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Maybe if I’d understood just how much life would change until it became almost unrecognizable, I never would’ve signed that first contract.
But you don’t know what you don’t know.
Especially when you’re a kid.
All I could daydream about was being famous and getting the chance to play my music in front of a real audience. Not one made up of family and friends.
Then again, I was thirteen. There was no way my parents would have turned down that kind of life-changing opportunity or money. They barely read through the legal document before signing on the dotted line.
The past eight years have been spent in front of a camera before finally getting fed up enough to walk away. After wrapping the final episode of All Day Long with Bebe, I’d slipped from the celebration, packed a bag, and taken off.
It didn’t matter if my family or the producers understood.
I needed a break.
From the show.
From them.
From the life we’d created.
I needed time to figure out who I was and what I wanted my future to look like. I was no longer sure if it was long days of filming and a never-ending string of LA parties.
So, I escaped to the one place I knew I was welcome.
My aunt and uncle’s house.
Uncle Sully mentioned that the fall term at Western would start soon and reminded me that I’d always wanted to attend college. It was all the incentive I needed to fill out an application and look for an apartment.
With one semester under my belt, I was even more confused about what I wanted out of life. Every day that passed, California felt less like reality and Western felt more like home.
I pluck the strings again, dispelling those thoughts and refocusing my attention on the music. Another line comes as I harmonize with the tune.
Just as I reach for the pencil, there’s a knock on the door.
I shoot a frown at the entryway.
Since moving into my apartment, I haven’t gone out of my way to make friends with my neighbors. At first, it felt safer to keep my distance. I was afraid someone might recognize me and blow my cover. The longer I’ve been absent from LA, the more speculation has brewed as to why I haven’t been seen out with my family.
Or Axel.
When there’s another, more impatient rap of knuckles against the thick wood, I set my guitar down and pad across the carpet before peering through the peephole.
It’s probably Lance, my neighbor. We’ve studied together half a dozen times or so. He’s a sweet kid. A couple days ago, he asked me out.
I told him that I’d think it over.
My eyes widen and my brows pinch together as I press closer to the door.
No.
Fucking.
Way.
What the hell is Colby McNichols doing here?
I thought I’d nipped his interest in the bud the other night at Slap Shotz.
This guy really can’t take no for an answer, can he?
Unable to help myself, I peer through the tiny hole for a second time, only to find him pressed against it on the other side.
All I see is the blue of his iris that rings the black pupil.
With a squeak, I fall back a step. My hand flies to my chest as my heart thrums an unsteady beat.
Did he see me?
I really hope not.
I freeze, not wanting to make any noise that will give me away.
If I’m lucky, he’ll?—
There’s another, more insistent knock. “I know you’re in there. I can hear you breathing.”
Well, hell.
With a huff, I straighten my shoulders and open the door. “What are you doing here?”
He thrusts a tall to-go cup toward me. “Just thought you might like a peace offering in the form of dark roasted beans.”
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. “And you know where I live how?”
Even though he shrugs as if it’s no big deal, there’s nothing casual about the intensity that fills his eyes. “Oh, you know…asked around. Turns out that a couple of my teammates live on the second floor.”
“How unfortunate.”
He pretends to wince. “Ouch.”
Or maybe he’s not pretending at all.
My gaze settles on the coffee as the rich aroma wraps around me, tantalizing my senses. I’m operating on fumes and could really use a midafternoon pick-me-up. I chew my bottom lip before reluctantly reaching for the cup. My fingers brush against his, and a zip of electricity sizzles across my skin.
I jerk away, but not before wrapping my hand around the warm container and taking it with me. Unsure what to say, I bring the coffee to my lips and take a sip. My eyelids feather close as a tiny sigh escapes from me before I can reel it back in.
It’s like crack in the form of coffee.
I take another taste before inspecting the tan and white container. “What’s in here?”
The smile that spreads across his face makes his dimples pop. “The Roasted Bean has a McNichols special on the menu. Sorry, I’m not at liberty to tell you what the ingredients are.” He winks. “It’s top secret.”
