Page 41 of Starstruck
I have some framed photos of my family and friends on my desk, and he picks one up, examining it.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” he asks as he looks down at the photo. I know from the frame that it’s the one of my parents onstage, taken well before us kids were born, where my dad is playing guitar while my mom holds her microphone between them. They both belt lyrics into it while staring into each other’s eyes.
It’s a photo that shows just how deep their love for each other ran, and all I think about when I look at it is how much they would want that kind of love for me, and how sad I am that they won’t be around to see me find it someday.
I clear my throat, making my way toward him. He sets the photo back down, looking up to meet my eyes, and a shiver runs up my spine at the intensity in them.
“Well, um,” I begin, trying to find the right words to ask this without sounding like a complete fool.
I really wish Jeremy would’ve told me he was coming.
I look down, fidgeting with my fingers. “First of all, I’m sorry for what I said a few weeks back. I didn’t mean any of it. I wasn’t thinking about the possibility that you might actually want to do it, given how your mom passed, and I was just caught off guard seeing you and I panicked and—” I cut myself off, realizing I’m rambling.
He places a knuckle under my chin, tilting it so my eyes find his. “Do I make you nervous, Trouble?”
I swallow roughly, nodding, and he grins. His smile alone is enough to make me weak in the knees.
He pulls his hand back and leans against my desk, mirroring me. “What am I doing here, Lennon?”
I exhale. “So, you know SON!C cancelled, and, um, well…I still haven’t been able to find anyone else to headline…” I trail off, hoping he’ll understand what I’m asking without me having to say the actual words.
But he just stares at me, a smirk on his face and his arms crossed over his chest, saying nothing.
For fuck’s sake.
“Are you really going to make me ask?” I frown, looking up at him.
He cocks a brow, the corner of his mouth tipping up as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Ask what?”
This motherfuc?—
“Oh, you mean am I going to make you ask for my help?” He takes a step toward me. “Damn right, I am.”
A humourless laugh escapes me as I wipe my hands down my face, shaking my head. This man is a pain in my ass, but I do need his help. So even if I’d rather die than admit it, I relent.
“Fine,” I groan, throwing my hands down. I turn my body toward his. “Baxter, will you please make time in your busy schedule to perform at my benefit concert in August?”
He takes another step toward me and my eyes track his movements. He leans in close, our gazes connecting, and my heart drops to my stomach.
“Anything for you, Trouble.”
[17 ]
COME ALIVE
BAXTER
“HANDS” BY JJ WILDE
Lennon’s eyes stay locked on mine as the weight of my words settle around us.
Did I really just admit I’d do anything for her?
Yes.
Did I mean it?
Also yes.
