Page 98 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

Emily grins. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. The key is to pretend you don’t hear the screaming, don’t look directly into the flashing lights, and—most importantly—don’t trip.”

“Not helping,” I mutter, adjusting the high slit in my gown.

Luke leans in, his voice low and intimate. “For the record, if you trip, I’ll catch you.”

I roll my eyes, but my pulse skips a beat at the way his heavy gaze lingers on me.

“Remember to smile,” Emily says, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her dress. “They’ll be shouting Luke’s name from every direction, but just keep walking. The publicist will guide you where to stop.”

I take a generous sip of champagne, grateful for the slight buzz. “What if they ask me questions?”

“They will,” Sam chimes in with an easy smile. “Just keep it light and redirect to Luke or the band. You’re not there to give interviews.”

Luke’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. He looks impossibly handsome in the dim light, and the way he keeps stealing glances at me makesmy skin tingle.

“Just stay close to me,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “And remember, half of what they yell is just to get a reaction.”

Through the tinted windows, I can see the venue approaching. The street is lined with fans behind barricades, their phones and cameras creating a sea of flashing lights. My heart rate kicks up a notch.

“Oh boy,” I breathe as we pull into the arrivals queue. “There are so many people.”

“Focus on me,” Luke says, his voice low and steady. “Nothing else matters.”

Emily leans forward her expression serious. “Lila, listen. You look stunning. You belong here. And in about two hours, we’ll all be laughing about this over drinks.”

“Unless we win,” Sam grins. “Then we’ll be laughing about it over very expensive drinks.”

The limo inches forward. Through the windshield, I can see other celebrities walking the carpet, their outfits sparkling under the intense lights. It’s surreal, like watching a movie I’ve somehow stumbled into.

“Next,” a coordinator taps on our window.

Luke lifts my hand to his lips. “Ready?”

I think about the girl I was just months ago, cooking and living my quiet life. I think about the woman I am now, draped in silk and diamonds, about to walk the red carpet with a famous rockstar.

“I’m ready.”

The door opens, and the sounds hit me first—a wall of screams and music and chaos. Luke steps out first, looking every inch the rockstar in his perfectly tailored suit. He turns back, extending his hand to me.

The moment I emerge, the flashbulbs intensify. I hear gasps and whispers, my name being called alongside Luke’s. But all I can focus on is his hand in mine, steady and warm.

“You’ve got this,” he whispers, just for me.

And as we take our first steps toward the carpet, I realize he’s right. I do have this. Because I have him.

Kendrick’s right—the rest is just noise.

Thirty-Two

Luke

The lights dim as we take our seats, and I still can’t take my eyes off Lila. The way she moves in that dress, the elegant line of her neck as she leans in to whisper something to Emily—it’s driving me crazy. When she crosses her legs, the slit in her dress revealing just a hint of thigh, I have to force myself to look away.

“Dude, you’re practically drooling,” Vince mutters from my other side, looking sharp in his own designer suit.

“Can you blame me?”

He glances at Lila and grins. “Nope. But try to keep it together. We’re on camera.”

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