I stared at her blankly. Of course I knew. I was the one who said it. “That’s different. That’s art, it’s—”
“It’s not that different,” Rose finished. “There are some things the intellect can’t really help you with. You know that better than anyone as an artist.”
I shifted uncomfortably. Sure, I painted a bit and I lived to dissect movies but I wasn’t a true artist. Not really. I’d always been better at analyzing actors’ performances or critiquing famous artists’ works than actually creating art of my own. Lulu? She was an artist. Rose? She was one, too. I was an art critic. The person who stood on the sidelines and analyzed it.
I was an art lover, not a real artist.
And right now that seemed to make a world of difference, because while intellectually I knew what Rose meant, I had no idea how to actually do that. I didn’t know how to listen to my gut or follow my heart. They both sounded way too vague. I needed rules, I needed guidelines...I needed a freakin’ magazine article to tell me where to begin.
Hannah patted my shoulder kindly. “You’re overthinking this.”
Rose nodded. “You’re definitely overthinking.” She pushed me again in the direction of Tony. “Go over there, say a few words and stop obsessing. Just be you and if it’s meant to be, you’ll know. Okay?”
She didn’t wait for me to respond before giving me another strong shove.
“Okay,” I muttered. And this time I stumbled forward and didn’t stop. My feet kept moving until I was on the other side of the garage, two feet away from Tony, who was standing up after shutting one of the drum cases.
He turned around and faced me. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I managed. But for once I wasn’t nervous. More like...annoyed.
With him? With me? I didn’t know. All I knew was, I wasn’t nervous. So that was good, right?
He shifted, his eyes moving over me from the top of my semi-wavy hair which was now legitimately waving thanks to Rose’s curling iron, and down to the strappy sandals Rose had leant me since we wore the same size.
“Sarah, right?” he said.
I blinked. He...didn’t know my name.
Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.
I clamped my mouth shut and swallowed back the brilliance that was Princess Bride. “No, actually, it’s Simone.”
“Simone,” he repeated with a little smirk. “Right, right.”
Alright, alright, alright. I heard Andrew’s ridiculous Matthew McConahaugh impersonation in my head and my lips twitched up in a little smile.
Tony continued to smirk.
I’d watched that smirk make girls swoon. Literally. One time a girl fainted at one of their shows when Tony had given her his broody stare and cocky smirk.
Now Tony was looking at me. And he was smirking. And he was brooding. And I…
I felt nothing, except maybe a little annoyance that I’d hung out at almost all of their band practices and he didn’t even know my name.
“What’s up?” he said, but his smile said he knew. His gaze said he knew I was here to hit on him. He knew I was seeking his attention like a freakin’ puppy dog panting for a bone.
Ugh. Cocky, much?
“Um…” I forced myself to think about the questions I’d compiled. When did you start playing bass? What bands do you like? Are you nervous for tonight?
The problem was...I didn’t really care to hear the answer to any of those questions.
Jax called out to me and I spun around so quickly I nearly toppled over.
“We’re heading out,” he said. “You coming with us or…” His gaze flittered over to Tony and I could practically see his unease.
I started to move toward him but Tony spoke up. “I’ll give her a ride.”
Jax caught my eye but, when I didn’t protest, he and the others all headed toward the door. “We’ll see you there, then, I guess.”
Rose shot me a couple questioning looks. Even my biggest flirting cheerleader seemed to think this was a bad idea.
And me?
What did I think?
Frustration shot through me as I found myself standing in awkward silence with the guy I’d been crushing on for weeks. Months.
And why? Because he looked deep?
I turned back slowly to face him and caught him eyeing my butt.
Awesome.
Nothing said true love like being leered at.
“So, you going to be my groupie tonight?” he asked, his voice dripping with innuendo and his eyes… His eyes were dark, but they weren’t pretty. They weren’t so pale blue they were almost gray and they weren’t filled with laughter and affection and warmth.
He was waiting for an answer and my stupid brain latched onto the word ‘groupie’ and instantly pulled up a line from Almost Famous, which was how I ended up blurting out, “Groupies sleep with rockstars because they want to be near someone famous. We're here because of the music. We are band aids.”
His brows drew together in confusion.
Understandable, really.
“What?” He looked around, at the drummer who was still working and the otherwise empty garage... “Who’s we?”
He sounded annoyed and I didn’t even care to explain. My brain was still stuck in Almost Famous and another one of Kate Hudson’s brilliant lines came back to me with a vengeance.
If you never take it seriously, you never get hurt. If you never get hurt, you always have fun, and if you ever get lonely you can just go to the record store and visit your friends.
I stared into space as the breath rushed out of me because I didn’t just want to spew that line from the movie. I wanted to say it to Andrew. I wanted to discuss it with him.
Because Andrew would get that quote. He’d understand it. Well, maybe not the record store part, but the rest of it. That was how he’d been getting through life at Lakeview...that’s how he’d been coping since his dad died. He acted like nothing mattered, he sat back in his seat in the cafeteria and listened rather than participate in a conversation.
He
