Aimee and the Heartthrob (4 page)

Tonight kicked off S2J’s first headlining arena tour. And it was a pretty huge deal, bigger than making it on
Rockstars Live
, then getting their first record deal, then cutting their debut album. The band started their careers in the public eye, so they were no strangers to interviews, live shows, and industry events. But tonight’s concert was beyond major, and Miles knew Ryder wasn’t the only one strung out on opening-night jitters.

Later that night, after an unusually mellow sound check, deep inside the belly of the arena, S2J’s spacious dressing room/makeup room was loud and rowdy, but there was definitely tension in the air.

Ryder was repeating lines of “Kiss This” into his cupped hands, working out the harmony they’d changed last week, Nate was attempting to flirt with a makeup artist—which never went well—Trevin was speaking lightning-fast Korean with one of the techs, and Will was spinning around in a swivel chair, doing loud and out-of-tune vocal warm-ups while staring at the ceiling.

They each had their own way of coping with stress.

Miles wasn’t usually the calm one. The fact that he was quiet was probably the biggest sign of nerves. Thriving on being under pressure, he was normally the one running around backstage, getting the other guys pumped. Instead, as they took their places ten feet under the stage, standing on their marks, he wiped his palms on his jeans and thought about his family, his mum, his friends back at Pali High.

Then…he thought about Aimee, pictured her across the room in a yellow dress. Out of nowhere, a colossal blast of nerves shot through his body. Since when did any girl make him nervous?

He shook out his sweaty hands, staring straight ahead at the ropes and pulleys, the white lights shining through the slats in the stage.

The second the house lights dimmed, the crowd went blooming nuts. Miles sucked in a slow breath, blew it out, then turned around and made eye contact with each of the guys—a tradition he’d started before their very first live gig in Florida.

When the intro music started—the first few measures of “Not Tonight”—he drew in another deep breath, took his place, ready to be catapulted up onstage like a cork, the theatrical entrance they’d practiced a dozen times.

At the last possible moment, his nerves swirled into white hot adrenaline. Exactly what he needed.

“Nervous, bro?” Trev called.

Miles grinned. “Not even a little.”

“Let’s turn up!”

“Retweet!” Nate chimed in.

There was nothing like it, the feeling seconds before a show. Tingles and pin prickles and beads of sweat covered Miles’s body. It was pure joy, frickin’ rapture, the closest thing he’d ever felt to the physical passion he’d experienced with girls alone in the dark.

But nothing compared to this. Taking the stage. Opening night.

The countdown started, then
whoosh
! One by one, each of his mates, braced by a hydraulic lift, blasted through a hole on the stage floor.

Darkness. Light. Ecstasy.

Chapter Four

Aimee had been determined to not watch tonight’s concert, but when Marsha tracked her down to show her where she could watch the whole thing backstage, she’d caved. After all, she didn’t want to be rude to Miles’s mother, and watching one live show wasn’t like she was bandwagoning with the other ten million “Miles High Club” fangirls.

And actually, it would probably help her to further get over him; seeing Miles with no editing, no pitch control or Photoshop. Maybe after he hit enough bad notes, she’d lose interest altogether.

But damn. It was like the boy couldn’t hit a wrong note. None of them, with the exception of Will, “the shy one.” He seemed all uber-nervous, missing dance steps here and there. But Miles knew where everyone was supposed to be, and the few times Will choked, Miles drew the attention away, bringing the crowd with him.

Huh. Pretty cool. Like,
very
cool, actually. Miles took care of his friends. Had he always been like that? Attentive and selfless?

Aimee took a step closer, watching the final dance moves of “Motion in the Ocean,” one of the lesser-known S2J songs, and one she’d never heard live. Miles cradled the mike in both hands, his mouth hovering over it, his eyes closed, as if he were caressing the mike or about to move in for a kiss. More than once, Aimee had to force herself to not stare at his lips but concentrate on the music. Most of the time, she could barely hear the guys’ velvety voices over the shrieking girls. It was so annoying! Why did they have to constantly scream like that? Didn’t they come to hear S2J sing and not themselves scream?

Plus, why were so many calling out for Miles? And why did Miles seem so happy about it and egg it on? Well, he
was
S2J’s resident “playa,” after all. His heartthrob nickname must’ve come from somewhere. At the thought of Miles surrounded by girls—any girl he wanted—Aimee had trained herself to roll her eyes and think of something bitchy to say to Becky. But tonight, it made her stomach hurt.

Becky loved concerts, and Aimee was totally tempted to snap a quick selfie backstage. She wouldn’t have to say which band it was, though the second the pic hit Instagram, she’d have to ’fess up. No, just no. That would be so totally mean to do to Becky when she was sick and probably miserable. Plus, Aimee wasn’t ready to tell Becky where she was. They were best friends, and on the day Miles had become Aimee’s enemy, that made him Becky’s public enemy number one, too.

The lights dimmed to reset the stage, and before Aimee’s eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness, someone ran into her, bashing right into her left boob. “
Ow!
” she whisper/yelped, clutching the front of her shirt protectively.

“My fault—didn’t see you.”

Her heart thudded when she recognized the voice. Miles had bumped her; hadn’t even known she was there. Still covering her throbbing ta-ta, she wheeled around and saw a tech strapping a guitar around Miles’s back. Miles had a pick in his mouth and strummed the guitar a few times, nodding at the tech. The next second, he whizzed past her again, but Aimee made sure she—and any protruding body part—was out of the way.

In the ten seconds since the lights had gone down, her eyes finally adjusted enough to see S2J lined up behind standing mikes, Miles on the end, plugging in his guitar.

Five bright spotlights hit the stage. As Miles strummed the guitar, the cheers escalated, making Aimee’s ears ring. She wondered how the guys could stand it, night after night. They were all grinning, though, like they didn’t notice the place sounded like the inside of a blender on crack.

Miles was playing the guitar now, but after only a few strums, he stopped and eyed the crowd until the cheering decreased significantly, like he was in complete control of fifty thousand people. When he began to play again, then sing those first few words, Aimee felt a flutter in her stomach she wasn’t able to squelch.

She wasn’t a robot, after all. And it wasn’t so bizarre to get a little fluttery over a boy as talented and hot as Miles Carlisle. Millions of girls suffered the same ailment. But how many girls stood backstage, close enough that he’d accidentally felt her up in the dark?

And how many of those girls had already had their heart broken by him?

The song faded out and Miles grabbed the mike. “Our next number is going out to allllll the lovely ladies out there.” Another burst of ear-splitting screams. So, he was actually dedicating a song to every girl in the audience? How very personal.

“Isn’t he brilliant?” Marsha came up to her side, beaming at her son onstage.

“Uh, yeah,” Aimee said, though irrational jealousy of an entire arena was adding a layer to the brick wall around her heart, protecting her from falling for Miles again. “Actually, I might go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“Already?” Marsha gazed at her like she had two heads. “It’s almost over, and I thought you’d love this.”

“Oh, I do, it’s just…” She rubbed her temple. “I have a headache, and it’s pretty loud.”

Marsha laughed and fingered her hair into a ponytail. It was the same shade of blond as Miles’s. “We’ve all gotten used to it.”

“You’d have to. Well, good night.”

Marsha gave her a big hug. “Night, love. So glad you’re with us; you’re like family.”

“Thanks.” Aimee tucked some hair behind her ears, feeling like she might burst into tears. She was probably homesick, or maybe she missed her friends and her own bed and even crap stuff like studying for the SATs, even though it hadn’t been twenty-four hours since she’d left home.

She made her way down a hallway, trying to find an exit, when she walked into the wrong room, bumping into a couple sucking face against the door. “Oh, sorry!”

They peeled apart. Aimee didn’t recognize the guy, but the girl was one of the makeup artists. “It’s okay.” She smiled, wiped the drool off her bottom lip, then practically pushed the guy out the door. “Didn’t think anyone was around.”

“I was just leaving,” Aimee said, a blush prickling her cheeks. “Trying to leave.”

“Wait. Who are you here with?”

“
With
? No one,” she said, folding her arms over that still tender area above her heart. “I mean, I used to have a crush on—”

“No,” the girl said, laughing. “I meant, I saw you in the tent at dinner. You were at the
Not Tonight
table with the parents and stuff.”

“My brother was busy, so Marsha invited me to eat with her.”

“You know Marsha Carlisle?”

“Miles and I kinda grew up together.”

“Really?” The girl’s thin, penciled-in eyebrows lifted. “I’m Deb. I do makeup.”

“I know. I saw you with the other wardrobe people.”

Deb was probably around twenty-five, had short red hair cut in a severe angle, which really suited her face. And when she turned toward the light, Aimee saw a tiny diamond stud on her nose. “We call ourselves the glam squad.”

Aimee laughed and leaned on the doorframe, feeling less like a trespasser. “I’m sure the guys just love that.”

“Oh, they completely hate it, but someone has to keep them from getting too conceited. So, you actually
know
Miles?” Deb walked to a table and started loading makeup brushes into a Tupperware box.

“I guess. Though
you
probably know him better than I do now. He’s been away from home for two years. I don’t know what
this
Miles is like.”

“Probably the same. He seems really grounded, normal, probably because his mother’s here.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’m Aimee Bingham, by the way.”

“Oh, you’re that intern’s sister. Nick, right? He’s hunky.”

Aimee crinkled her nose. “I try not to think about my brother like that.”

“Well, trust me, he’s been getting looks from the girls all day. He’ll definitely be a hot topic in our bus tonight. Speaking of, you’re staying in
Hanging On
?”

“Yeah.”

“These buses are really nice compared to others I’ve been on. I traveled with a certain girl group two summers ago.” She made a face. “Seriously, the buses were super old and falling apart, and I swear, I was afraid I’d catch an STD from the seats. Hashtag skanky hoes.” She laughed. “Anyway, the ones for S2J are as nice as hotels, especially
The One
.”

This sparked Aimee’s interest. “You’ve seen the inside of
The One
?”

Deb shook her head. “No one has, if you’re not in the band. There’s a rule about it and everything. They have private security—I’m sure you’ll meet Beau, their head bodyguard. You can’t get two steps up before he’ll throw your ass off. If we’re traveling and one of the guys needs to meet with a tutor or doctor or do an interview, it’s always on another bus. They’re really strict about it.
The One
is totally decked out, though. I heard they each have a personal massaging recliner.”

“Nice.”

“And like three sixty-inch flat-screens, every gaming system known to man, complete wifi hookups so they can stream anytime they want, even in the middle of the desert. And each of their bunks has memory foam beds, noise-canceling earphones, iPads, laptops, and even personal recording devices. It’s all state of the art.”

“Sounds amazing,” Aimee said, even more curious to see it, now. Though that would obviously never happen, especially if there was an S2J cop at the door. Plus, she didn’t want to make trouble for Nick.

“You headed back to the buses now?” Deb asked. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Don’t you have to…?” Aimee made the motion of powdering her forehead. “During their breaks or whatever?”

“There’s a crew backstage in the wings for that, but I’m off tonight. I just had to get them ready.”

“Oh. Cool. Need me to carry anything?”

“I’m only in charge of the brushes, toner, and concealer.”

“Concealer.” Aimee couldn’t help laughing.

“These boys don’t need much. I worked an eighties hair band reunion last New Year’s.” She paused and whistled. “I’ve never gone through so much eyeliner
ever
.”

Aimee laughed again. “You must have so many stories.”

“I do.” She stacked three boxes and balanced them in her arms. “Though you’ll never catch me writing one of those tell-all books. Can you believe that?”

Aimee held the door open for Deb. “Believe what?” she asked as they stepped out into the surprisingly warm San Francisco evening air.

“You know, that book about Miles?”

Aimee wrinkled her forehead in thought. Ever since their explosion on
Rockstars Live
, there’d been loads of books written about S2J, and a new one cropped up every month about one of the members, Miles included. Aimee had made sure to steer away from those, though Becky couldn’t get enough.

“I haven’t read any. It’s all gossip, isn’t it?”

“Most of them, but this one was different. During the mini-tour last year, one of the hair girls brought it on the bus one night and we flipped through it. Bitch was vicious.”

“Who wrote it?”

“His ex. That singer he was with maybe a year and a half ago?”

Aimee knew exactly who Deb meant.

Kelly and Miles had been bigger than Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez, or Blake Shelton and Miranda Lambert, or whoever the power music couple was at the time. Whenever Aimee happened to see a photo of them on a magazine cover, she died a little.

Kelly was like the most beautiful girl on the planet. They weren’t together for more than six months, and their breakup got more screen time than the royal wedding. Now that Aimee thought about it, she did remember something about Kelly writing a book.

“What was so bad about it?”

“It was really personal. She wrote about how they lost their virginity together. Like, exactly where and when…
how
. Really private things, details only a ratchet psycho chick would ever share. And she basically admitted her career got a huge boost because of being with him, almost like she was using him, though she didn’t come right out and say it. Miles was asked about it at every interview for months. He tried to blow it off, but everyone around here knows it really messed him up. After that, he wasn’t around girls much and hated talking to the press. Like he didn’t trust anyone.”

Aimee understood that and couldn’t blame him. Being hurt by someone you thought you could trust, even loved, was an awful feeling. Maybe one of the worst.

“How sucky,” she said. “I had no clue. I’ve tried hard to stay away from all that, actually.”

“That’s refreshing. I’m sure Miles wishes there were more people like you out there. Real friends.”

“Yeah.” It was a little knife twist. She and Miles weren’t really friends anymore, or had they ever been? Maybe it was naïve of her, but before he’d left home for the audition, she’d thought they were. But after what Nick had told her, she knew the truth.

More bricks around her heart stacked in place. Good, she needed to stop thinking about him, feeling sorry for him. No one needed to feel sorry for Miles Carlisle.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Aimee asked.

“I do this every night. All under control.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“This is your first night on the bus, right?” Deb asked, to which Aimee nodded. “I used to have a really hard time falling asleep. The buses are nice, but they’re still buses. If you have trouble sleeping, let me know, I’ve got some pills.”

“Thanks,” Aimee said. “Sorry again for walking in on you and…” She felt another blush.

“Who? Tom? He’s one of the roadies on my bus.” She winked. “I’m sure we’ll pick up where we left off.”

Aimee smiled. “Um, good. Well, see ya.”

The parking lot behind the arena was lit up, and even at this distance, Aimee still felt the thumping bass of the music from inside, still heard the low vibration of the roaring crowd—the Miles High Club in full effect.

The excuse she’d given Marsha about having a headache hadn’t been true at the time, but now Aimee felt pressure building inside her skull. She boarded
Hanging On
, relieved to be the only one inside the bus.

Her bunk was near the back, but was the top of three. First making sure no one was asleep in the bottom bunk, she stood on its edge and reached for her toothbrush and facial cleanser. The bathroom was tiny but surprisingly economical when it came to storage. She quickly brushed and washed. Back at the sleeping quarters, using the first and second bunks as a ladder, she crawled inside her own bunk before kicking off her shoes and pulling her dress over her head. She grabbed a tank top and sleep shorts, then folded her dress alongside her other clothes in the cubby, happy she’d brought outfits that wouldn’t wrinkle.