Page 63 of Kind of Famous
“The very same. Noah met the girl on one of our tours. I don’t know what he expected.”
If that was true, she’d done the exact thing Shane said fans did to him, climbing Noah to gain access to another musician. Samuel Tucker was a much bigger deal than Noah. Whiplash played huge arenas.
Damn. What a cold-hearted bitch. Poor Noah.
“I’d warned him she was a fame fucker. And then two days after she proved me right, I met you. I think he’s jealous you’re so obviously not working an angle. That’s why he’s mad at me. You got caught in the crossfire.”
“And so now he’s suspicious of any fan girl?”
“Pretty much.” He shook his head. “Unless he pulls his shit together, one of us is going to have to go.”
“What about the band?”
He scowled. “Fuck the band.”
That didn’t make me feel better. Of the two of them, Shane was probably the more easily replaced. After all, Noah wasn’t a household name, but he was known to any serious music fan.
“Oh, Shane.”
“Come on, Star Shine.” He dropped a little kiss on my forehead. “If you come home with me, I’ll confess the origin of your nickname.”
That did the trick, and I let him lead me the few blocks back to his apartment.
Once inside, he ran up the spiral stairs and returned with the last thing I expected to see him carrying: an acoustic guitar.
“This is going to be brutal, but I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I sometimes write songs.”
“You write songs?”
His cheeks reddened. “I’m trying. What people don’t realize is that Micah doesn’t just make money from the band. He writes more songs than we can record, so he sells his music to other artists. Most of the money he makes now is from songwriting credits. I don’t expect to ever achieve what he has, but he’s an excellent role model, and he’s pushed me to be more courageous with my art.”
I didn’t know any of that, but it explained why Micah had the private car while Shane had the Uber service. Still, I wasn’t interested in the business side of the music industry.
“I just want to hear the song.”
I dropped on the sofa, feet crossed under my knees, eager to hear what Shane might play for me. I braced myself for what I would say if he sucked. It was one thing to tell someone as competent as Micah that one song was better than another, but Micah was a professional songwriter. Shane’s effort might need some gentle encouragement. I was prepared to blow smoke up his ass. I loved the fact that he was letting me see this side of him, after knowing me only three days.
That fact kept blowing my mind. It seemed like we’d always known each other.
“Okay, so let me warm up a little.” He began by strumming some chords, then a single string. He adjusted the tuner for a bit, and then he started walking his fingers on the neck in a way that was far beyond my abilities.
“Show off.”
He blushed. “Just a little.”
“You’re raising my expectations.”
“I was hoping to raise more than that.”
I snickered. “That’s what she said.”
Finally, he stopped fiddling and assumed the guitarist position. “You’re not allowed to laugh. In fact, flat out lie if you hate it.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”
He strummed a melody that sounded incredibly familiar, then sang the first line from Layla.
I threw a pillow at him, and he ducked so it bounced off his back. He sat up, laughing. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
“You just lost any chance you had of me taking pity on you.”
