Kind of Famous (Flirting with Fame Book 3) Read online

  Adam focused on me with inky black eyes, like he saw me, like I mattered. “What was that like for you?”

  It meant everything to me that he asked. “Weird. Kind of boring, though.”

  Eden bent to pick up the baby. “Yeah. People don’t realize what a snoozefest a musician’s life can be at times.”

  She was right about that, and I didn’t understand why I found rock bands so intriguing, but I hadn’t wanted to participate in my dad’s music at all.

  “I’d bring my homework or a book to read while they set up. The funniest thing would be the older ladies who came to get away from their bridge games or whatever they did on a Tuesday night. They’d gush to me about how excited they were to see some live music. All I could think was that they were coming to see my dad’s band play ‘In The White Room’ which I’d heard approximately seven thousand times in our basement at home.” I heard myself and realized who I was talking to. “God, that sounds so rude when I say it out loud.”

  Adam raised his bottle toward me. “You were a brave soldier.”

  “Does he still play in a band?” asked Eden.

  “You know, not really. It was a hobby, and now he practices alone or plays solo at the local bookstore cafe. He always wanted me to learn guitar and become a family band of two.”

  “Did you?” Shane crossed his arms on the table and leaned in, giving me his full attention. “Learn guitar, I mean.”

  It was a bit unnerving. Nobody ever listened to me talk for so long unless it was in writing.

  “I tried. My dad sat me down with a ukulele, then moved me to a half-sized guitar. If I was forced to, I might be able to strum ‘Horse with No Name.’ ”

  They all laughed at that. I guessed everyone started out with that two-chord song.

  “I guess I’m more music fan than musician.”

  “She saw Theater of the Absurd in Indianapolis.” Shane beamed. “She’s one of our fans.”

  “Oh?” said Eden. “Have you ever seen Adam in concert?”

  “Actually, yes.” Twenty-seven times. Twelve times in Indianapolis, from the smallest clubs to Market Square Arena. Three times in Chicago. Twice in Columbus. The rest were one-offs in various cities where I happened to be—like when I arranged to go for training in DC the same week they played there. That wasn’t bizarre, was it?

  “You really are a music fan,” said Adam.

  I was tempted to ask him about his new album, what he’d meant by certain lyrics, how he felt about the negative reviews, whether he’d ever read the fan forum.

  Before I could formulate a coherent question, Shane asked, “Who’s your very favorite band, Layla?”

  His question snapped me out of my crazy, and I shot him a coy smile. “Do you really want to make me choose between the two best bands?”

  Eden chortled, which apparently disturbed the baby. With Joshua fussing, Eden gently hoisted him onto her shoulder, patting him, and took him inside. I began reaching for the empties, intending to gather them and follow her into the kitchen, but Adam laid a hand on my forearm—he actually touched me—and said, “Sit. I’ll get that.”

  He wrapped his left arm around five empty bottles and grabbed Eden’s empty glass in his right hand. It amused me that he’d always been this one guy in my mind: sweaty, sexy, singing. Yet, here he was, quiet, almost shy, domestic, and incredibly sweet. He was amazing with fans, so it didn’t surprise me that he’d be genuinely nice, even in private, but I didn’t expect him to be so mellow. So down to earth.

  Shane cleared his throat, and I realized I’d been staring at Adam as he disappeared into the house. “Oh, sorry. I guess I am still a little starstruck.”

  “Understandable.” He tore tiny pieces off a napkin. “So, I think we should probably be going soon.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s fine.”

  “Would you mind walking? It’s such a nice night, and it’s not terribly far.”

  I remembered the car ride over. It wasn’t far, but it wasn’t near. A couple of miles at least. It was a nice night, and it would mean more time in Shane’s company. “I’d love to walk.”

  Zion and Andrew came around to give me a hug. I hadn’t realized how tall Andrew was until he was towering over me. Imposing, really. I made a mental note to do some digging and try to find his music later. “It was great to meet you, Andrew. What did you say your last name was?”

  “I didn’t. But it’s Larraine.”

  Andrew Larraine. I’d search for him on YouTube later.

  “And it was very nice to meet you, too, Layla . . .”

  “Beckett.”

  After we said our farewells, Shane led me through the sliding doors, where Adam met us. “Heading out?”

  When I picked up my purse and lifted my hand to wave, he pulled me in for a hug. “It was great to meet you. I hope to see you again.”

  I breathed in to test out the jasmine theory and smelled baby powder, lighter fluid, and Downy. Beyond that, a faint musky man smell.

  Eden didn’t come down to send us off, but I imagined she had her hands full with the baby. I couldn’t expect her to yell down the stairs if she didn’t want to wake a drowsy child.

  With that in mind, I walked softly through the living room and waited to get outside before I said another word.

  Chapter Eight

  Out on the steps, lit only by the sconce by the door, the magical sense of normalcy returned. The soft stillness transported me to the Indiana suburbs. I used to spend nights just like this, riding bikes or rollerskating down the sidewalk in the silence of spring moonlight, loving how the only sound in the world was the clack-clack-clack of my wheels over the cracks. There was a familiar comfort in the dark.

  Shane skipped down the steps, then slowed until I caught up. We made our way down the quiet street side by side. Sort of.

  He lurched away from me and back, like he had too much energy for a slow walk and needed to avoid the straight line from A to B. It put me in mind of a bouncy kid running in circles while a parent plodded forward. I had no intention of rushing. I was too curious about this guy I’d never been curious enough about before.

  “That was lovely,” I said, by way of small talk.

  “Mmm-hmm. They’re great people.”

  As we passed by other houses on the row, my mind kept returning to the larger-than-life rock star whose home I’d been invited into as if I were simply one of his friends. What was life like for Adam in his regular environment? Did his neighbors all know him? Could he walk down the street without being harassed or did he keep to himself mostly?

  “You’re awfully quiet.” Shane’s gait had settled into a leisurely stroll, his hands jammed in his pockets, his Converse sneakers gliding along.

  “Just processing.”

  “You’re an introvert, aren’t you?”

  Was I? I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear, self-conscious of his attention. “I’m not really used to being around people. Especially not famous people. It’s a lot to take in.”

  “It is. I can’t speak to being around people in general, but you’ll get used to Adam and Eden. They’re not arrogant about the fame, but they’re realistic.”

  “Realistic? You mean, like how they straight up asked me if my mind was blown?”

  “Imagine that they have to deal with that reaction from every single new person they meet.” He shook his head. “Micah, too. It could make anyone get a swelled ego. They work hard to keep things normal at all times.”

  “What about you?” I elbowed him. “Don’t you have to deal with it?”

  “Me?” He chuckled. “I have to show my ID when we go to our own afterparties.”

  I burst out laughing at the image of that. “You’re joking.”

  “Sort of.” He gently tugged on my arm. “We need to cross here.”

  He steered me toward a side
street then let go. Hoping I hadn’t misread his cues, I wrapped my hand around his upper arm, part of the way, anyway. His bicep was huge and rock hard. At my touch, his shoulders hunched up a little, and he inched closer to me.

  “So, what do you do in your spare time? Do you have any hobbies?”

  Without meaning to, he’d lobbed a grenade. I evaded it. “I love to read.”

  “And listen to music, right?”

  I made a valiant effort to duck that bomb. “Yes. I love music.”

  “You never said who your favorite band is.”

  “Who’s yours?” Another bullet dodged.

  “Can I say my own band?” He raised one eyebrow at me. He looked so cute, I nearly stumbled.

  With my eyes sharp for any actual land mines ahead of me, I flexed my atrophied flirting muscle. “That would be rather arrogant, don’t you think? How about your favorite band you have no friends in?”

  At a busy intersection, Shane rested his weight against the light post, his face lit by the Starbucks. “You’ve eliminated a large number of current bands, so I’ll have to go back in history.”

  “That sounds fair.”

  As soon as the flashing hand gave us permission, we crossed over, and the landscape around us transformed into what could have been downtown in any other city. All the buildings were taller and statelier than I would have expected so far from Manhattan. Cars flew along beside us now.

  Shane kept the conversation going. “So, I’m a drummer, right?”

  “Right.”

  “When I was a kid, my parents took me to see The Police on a reunion tour.”

  “Wow. How was it?”

  “Stewart Copeland had this incredible drumkit. I mean, it looked like a middle school’s entire percussion section surrounded him.” I’d let go of his arm when we’d crossed the street, and now his hands flew passionately to somehow paint the picture of his words. “He attacked those drums like a madman. It was insane.”

  “Is that why you took up drums?”

  “No, I’d been playing in the school band, but that sort of woke me up to the possibilities. I’d never paid that much attention to The Police before that honestly, but after that, I collected it all.”

  “So, are you all about John Bonham?”

  He’d picked up the pace since we’d started talking about drummers, and he practically bounced on his toes now. “John Bonham, Neil Peart, Keith Moon. If you hang out with me for long, you’ll get sick to death of The Who.”

  I laid a hand over my heart. “I could never get sick of The Who.”

  “I think I might love you.” He spun around and walked backward long enough to ask, “Your turn. Who’s your favorite band?”

  Kaboom. I had one more trick up my sleeve. “Right this minute? Theater of the Absurd.”

  My accompanying smile was meant to be equal parts coy vixen and flirtatious scamp, but his lips pinched together for half a beat. It was so subtle, I might have missed it, but I’d been tracing those gorgeous lips with my eyes. When they pursed together, he looked for the first time like I’d said something wrong.

  Maybe I’d dodged right into a different grenade

  “Kidding.” Shit was that worse? “I mean, like I said before, I’m obviously a fan, but I’ve seen Adam’s band more often than yours.” Truth at least.

  He turned to walk forward, the frenetic energy lost, like a popped balloon with the helium leaking out. He side-eyed me. “You’ve seen us more than once?”

  Wow, I was digging a grave. “Well, yeah. You put on an amazing show.”

  He nodded. “Damn straight we do.”

  I hoped it meant I’d hit the right balance finally.

  We’d been walking for what seemed like forever already, but it was probably only twenty minutes. In front of a Macy’s, I stopped to tie my shoe, and he asked, “Do you want me to call a cab?”

  Had I made him want to bail. “How much farther?”

  “Thirty minutes, maybe?”

  And the cab ride would likely be five minutes, and then we’d say goodnight, and I might never see him again. “Let’s keep walking.”

  For the next few blocks, he moved us to a safer conversation topic. “Favorite musician from before we were born.”

  That was territory I could navigate endlessly. “My dad would want me to say Clapton. Hence the name. But hands down Bowie.”

  His smile returned. “Bowie is a huge influence on our music.”

  “I know.” It came out. I couldn’t help it. Talking music was my jam. Talking music with a musician? How often would I get the opportunity?

  We turned onto Flatbush Avenue, and he peppered me with more questions.

  “What was the best concert you ever saw—” he held up a hand “—without any band members you’ve shared a beer with.”

  He was a quick study. I scrunched my lips up as I ran through my mental Rolodex. “I’m going to have to say Of Montreal.”

  His eyes went wide. “You know them?”

  “Uh. Duh.” My eyes rolled. “Kind of a music freak here.”

  “If your music collection got destroyed, what would be the first album you’d buy again?”

  I burst out laughing. “Would you believe this has happened to me? An entire disk drive and the backup drive lost.”

  “Oh, shit. Worst nightmare.”

  The first album I’d downloaded, not bought—I figured it wasn’t stealing if I’d bought it once before—was Walking Disaster’s eponymous album. But I applied the same rules as before. “The first album I replaced was Muse, Black Holes and Revelations.”

  “Excellent choice.”

  “You?”

  “Metallica, Master of Puppets.”

  “Ah, Lars Ulrich, huh?”

  “You know your drummers!”

  “A few.”

  He paused for a second and then he said, “Come this way.”

  We turned right onto a street marked Sixth. The traffic and noise fell away. Store fronts gave way to a never-ending row of townhouses, trees, and quiet, maybe a back way to Jo’s.

  Conversation stalled as if it had fed off the life of the busy city behind us. He’d once again put me at my ease, but ever since I’d said something wrong before, he hadn’t invaded my space. I decided to come right out and ask the question that troubled me. “So, do you have some kind of no-fan dating rule or something?”

  “Me?” He looked genuinely shocked. “I can’t afford to have any kind of no dating rule.”

  His honesty made me chortle.

  “I’m going to sound really lame here for a minute.” He scratched his chin like he was deciding whether to speak. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “What did you honestly think of Noah when you first saw him?”

  I decided to play along. “I thought he was pretty.” I waited a beat. “Pretty arrogant.”

  He smiled, but he stared at his feet. “Women usually have their eye on him. It used to be Micah, but Micah’s no longer eligible.”

  Was he really asking me to sympathize that Noah and Micah got more tail?

  “Ladies don’t fall all over you, Shane?” I pouted dramatically, like he was telling me some problem I’d care about.

  “No.” His hands opened and closed as he weighed his words. “I mean, yes, they do, but I’m not the end game.”

  “What are you saying?” I tilted my head so I could better look into his eyes. “Girls use you to get to Noah? But that’s—” awful, hurtful, disgusting “—inconceivable.”

  That little smile curled up the corner of his lip, and he relaxed, shooting me a tentative glance. “So, that’s where I’m at with dating fans.”

  “Oh, I see.” I didn’t.

  “Can I hold your hand?”

  The abrupt question made my breat
h hitch. I nodded, and he slipped his fingers between mine. It sent an unfamiliar twist to my stomach. Was it excitement? Or fear of the unknown?

  We walked in silence for ten minutes. Was he as aware of the contact between us as me? A car passed, and the headlights on his skin revealed a flush I recognized. At a nondescript corner, he said, “Mind if we make a slight detour?”

  I wouldn’t have known if he’d lured me completely off course. I shook my head, and we turned onto an even darker street.

  He sighed. “I’m going to prove I have no game here, but I have to apologize about Noah.”

  “Why?”

  “I was serious before when I said I wanted to remove the competition. That was a douchey thing to do to you.”

  “To me?”

  “Look. Girls always chase Noah. When he’s around, I don’t even rate. Normally, that’s fine because I don’t want a shallow night with a super fan after a show anyway.”

  His confession took me by surprise, and I felt a little bad that he needed to make it, a bit hurt too at the unintended slight at who I was.

  “Shane.”

  He kept his eyes fastened to the sidewalk before us. “I could tell there was something about you, and I didn’t want to take the chance that Noah would get there first. I’m sorry both for taking that choice away from you, but mainly for assuming that you’d make that choice in the first place.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Honestly, I’m not remotely interested in Noah. I swear. He lost me when he teased you.”

  “He did?”

  “I mean, Noah’s a pretty guy,” I confessed and laughed at his sudden intake of breath. “But you’re more interesting. By far.”

  He cut his eyes at me for the first time since he’d started his little speech. “Yeah?”