Page 23 of Fame & Rhythm

I yank my hand back before I can stop myself, folding my arms tightly across my chest, tucking my hands out of reach.

“What’s wrong?” Aston asks, his voice softer now, his brow creasing. “You okay?”

I swallow, forcing my breathing to steady. “I just… don’t want to be here,” I say, exhaling slowly. “Too many people I don’t know, all trying to outdo each other.”

That part, at least, is true.

What I don’t say is that I want him to touch me again, and that thought alone sends my head spinning.

Because I don’t see Aston like that.

I can’t.

I’m seventeen. Boys aren’t even on my radar. Music is. Always has been. It’s the only thing that matters.

And Aston? He’s my best friend.

That’s all this is.

It has to be.

We’ve known each other forever, grown up side by side. Of course, there are going to be moments that feel… different, somehow stronger. That’s just what happens when you’re this close to someone for this long.

Right?

“Okay, c’mon. Let’s go outside and get some fresh air,” Aston says, taking my hand and pulling me up from the leather seat before I can protest.

I follow, trying to match his pace, but he’s all long strides and solid build now. Somewhere over the last few years, he’s filled out even more, with broad shoulders and muscle layered over muscle thanks to those daily gym sessions with his dad. Apparently, it’s ‘bonding,’ though it mostly just means he’s become impossible to keep up with.

We reach the open doorway, and the cool night air hits me like a wave, washing over my overheated skin. I breathe it in instantly, relief settling through me as the noise from inside dulls behind us. Out here, it’s quieter and calmer. There are only a couple of people scattered around the beer garden, and for the first time all night, I feel like I can actually think.

Aston slows, guiding me over to an old wooden bench tucked into the corner, away from everyone else. I sink beside him, tension easing from my shoulders.

This is better. Much better.

“So, Lennox,” he says, shifting slightly as we settle in. “What’s your birthday wish?”

His leg brushes against mine, and the contact sends a sharp spark shooting through me, racing up my thigh and settling low in my stomach.

What the hell?

I press my thighs together, trying to shut the sensation down, focusing on breathing evenly, even as my pulse kicks up. This… whatever this is… has been building for a while now, creeping in over the last few years, but tonight it feels stronger, like it’s demanding attention.

And I hate it.

Because it doesn’t make sense.

“Annie?” he prompts gently.

I blink, dragged back to the moment, and look at him. The moonlight catches in his eyes, turning them a soft, striking blue, and for a second, I forget how to breathe entirely.

“Sorry, what?” I shake my head, trying to clear it.

“Your birthday wish,” he repeats, watching me carefully.

I let out a small laugh, more out of habit than anything else. “A car… which clearly didn’t happen, so that worked out well.”

He chuckles under his breath, but then something shifts in his expression, his smile fading just slightly.