Page 21 of Kind of Famous
Jo nudged me out of my stupor. “These are our friends Zion and Andrew.”
I raised a hand and said, “Nice to meet—”
Right then, out of all possible moments, my phone rang out a riff from Walking Disaster’s very first radio hit clear as day.
I snatched it from my purse and silenced it. When I looked up, every pair of eyes locked on me, like the enemy had breached the fortress.
I could explain. I could tell the truth.
“It’s my friend, Ashley. She’s a huge fan of yours.”
Adam flipped over a burger. “Your friend is, huh?”
Then it occurred to me that I’d stepped in a giant turd sandwich with that excuse. “I mean, I am, too. Of course.”
He chuckled. “I’m just messing with you. If you want to give her a call, I’d be happy to tell her hi.”
“You’d do that?”
Good Lord. She’d love me forever.
“Of course.” His eyes actually sparkled. “Where would I be without fans?”
But I couldn’t let him call her. If he talked to her, there was no way I could keep her from posting that on the forum. I wouldn’t have time to explain to her why she couldn’t. And there was no way she’d be able to contain that geyser of information.
She’d kill me if she knew I was even considering telling Adam no.
What if he was calling my bluff? What if he thought I’d made her up to hide my own lurking fandom?
I could prove I wasn’t lying if he called her. Problem solved.
But Ash would blow my cover. Problem not solved.
Fuck.
She was going to kill me.
“That’s really cool of you, but she’s at work right now. That’s why she’s texting.”
His eyebrows quirked for a split second, but just as fast, he flashed his blindingly beautiful smile which nearly caused me to swoon. “It’s okay. Maybe later. Like I said, it’s fun to connect with real fans.” Maybe it was my imagination, but he seemed to laugh at that.
Then, thank God, Shane bounded up the steps and rescued me from my one-woman festival of foolishness.
“Hey, Layla.” He held out his arm for a side hug, and it was the most comforting gesture he could have made.
When I reached around his back to return the squeeze, I got a good sense of how muscular he was. It was like hugging a rock. A cuddly rock. It shouldn’t have surprised me, given how physical drumming was, especially for the upper arms and back. I’d seen pictures of sweat flying off his hair in a dramatic arc as he attacked the set but now regretted never encountering any shirtless pics.
He drew back almost reluctantly, and I tried to take a gander at the tattoo snaking up his tricep into his sleeve without creeping him out. Self-conscious of my lecherous interest in his muscles, I cast around to look at anything else, but my gaze fell right back on Adam, and I felt like I’d fallen into a Dr. Seuss book. Nothing made sense, and I couldn’t process it at all.
Adam flipped the burgers while telling Peg, “I think the Huggies fit tighter than the Pampers, though.”
I forced myself to look toward the sliding door as Micah stepped through, yelling back in the house, “Why exactly did you bring over Mom’s croquet set?”
Eden stuck out her tongue and slid the door closed with her foot.
Shane inched closer. “It’s great to see you again.”
My head turned toward him, the only part of my body following the proper script. I nodded in response, but I’d barely registered the question, and as soon as my eyes made the circuit back to him, they drifted right back over to Adam. Adam Copeland, grilling in his backyard. Adam Copeland, talking about diapers. He wore short sleeves, and I could see the beginnings of his Zoso tattoo on one shoulder. When Peg moved away, he hummed a little tune to himself, with a satisfied little grin on his face.
