Tone Deaf(4)

What, does he think I’m some crazed fan who’s going to go bonkers when I meet Jace? Maybe I should tell him the truth: that I’ve been mentored by some of the greatest pianists alive, and I know to act normal around celebrities. But I don’t say a word, because that was the past.

“I’ll wait for you in the parking lot,” Avery chirps, breaking into my thoughts. She tugs on my sundress, straightening it a little, and quickly signs, “You’re gorgeous and he’ll love you!” Then she waves and walks away, my good-bye trailing after her.

I officially have the best friend in the world. What other person could lose their chance at their life’s dream without a spark of jealousy? She’s amazing, and I vow to tell her that later.

But, for now, I have a rock star to hang out with.

Tony taps my shoulder to get my attention, and I quickly step away from his touch. I shoot him an apologetic smile, but he hardly seems to notice. He’s frowning now, although I’m not exactly sure what I’ve done to upset him.

Tony leads me toward the stage, and this time it’s much easier to make it through the crowd. He’s obviously an expert at navigating packed stadiums, and I follow carefully behind him as he nudges people out of the way and sidesteps the more intoxicated concertgoers. Tony gets us to the stage fast, and then he leads me up the stairs at its side and into the back. His shoulders grow tense as we pass people carrying lighting equipment and microphones.

I let my eyes roll. What is it about me that has Tony all anxious? I weigh a grand total of one hundred pounds. Even if I were some rabid fan, it’s not like I could ever do any damage to a musician who’s six foot two.

We turn a corner, moving down a small staircase and into the hallway behind the stage, and there he is. Jace Beckett, lead singer extraordinaire. Suddenly, my chest feels all tight and my stomach feels . . . fluttery. What the hell? Sure, the guy is hot, but that’s no excuse for my stomach to turn traitor.

Jace is leaning against a wooden panel, his electric guitar clutched in his hands. His body language is casual and cocky, but he holds the guitar carefully, like it’s some sort of Stradivarius. Well, at least he respects the instrument that made him famous.

He’s talking with a blond dude, who I recognize as his backup singer and guitarist, Arrow. Arrow is tall—just a tiny bit shorter than Jace—and his hair is shaggy and styled into a messy look. I filter through all of Avery’s past babbling, trying to remember something about the guy. All that pops into my head is: he’s the oldest member of the band at twenty-one, and he’s Jace’s cousin. I mentally curse myself for not being able to remember more; maybe I should have paid closer attention to all of Avery’s ramblings about Tone Deaf. If I’m going to avoid coming off as completely clueless, it’d help to know more than just his age.

My mouth starts drying out as I approach the two. I stumble, and then bite my lip to keep a curse from escaping. What’s wrong with me? I used to be in these guys’ shoes; I was the musical prodigy, the one performing in front of huge crowds. I have no excuse for being so anxious.

Jace and Arrow both lean over the guitar, and Jace gestures excitedly to a tiny box clipped to the instrument’s fret board—probably some sort of fancy gadget to enhance the guitar’s sound. Tony must call out a greeting, because Arrow looks up at us, but Jace keeps his attention steadily focused on his instrument.

I walk toward them, emerging from behind Tony and keeping my hands at my sides. I want them to know that I’m not going to go all fangirly on them, trying to tackle-hug them or dropping down on one knee to propose. Arrow shoots me an approving look tainted with surprise, like he was expecting me to do both those things. Jace glances up from his guitar just long enough to give me a small wave.

I urge my hand to work. Move, move, move! But I’m frozen. I’m only two yards away from Jace, so close to the music icon and . . . I can’t move.

Suddenly, I get it. Like, really, really get it. In that frozen moment, it makes total sense that Jace has so many thousands of fans. He’s stunning—tall frame, lean muscle, sharp facial features. Piercing eyes so blue that I wonder if he’s wearing colored contacts. Black hair styled into a fauxhawk, with the tips dyed cyan.

But it’s not just his looks. Actually, it’s the way he handles his guitar that really grabs my attention. Standing there with the instrument in his hands, he looks ready to burst with confidence. Not cockiness, but confidence, like he knows the music, and he’s sure the music knows him.

“Hey,” he says. And just like that, he sets down the guitar, and his expression changes. Now it’s that pained, fake smile he was wearing when he announced the raffle. “I guess you’re the lucky girl.”

I nod and do my best to smile. “Um, yeah. I guess I am.”

He laughs. “You guess you are? You’re not sure you’re lucky?”

I blush and then quickly look at my feet, knowing my freckles are about to pop out like polka dots. Even makeup can’t hide my Irish blood when I get flustered. But I force away my embarrassment and look back up at him, carefully watching his lips.

“I know I’m lucky,” I amend, and I let my smile grow.

Arrow chuckles and elbows Jace in the side. “Looks like you’ve got a live one here, Jace.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Live one?”

Jace rolls his eyes at Arrow and then turns back to me. “Yeah, a live one. You know, a girl who isn’t trapped in la-la-Jace-land, where they’re married to me and we make passionate love twenty-four-seven.”