Prologue #4
“What did you just call me?” My voice holds more confusion than I want it to. I was going for anger. Why is he even talking to me?
“Valentine.” He calmly adjusts the strap on his book bag. “Why, is that what everyone calls you?”
I shake my head. “No one’s ever called me that before.”
He frowns. “No one’s ever called you Valentine before?”
He asks that as if that’s what everyone should have been calling me all my life. As if that’s my actual name and I’m the only one who hasn’t figured it out yet.
I shake my head again, and his eyes slowly look me over as I do. My nerves want me to move, but they also keep me completely still as he looks at me. When his eyes meet mine again, he smirks.
“Well, then I’m the only one who's allowed to call you that.”
He winks.
He fucking winks at me.
Am I imagining this? I didn’t think he liked me. I thought the two of us were completely different from each other. So different that the idea of being friends and letting him call me a nickname that he just claimed was far out of reach.
I’m so confused that I just push past him and walk away. He easily catches up and walks right along with me.
“So listen, you were really great in there.”
I scoff. “Is that why you looked so indifferent when I was done?”
I curse myself for glancing up at him, but when I do, I catch him rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says softly, his hand dropping from his neck. “I was actually imagining something.”
I go to push the door open, but he beats me to it, smiling that damn smile again.
Stop smiling.
I walk through the door, Huxley right behind me.
“If you were imagining something, how do you know if I was any good?” I ask as I head down the stairs.
“Because I was imagining you.”
I stop suddenly. Huxley falters on the next step when he notices I’m not moving. With him a step below me, our heights have a chance to even out ever so slightly, with him only three inches taller than me now.
“Why were you imagining me?” The silent stairwell amplifies my quiet voice, making it ring in my ears. Why would he be imagining me? We just met, and he made fun of me.
Huxley shrugs, staring at the step as he moves in front of me.
“Because I like your voice.” He lifts his head, and I take in just how close we are.
I can almost feel his chest against mine, so I try to steady my breathing.
“And I think you could sing. So I was imagining you singing whatever song you were playing.”
“Halsey,” I blurt out. The only thing I’m able to get out is just her name—the title of the song lost in my throat.
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean something, or do you not know my name?”
I shake my head, trying to collect myself. “It was Lonely is the Muse by Halsey. The song.”
“Ah. See? I didn’t know that.”
“Clearly.”
He smiles again, but I try so damn hard to ignore how it makes me feel. Awkwardly, I nod and step around him, almost hoping he stays where he is.
Almost.
“So what do you say, Valentine?” he asks as he follows me, and fuck, why am I relieved? “Why don’t you give singing a chance?”
I force a laugh. “I’m not a singer, Huxley. I play the piano, and that’s it. I’m simple like you thought I was.”
I barely reach the landing when he catches my arm, spinning me toward him, forcing me to stare up at his crazy height again.
“Who said I thought you were simple?” He frowns, but his eyes hold a bit of hurt that I don’t have the strength to focus on.
I cross my arms over my chest to guard myself from him like I should have done earlier. “You did. When you looked me over and said ‘Piano or violin’.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine. I get it.” My hand gestures over him, my eyes following suit. “You’re this insanely talented musician, and I’m the girl who was forced to learn piano as a child and for some reason kept it up.” My eyes move back to his. “Compared to you, I’m extremely simple.”
You need to stop talking.
Huxley’s shoulders slump, confusing me again. Does he really not see that he’s talented? That has to be why he’s upset. Because there’s no way he’s upset that I think of myself as simple compared to him.
When he doesn’t respond, I turn away again. But something doesn’t feel right. I don’t know why, but I can’t leave it like this. I turn back to him before I can think about it.
“Hey.” His eyebrows go up, still in the spot where I left him. “When you become a Rockstar, I’ll be there, though.”
He smiles that easy smile, and I instantly feel better. “Front row?”
I shrug. “Backstage.”
His smile grows wider, and I can’t help but smile back.
I turn before I say anything else that will make me sound crazy. Pushing the door open to head outside, the weight of what I just said settles on me.
Would I really ever see Huxley Adams perform? And if so, would I ever go backstage? Some girl he met Freshman year in college? There’s no way. Absolutely not. And the same goes for me singing.
I barely found the courage to play again. The last thing I ever see myself doing is singing in front of anyone. Much less in front of the Rockstar himself, Huxley Adams.