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We’ve only moved another dozen feet. We’re not even halfway to the top yet.
I look up at the sky, praying we’ll move faster. I feel silly, like a burden he’s having to entertain.
“It’s why you’re here.”
My attention moves back to Kyle as my mind spins, trying to figure out what I missed in our conversation. After a few seconds, I give up. “What?”
“This carnival. It’s why you’re here. It’s where—how—I got discovered. Got drunk and got onstage as a dare, and a music exec happened to be in town, visiting his in-laws.”
“Oh,” is all I manage in response.
I still don’t know very much about Kyle. I’ve only gotten glimpses during the time I’ve been here. And I know nothing about how he got into music, except what he just shared. If I’d guessed, I would have assumed he pursued it. Learning he stumbled into stardom is a surprise.
The revelation prompts questions, ones I have no business asking him. Because while gaining Kyle’s trust should be a goal, I wouldn’t be wondering from the perspective of an Empire Records employee. I’d be asking him as Piper. And I’d be admitting that Kyle intrigued me.
“Is that why you don’t drink?” The question comes out without permission. Another little mystery about Kyle Spencer, one I’ve spent more time wondering about than I’d ever admit.
“Because it got me a record deal?” There’s amusement in his voice, but also an edge. “No. That’s not why.”
“Why don’t you drink then?”
“I just don’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“That’smyanswer.”
“Just say you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Piper.”
I look at him, my heart fluttering erratically in my chest as our gazes connect. “What?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I exhale, letting the disappointment out with the oxygen. I thought—hoped—he was going to say something else.
I fuse my lips together, determined to keep my mouth shut. A glance upward reveals we’re creeping closer to the top. Nearer to the end of this ride.
“What about you?”
I swallow and glance over, meeting the intensity that’s already waiting. “Idodrink. Just ask your upstairs toilet.”
A smile tugs at both corners of his mouth. I experience a startling surge of satisfaction at the sight. He’s smiling at—because of—me, and that feels like a big accomplishment.
“Did youreallytry to get a record deal?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I rear back as far as possible in the small space, which is a couple of inches, offended.That’swhat honesty gets me?
“You spent your weekend haying because you’re so determined to get me to change my mind. And you expect me to believe you took no for an answer when it came to your own career?”
“Thisisabout my own career,” I snap. “I told you, Carl promised me a promotion if I get you to re-sign. I’ll finally be able to scout and sign artists. Make an actual difference instead of babysitting divas!”
Kyle raises one eyebrow. “I’m a diva?”
