The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(67)

“Try? Try me on for size? Like a girlfriend coat to see if I would fit?”

“No.”

Yes. Maybe.

“I liked you, Amber,” I said. “I do like you. But—”

“You love her.”

“Why do you think that?” I asked pathetically.

“I saw Evelyn’s vlog. Shiloh told me that Violet took the original video of you singing ‘All I’ll Ever Want.’ The way you looked at her when you sang it… That wasn’t for her, right? After Chance’s party, you never sang to me again.”

I hadn’t sung for Amber at Chance’s party either, but no sense in making things worse. I felt like shit enough as it was that I let this go on so long. A charade. An act so tedious, even Amber was tired of it.

“I’m sorry, Amber. I really am. For what it’s worth, I never meant to hurt you.”

“Famous last words.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Okay, so I guess that’s it. Just do me one favor.”

“Anything.”

“Give me some time before you start walking the halls with Violet, okay?”

“I will. Doubt that would happen soon anyway. I have to get my shit together.” I smiled thinly. “Don’t need to tell you that.”

“No, you don’t.” Amber’s stiff face softened. “I thought I’d be more hurt. And I am. I’m not letting you off the hook.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But when you sent me that text this morning, I felt almost relieved.” She shot me a dry look. “Miller Stratton, you’re like a gentleman sharing a brain with an asshole.”

I laughed a little. “Accurate.”

The asshole was born the day my father left. But Amber didn’t need to hear any more excuses.

“And I have a confession,” she said. “I got a little wrapped up in the idea of you and me. Of you being this famous musician and me being the girl in your love songs. So maybe I hung around a little bit longer than I should have. But that doesn’t mean you should’ve kissed someone else.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’ll always regret that.”

I regretted the timing. I could never regret kissing Violet. Even when it blew us apart.

Amber heaved a sigh. “Okay, you look contrite enough. I gotta go.” She shouldered her embroidered bag. “When you do get your shit together, make sure you give Violet more of your gentleman and less of your asshole.”

I held up a hand. “I will do my best to give her less of my asshole.”

She burst out with a laugh. “See you around, Stratton.”

“Hey, Amber.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being cool.”

She smiled thinly, gave a little wave, and walked away.

I slumped on the bench, relief and regret gusting out of me. Relief that I ended it, regret that it took me so long.





A few days later, I was on the same bench, reading Tender is the Night, when Evelyn Gonzalez approached.

“Hey, you. What you’re doing?” She glanced at the cover of my book. “Fitzgerald. That’s not on our assigned list.”

“I know. I’m reading it because I want to.”

“Aren’t you just the perfect, sensitive artist-type.”

I sighed. “What do you want, Evelyn?”

“You.” She laughed at my dark expression. “Relax. It’s purely business. We need to get to work on your next video. The last one was great but I have some fresh ideas that I want to run by you tonight.”

“You know I can only do Sundays.”

“This Sunday is no good. It has to be tonight.”

“I can’t. I have work after school at the arcade.”

“After, then.”

“It’ll be late. Like ten o’clock.”

“That works.” She looked at me from under lowered lashes. “And if you get tired, you’re welcome to stay over.”

“Evelyn…”

“Oh my God, I’m kidding. You’re such a grouch.” She got up, straightened her tight skirt. “Ten o’clock, Stratton. Don’t be late. We have to strike now, while you’re hot and getting hotter. Musically, speaking.” She blew me a kiss and strode off, ponytail swinging.

I didn’t want to go to Evelyn’s and make another video. I wanted to go to Violet. I wanted to climb up the trellis like I always did and play for her. Then kiss her and not run out the door but stay. Hold her and sleep with her. No sex, just sleep. Like I did the night four years ago when she found out where I’d been living.

But I’d promised to give Amber some time and I was fairly sure Violet was sick of my shit by now. Running hot and cold, but mostly just running.

After school, I went home and took a quick shower before work. Chet was there, as usual, demanding to know where I go every night and getting pissed when I refused to tell him.

“If you were my son…” he warned.

“I’m not,” I shot back, “so mind your own fucking business.”

I let the door slam, anger burning my skin. If Dad hadn’t left, Mom and I wouldn’t have had to deal with Chet fucking Hyland. We wouldn’t be living in a shithole apartment after living in a car. If he were still around, I wouldn’t be such a fucking mess. I could be the guy Violet deserved.