Page 17 of Fame & Rhythm

“Because I had the best song in my head, and now it’s gone. Again. That’s twice I’ve been woken up mid-dream.”

“They need to invent something that records dreams,” he says. “The way you describe them, they sound unreal.”

“They are,” I say, stretching and yawning. “I love my dreams.”

“Well, you better get downstairs. Your mum said if I get you up, I get extra bacon. So hurry up, because this pig needs pig,” he says, grinning.

I laugh. “You’re a dick.”

“I looove bacon. Sue me. Now get up… it’s already nine-thirty. Susan will be here soon,” he says, grabbing my hand and hauling me out of bed.

I stumble up, still half asleep, my oversized 12GAUGE-Slayed T-shirt barely covering my underwear. I drag my hands through my tangled hair and rub my face, trying to wake up.

When I open my eyes, Aston’s staring…

At my legs.

His eyes are wide, his grin slightly dazed.

“Hey,” I say, shoving his shoulder.

He snaps out of it instantly. “What? Huh?”

“Get downstairs so I can get dressed,” I say, raising a brow. “And now I’m eating your extra bacon for gawking.”

He chuckles. “You were going to eat it anyway.”

“Then I’ll eat all of it.”

“Not if I get there first,” he shoots back, then leans in, presses a quick kiss to my forehead, and bolts from the room.

I shake my head, laughing softly to myself before getting dressed, by pulling on my usual baggy gray joggers and an old flannelette shirt. It’s not exactly stylish, but it is comfortable, and that’s all I care about. It’s just me, Ella, Aston, and Susan today anyway.

Ella, on the other hand, always looks like she’s about to walk a runway, even in pajamas. I don’t get it. Clothes are clothes. Comfort wins every time.

I head downstairs, the smell of bacon hitting me before I even reach the kitchen.

Now that is a smell worth waking up for.

My stomach growls as I step inside, taking in the scene. Ella’s in one of her perfect outfits, Mum and Dad are cooking, and there is coffee brewing.

I move toward the table, and the moment I step in, I feel it.

That familiar tingle.

Aston’s here somewhere.

I sit down and check my phone, pretending to be blasé.

“You could at least try with your appearance,” Ella mutters under her breath. “You look like trailer trash.”

“Shut up,” I fire back quietly. “Just because you need to look like a walking fashion advertisement doesn’t mean I do. I’m comfortable. That’s all that matters.”

“You look perfect to me, Lennox,” Aston says as he walks in with the dogs trailing behind him.

“See,” I shoot at Ella.

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”