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My body stopped moving on its own, and the people I’d been dancing with moved on to find another partner. No one wanted to dance with the staring weirdo.
Because Iwasstaring.
Like a weirdo.
It was jarring to see Harry there. Their gig must’ve ended early, or he just high-tailed it to Downtown once it was finished. Either way, hewashere, and I couldn’t stop gawking.
Destelle would’ve started panicking at the sight of him. She would’ve stolen glances all night, hoping he’d spot her at some point and draw toward her on his own accord, like in some stupid romance movie. She would’ve ended up disappointed. Stella—cool, confident, collected Stella—would’ve sauntered up to Harry and struck up a conversation, not a care in the world.
Even though I had the wig on now, Ireallydidn’t feel like Stella. That was why I never went up to him after a gig, because even though I had the appearance of Stella then, there was something about him that made me feel transparent.
But youareStella, I told myself fiercely, looking down at my ripped leggings, at my combat boots, feet rooted in the middle of the dance floor. My wig was fitted perfectly in place, the clasps secured to my hair. I looked the part. Now I had to play the part.
I took in a deep breath, and like a wave rolling over me, Stella broke through. All nerves of talking to a boy fell to the wayside, and I grounded myself more solidly in my alter persona. I combed my fingers through my hair, the strands soft against my skin, careful not to jerk the clasps free. In time with the beat of the song playing over the speakers, I stepped forward.
And completely bypassed Harry Russo, who hadn’t looked up, completely absorbed in the music.
Instead, I walked to the bar, slapping two bucks on the counter for a bottled water. The music still pulsed, but my heartbeat had quieted, conviction slipping in to replace the jitters.
One of the reasons I liked Stella: Say I screwed up and made a fool of myself. Say it was totally awkward and completely mortifying. It wasn’tme, Destelle. Stella came with no risks.
After twisting off the cap, I took a long refreshing drink of the icy water, a relief from the heat of the club.
And then moved once more.
Harry still leaned against the wall near a trash can, and I turned the bottle cap over between my fingers as I got closer, watching the crowd weave in and out between us. A girl with pink hair obscured him for a moment, and then a guy with a mohawk moved in my way next. I waited until my path cleared, until no one stood between him and me.
Margot would’ve called me devious.
Honestly, it kind of felt as if I were a super-spy on a stakeout.
Crap, that sounded creepy.
When I was six feet away, the bottle cap slipped from my fingertips.
It bounced away from me, knocking noiselessly against the ground. I lost it for a moment, the opaque lid blending in with the shadows, and then finally found where it came to rest. The momentum was better than I thought it’d be.
Fingers were already curling around it, and when I traced the arm up to find a face, Harry gazed back at me.
Gosh, even from here I could see their color. So freaking blue. Like the waters in the Caribbean or something. For a moment, it left me a bit dazzled, Destelle’s personality breaking through.
With an inward smile, I thought,Hook, line, sinker.
“Not sure how sanitary that is now,” I called over the music to him, stepping closer into his bubble of space. I kept my gaze laser-focused on the cap in his hand, shrugging on a shawl of nonchalance. “After rolling around on the floor, I mean. But thanks.”
“Yeah, probably shouldn’t put it back on your drink,” Harry agreed, and I looked to find his full lips curved into a half smile. His fingers brushed against my palm as he dropped the cap into it, and I curled my hand, pressing the plastic into my skin. “I recognize you.”
I jolted. “Uh, you do?”
“You come into Crushed Beanz,” he said. “You listen to us play.”
I hadn’t planned on him recognizing me. Great. Did he think I was some creepy fangirl? Then again, Ihaddevised a plan to get his attention. Though, maybehewas the creepy one for recognizing me. We’d never spoken before, and yet he recognized my face? Maybehewas the creepy super-spy.
Either way, it was super flattering. He noticed me.
But at his words, one memory bubbled up in my mind. That night, I’d sat with Addy in our booth rather than dancing in the crowd. I’d sung the song along with the band, and when Harry had glanced over, I swear it was like we were singing together.
I think that was when my true fascination began, the urge to know him beyond the Crushed Beanz stage and Untapped Potential social media page blossoming like a flower.
