost disappeared into his skin. “Besides, what better way to make sure the marker works?”
I had to take a step closer to him, moving into his personal space. His eyes were tender as they watched me. Almost in a way that made me shiver, and not from the wintery breeze. I took ahold of his arm, holding my breath as I drew the marker across his warm skin.
“There,” I murmured, pulling back to analyze the seven numbers. “But don’t call me tonight.”
When I looked up at him, we were only mere inches apart. I should’ve stepped back, but I wanted to stay trapped in his bubble, sharing personal space. “Not tonight?”
“Tomorrow,” I insisted for two reasons. Once I got home, Mom and Dad would take my cell away. They definitely didn’t need to be lurking in onthatconversation. And as for the second reason, I wanted him to think about me tonight. I wanted to dance in his head like I’d danced with him last weekend, and much like he’d been dancing in my mind since. “Thank you for rescuing my window, Harry.”
“No problem, Stella,” he murmured, and I swear, my heart skipped a beat. If he could say my name five more times, that’d be great.
I got into the car before I voiced any embarrassing thoughts, trembling from the adrenaline that flickered through me. A bone-shaking thrill that made it hard to sit still, hard to wipe away the smile that felt permanently etched onto my lips. Chemistry.
Even though I usually changed out of Stella after Crushed Beanz, I’d have to drive somewhere else to change since Harry stood outside the door, hands in his pockets. He still had his jacket sleeve pushed up, my phone number visible on his arm.
I knew one thing for certain as I backed out of my parking space and headed out of the employee lot: I wouldn’t be able to shut my brain off until he finally called me tomorrow.
