Beauty and the Bassist by Megan Walker & Janci Patterson

Author:Megan Walker & Janci Patterson [Walker, Megan & Patterson, Janci]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: contemporary romance
Publisher: Garden Ninja Books
Published: 2020-07-20T04:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

Allison

I follow Shane as he all but runs from the ballroom and out into the gardens. People turn to look, but it’s not as dramatic out here, more curiosity than shock. Unlike in the ballroom, where they saw his expression as he knocked into the table. As the glass shattered and he jumped like a gun-shot had gone off, sweat shining on his face, his blue eyes wild. Terrified.

Or maybe they didn’t notice all that like I did, and just saw a rock star having a meltdown or some drug-induced fit. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what they think they saw. I only care about him.

I don’t call his name anymore, though, not wanting to draw further attention, for his sake. My heels catch in the grass of the garden—Shane isn’t keeping to the curated pathways—and my heart hammers in my chest.

I started to worry as soon as we got here tonight. He was so nervous, but not in the fidgety, anxious way I get right before the pageant starts or before a big meeting with my investors. He was nervous in this too-still, frozen kind of way, like if he doesn’t move, no one can see him.

I wondered if this was all a bad idea. Especially when I saw my friends, and he got even more nervous about what they’d think of us together. For my part, I wasn’t worried about that. If my family doesn’t get a say in who I date—which they don’t—then my friends and work colleagues definitely don’t. Also, I knew that Jenna and Felix weren’t the type to make a big deal of it, even if they think Shane’s a dick, and Alec, well . . . Alec doesn’t tend to care about things that don’t directly affect him. I thought it would be fine. Awkward for a minute or so and then fine.

I hadn’t, however, counted on Anna-Marie being there. And it’s pretty clear Shane didn’t either.

“Shane,” I finally say, and he stops, though probably more from the fact that he would have needed to hurdle a large decorative hedge if he wanted to keep moving in that direction. I catch up to him and touch his elbow, and he turns. It’s dark out, but the hotel has these glowing lamps around, so I can see him well enough. My heart breaks at the pain on his face. Pain and fear and, I think, shame.

“Hey,” I start, stepping forward. I want to wrap my arms around him and hold him like I did after his nightmare, but something about the way he’s standing, the walled-off energy exuding from him . . . I’m not sure he wants that. Maybe he didn’t even want me to follow him out here.

“Sorry,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “God, that was . . . I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say, and then I do put my arms around him and press my face into his neck, which is too warm and yet clammy, like he’s running a fever.

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