Aimee and the Heartthrob (3 page)

Miles looked at Aimee, feeling cement in his shoes. “Uh. Yeah, sure.” Mum was sweeter than Cadbury’s chocolate, but she had the worst timing.

“Bye, Marsha,” Aimee said, waving her fingers.

Mum left, and then they were alone, still in front of that damn bus with shirtless S2J. Miles really hated that thing. He cleared his throat, not knowing what to say.

“Cookies and milk?” Aimee said.

Miles lifted his gaze from the ground to find her smiling at him.

“You’re scarier than Marilyn Manson.”

Miles cracked up, feeling tension leave his shoulders. One little smile from Aimee did that. “My throat tends to get raw, so milk is good for that,” he explained. “Keeps it coated.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And the circus cookies?”

“Something about sprinkles and pink frosting.”

When Aimee laughed, her whole face lit up, making Miles feel all lit up, too. “You used to eat those a lot when we were kids.”

“Yeah.” Miles slid his hands in his back pockets. “Your mum used to keep a bag on hand for me at your house.”

“No, those were
my
bags,” she said, throwing him a bit of that sassy attitude he remembered. “You’d come to my house and eat all my cookies.” She huffed dramatically. “I can’t even.”

“Guilty as charged,” Miles said with a laugh. Then suddenly he had an overwhelming urge to hug her, like it was just now dawning on him that they really were old friends, more entwined in each other’s lives than he’d realized.

But he couldn’t hug her. Hell, he couldn’t touch her hair again or give her a fist bump. He probably shouldn’t be hanging out with her alone, not if he’d read Nick’s “stay away from my sister,
player
” expression correctly. Which he knew he had.

“I guess I could show you around—so you don’t get lost or anything,” Miles said, needing a legitimate reason to stay with her.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s cool, I’ve got time.” He nodded at the second bus. “
Not Tonight
.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s the name of the bus. They all have names—don’t ask why. This one’s really nice. It’s got built-in tables and workstations, lots of room for storage. Mum travels on it; she can give you a tour. It’s for parents and chaperones.”

“So rock ‘n’ roll to have your mommies along.”

That sass again. He didn’t mind her teasing. It reminded him of how they used to be back home. “Trevin’ll be the first of us to turn eighteen, which means he’ll be first to be chaperone-less. Well, besides Ryder—he’s never had a guardian. But Trev, we’re all taking bets on how buckwild he’ll go.”

“Trevin.” Aimee nodded, looking pensive. “Isn’t he supposed to be the responsible one? Like, the big brother in Seconds to Juliet?”

“Ahh, so you’ve read the tabloid articles about our nicknames.”

She bit her lip like she’d just made a major mistake, but then nodded.

It pleased him that Aimee followed news of the band, or at least kind of news. “This next bus here,” he said, wanting to move along before she circled back to
his
embarrassing nickname, “is where you and Nick will stay. It’s for guests and friends, reporters sometimes. I wager Mum’s already claimed a bunk for you, probably the best one.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her,” Aimee said. “So, the buses are, um, co-ed?”

Miles didn’t know what she meant at first, then he got it. “These ones are. Your parents cool with that?”

“Yeah,” she said, nibbling her bottom lip. “But only because they think Nick will be on the same bus as me. They don’t know he wants to ride with the other tech guys. We already talked about it on the drive up here.”

“Think it’ll be an issue?”

She shrugged. “Not if they don’t know about it.”

He almost said something lame and authoritative, like how she shouldn’t lie to her parents, but she already had a protective big brother. Where Aimee chose to sleep shouldn’t be his business. “That bus over there is Wardrobe, hair, and makeup.”

“Makeup? On you? Oh, I seriously can’t wait to see that.” Aimee burst into laughter, but the second Miles joined in, she stopped, like it was a grievous crime to be caught having fun. “Um, and that one there?”

“
Rock You
.”

“Huh?”

“It’s the party bus. Publicists, most of the sound guys, our vocal coaches and medic. You’d be surprised how rowdy they are.”

She laughed again. “I’ll remember that. What about the red one way back there?” She pointed at the bus behind all the others.

“That’s the only one that’s not ours,” he said, wanting to roll his eyes and comment on the apropos of the color, but not wanting to be a dick. “It’s Cherry’s.”

Aimee looked at him, then at the bus, then back at him. “The sisters duo? Your opening band?”

He nodded. Hopefully no further explanation would be necessary. Not that he hoped Aimee knew the gossip connected to his
very
short-lived relationship with one of the sisters in Cherry; he just didn’t feel like reliving it.

Aimee’s attention was focused on the bus, but he couldn’t read her expression. Just then, that red door opened, and Paige and her sister, Lexie, stepped out. All that bright blond hair burned his retinas.

They were far enough away that he could easily avoid them—like he intended to do all summer. Paige was so erratic around him these days. Never knew what she was going to say, and he wasn’t eager to find out. But the way Aimee was staring at them… What if she was a huge fan of Cherry and was dying to meet them?

Before he could decide what to do, Aimee turned her back to the bus and took a few steps in the opposite direction. “Anyway. So, where do you sleep?”

He followed, intrigued by her behavior. It was like she’d wanted to avoid them, too.

“
The One
,” he said, glancing in the general direction of that bloody awful bus with the band photo on the side. He’d tried to lead them as far from it as possible, but Aimee was already marching that way, straight toward his half-naked body.

Chapter Three

The mere mention of that bus—and its photo wrap masterpiece—was all Aimee’s feet needed to grow minds of their own. When she and Miles had walked past the other buses, she’d gotten glimpses inside all of them, yet he’d immediately steered her away from this one. Which only made her curious.

“You hang out in there?” She pointed, not directly at Miles’s bare chest, but close enough.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He seemed so uncomfortable, so embarrassed and shy. The exact opposite of the confident boy in the humongous picture staring down at her with all the swagger in the world. “It’s called
The One
.”

Aimee tilted her head. “Like from your song? They’re all named after S2J songs.”

When Miles grinned, she mentally slapped both hands over her mouth. She didn’t want him to know how much she knew about his new life, and Seconds to Juliet, and just about everything Miles Carlisle related. It was embarrassing enough when she’d made that slip about Trevin’s nickname. Luckily, she’d at least managed to maneuver them away from the Cherry sisters. The last thing she wanted was to come face-to-face with Miles’s perky blond ex. Puke.

But
The One
. It wasn’t possible that Aimee didn’t know S2J’s hugest hit. Ryder Brooks—the “bad boy” of the band—had written it, and it was the song that made them off-the-charts famous. Now, it was where Miles practically lived.

“Becky would totally die to see this.” Aimee couldn’t help grinning.

“Becky, your friend from home?”

“Yeah, she’s majorly into pop culture and behind-the-scenes celebrity stuff. She blogs about it hardcore and follows tons of celebs on Twitter. I bet she turns out to be one of those red carpet reporters someday—super nosy. When she heard Nick was coming on tour with you guys, she went mental. She might seriously kill me when she finds out where I am.” Aimee paused and stared up at the bus. “Is it okay if I take a picture to text her?”

Miles laughed. “Didn’t you just say Becky will be mad?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like she won’t find out. She’s my best friend, I have to tell her.”

“Go ahead. Want me to take it?” He reached for the phone in her hand, but Aimee was already extending her arm, framing her face so it was right beside that amazing photo on the bus. The perfect selfie.

Yeah, Becky would flip out in a jealous rage, but maybe that’d help her focus on something besides mono. Then again, Aimee didn’t really want to make her feel worse than she already did. If there were a way she could keep it from Becky for as long as possible, then when she did find out, Aimee could downplay how cool it was. And after all, it wasn’t like being here was Aimee’s choice, anyway.

Instead of texting the pic or posting it anywhere, Aimee turned off her phone. “Can I see inside?” She reached for the handle of the bus, unable to control her curiosity.

“No, you can’t.”

The booming voice made them both wheel around. A squatty, older man—older than her parents—had been standing behind them. For how long? He had a big gut and a pretty heinous comb-over. Aimee recognized him from the behind-the-scenes footage in the
Rockstars Live
reality show: he was the manager of Seconds to Juliet, Lester Pearl, but everyone called him LJ. He’d gone onstage with them when they’d won their first award; she’d been glued to the TV that night.

Obviously, only a super-fan of S2J would know who he was, and there was no way she’d cop to that.

“LJ, hey,” Miles said.

“What are you doing out here?” LJ asked him. “Someone paying you for a private tour?”

“This is Aimee, a friend from home. Well, no, she’s my friend’s sister, so…well, yeah, she’s a friend.”

Aimee wanted to giggle at the clumsy introduction, but the way LJ was eyeing her, giggling was probably the last thing a stern man like him would tolerate.

“Nice to meet you,” LJ said. “You live here in San Francisco?”

“Los Angeles,” Aimee said.

“And you came all the way up here for the show? We’ve got two concert dates at the Staples Center later on.”

“Um,” Aimee mumbled, not sure what to say.

“She’s with us,” Miles jumped in.

LJ crossed his arms. “How’s that?”

“With her brother, I mean. Nick Bingham—you already met him. This is Aimee Bingham.”

“Ahh.” LJ nodded, looking much less scary. “
You’re
the little sister.”

Aimee wasn’t sure if she should feel proud, embarrassed, or pissed off and salty at the label. “Yep,” she said with a smile that she hoped would cover all of the above. “That’s me.”

“Got it.” LJ grinned at Miles, in more of a fatherly way this time. “Well then. You were about to explain why she can never step foot on
The One
. Don’t let me interrupt.”

Miles cleared his throat. “Right. See, it’s S2J only.”

“Why?” Aimee asked.

“It’s a place we can be totally alone, kick back, just us guys.”

“So, only band members allowed?”

“That’s right,” LJ said. “No fans, no paparazzi, no interviewers, and absolutely no girls.”

Aimee caught his tone. Fatherly, again. Miles didn’t seem to mind, though. Huh. So, those stories she’d tried
not
to read about Kelly and Paige, where did all those shenanigans take place if not aboard a private bus? Although Miles had probably just snuck all his women past his manager for midnight booty calls. Whatevs.

“Then I guess the tour stops here?” Aimee said with a smile, wanting to put LJ at ease. No reason at all to make him not trust her or get Miles in trouble. Aimee was a rule follower, like she’d told Marsha, even though her curiosity at seeing inside
The One
was nearly strangling her.

“We’ve got sound check soon,” LJ said, walking off. “Nice to meet you, young lady. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“You, too,” Aimee said, then turned to Miles. “He seems strict.”

“He can be. He’s overly protective.”

Aimee nodded, knowing exactly what that was like, thanks to Nick.

Just then, the accordion door to
The One
coiled up, and out poured the remaining four members of S2J. Aimee stood like a petrified tree and stared, feeling both shamed and awestruck at the same time. It was weird enough seeing Miles—like
the
Miles Carlisle. At least she’d seen him before, in her own living room and kitchen. But coming face-to-face with this gang of guys—whom she’d only seen on TV and magazines and countless Tumblr pages—was beyond surreal.

She’d wondered if they’d be as dreamy in person. And hell yeah, they were.

“Yo, Trev, Will, guys,” Miles said. “Want you to meet some—”

“Well, well, who do we have here?” From what Aimee had read—not that she’d, ya know, read much about S2J—Trevin Jacobs was Miles’s closest friend in the band. If any girl had a thing for dark skin and dreamy almond-shaped eyes, look no further.

“This is Aimee,” Miles said. “A friend from home.”

“Any friend of Kilo’s…” Trevin held out his hand for her to shake.

Aimee glanced at Miles. “Kilo?”

“Short for kilometers.”

Kilometers instead of miles. Clever
, Aimee thought.

“My turn,” said Nathan, elbowing Trevin out of the way, looking every bit “the baby” of the band. Seriously, he seemed about twelve. No wonder he could hit those high notes.

In turn, each of the boys shook her hand, like something they’d been taught in an etiquette class. Very proper and friendly, almost over the top. When Ryder Brooks actually murmured something that was probably supposed to be
Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir
, Miles grumbled and pushed them all back. Aimee couldn’t help laughing.

“How do you two know each other?” Trevin asked.

“Nick’s her brother,” Miles answered. “We’re friends from home.”

Aimee tilted her head. “You keep saying that, but
friends
don’t hog my iPad and eat all my circus cookies.”

Nathan burst out laughing. “Busted, dude, she knows about your cookie fetish?”

“Totally.” Aimee grinned, a bit swept up in how surreal it was that she was teasing Miles Carlisle in front of his famous bandmates.

“It’s not a fetish,” Miles cut in, all pink-cheeked again. Damn, he looked extra hot when he was embarrassed. “It’s comforting.”

“Not that we don’t love strolling down memory lane,” Trevin said, “but we have sound check.” He jerked his chin at Miles. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” He looked at Aimee. “Sorry to cut this short.”

“It’s cool. Go ahead, I’ll just…” She nodded toward the bus, the one where she’d be living for the next three weeks. “Um, good luck tonight.”

Miles smiled down at the ground, ran a hand over the side of his hair, then lifted his chin. “Thanks, Aimee,” he said, looking right at her with those piercing blue eyes.

Whoa. That’s a “heartthrob” smile if I’ve ever seen one.
Before her pounding heart could go flying out of her chest, she flexed every muscle in her body, just in case her legs and stomach decided to go all fangirl wobbly. Going to gooey pieces in front of Miles could not happen.

She’d been hurt before, but not just by him. Hellz no, would she let that happen again. She’d just have to stay away from Miles, avoid him and his big ol’ swoony blue eyes at all costs.

As she watched them walk away, she exhaled a groan/pout combo, remembering how she was basically a prisoner.

…

“So, spill it. Who’s the babe?” Trevin asked.

“I told you, she’s no one—just a friend from home,” Miles said, even though his stomach turned a flip at the words.

“Friend? Looked like you were about to clock Brooks in the head.”

Ryder snorted and flipped up the collar of his leather jacket. “Like he’d ever try clockin’ me.”

“And you’ve never thought of her
that
way?” Trevin added.

Miles laughed it off, jabbing his buddy in the kidney. “Naw, dude. I’ve known her forever.”

This was true. He’d always loved hanging out with Nick’s family. His parents were extremely cool, and majorly understanding about his situation…the screwed-up problems Miles had had when he’d first moved to the States. The anger issues and attitude, the drugs and the night he’d been arrested. Mum hadn’t known how to handle him alone. If it hadn’t been for the Binghams, who knows where Miles would’ve ended up.

But never, not once, had he thought of Aimee as anything more than his best friend’s sister.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the entire truth. Even though he’d never looked at her like someone he’d want to hook up with, she’d been a cool girl, if not a little pesky. She’d always been around, like a shadow. There’d been times—when Nick wasn’t home yet, or maybe still asleep—that he’d hung out with Aimee, just them, watching old school cartoons on YouTube, making fun of the hideous nineties fashion, fighting over circus cookies. Nothing had ever happened, and he’d never wanted anything to happen. He’d never looked at her like that.

As he pictured her in that little yellow dress, though, her brown eyes and wicked-cute smile, looking like a damn model, he suddenly wondered
why
he hadn’t.

But he couldn’t go there. Nick’s friendship was way too important.

“Never?” Trev asked.

Miles shook his head firmly. “There’s a code, man.”

“But there ain’t a code for me.” Ryder smirked. “I wouldn’t mind taking those legs for a ride.”

Miles stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed Ryder by the elbow. “No,” he said, squeezing his fingers into Ryder’s arm, jerking him to an abrupt halt.

Ryder arched an eyebrow challengingly. “Oh, yeah?” After a moment, he exhaled a low chuckle and knocked his shoulder against Miles as he walked off.

It had been a long time since Miles had felt the urge to snap like that. A therapist had once described him as Bruce Banner, with the Hulk always just under his skin, waiting to burst out in a rage. He’d worked so hard at learning how to direct his temper and anger down less self-destructive paths. But Ryder Brooks, man. He always knew what buttons to push.

Miles dropped his chin, locked his jaw, and blew out a long breath.
Stay back, Hulk.

Where had that sudden protective impulse for Aimee come from, anyway? Not that he needed a special reason to be annoyed with Ryder for talking dirty smack about girls.

“Relax.” Trevin gave his arm a friendly punch. “He’s just messin’ with ya. He’d never admit it, but he’s really nervous about tonight’s show.”

“Ryd doesn’t get nervous,” he said, still staring down at the ground. “He’s like a machine.”

“That’s just a front.”

“Well, it’s a damn good one. Seriously though, if he tries anything with Aimee—”

“He won’t. He doesn’t go for that type anyway.”

“What type is that?”

“You know, classy and…clean, void of neck tattoos and hoochie skirts.”

Miles chuckled at the description that was pretty dead on.

“Ryder’s not into good girls. Though
that
one…” Trevin nodded back where they’d come from. “He might make an exception. She’s bangin’.”

“Ya think?”

“Dude, I know you’re not blind to that. She’s the kinda girl poetry is written about, wars are waged, kingdoms fall. Which reminds me.” He elbowed Miles in the ribs. “You got some songs to write.”

Miles rubbed the back of his neck. “We all do.”

He’d always known he could sing—the one positive trait Miles had inherited from his father, the prick who’d left him and Mum ten years ago for someone he’d met at the gym. Singing came easily, but it wasn’t until Miles met Nick that he realized music could also be an escape, a kind of therapy, a way out of the darkness and anger.

Singing was natural, but writing had become a surprise passion. When his song “Just Lucky” became their first radio hit, Miles was absolutely hooked.

Seconds to Juliet made an off-paper deal with LJ and the other managers that they’d get first crack at writing all the songs for their new album, the one they’d be recording after this tour. Miles took that seriously, and had every intention of using this summer—all the free time on the bus—to write. Penning “Just Lucky” was not going to be just one-time luck.