Page 68 of Once Upon a Boyband
Laney gasps. “Are you doing the dance?”
“You know we have to do the dance,” Freddie says.
“True,” Laney says. “Fans would never forgive you.”
“Meet back in five?” Jace says, and we all agree.
Goldie is stretched out on her dog bed in the corner when I carry Laney’s stuff into my room.
The one downside to the farmhouse is its limited number of guest rooms. The band and other key players are staying here, and there’s one more bunk house somewhere else on the property that’s in use, but the largest number of people are staying at a hotel in Silver Creek and commuting back and forth to the farm. Which is fine. Not everyone needs to be here the whole two weeks, so there has already been a lot of coming and going anyway.
The point is, there isn’t space at the farmhouse for Laney to have her own room, and I do not want her staying at the hotel.
So I’m giving her my room. I haven’t decided where I’ll sleep yet—probably on the couch in the second-floor common area where we’ve been hanging out every night. But I’ll figure out that part later.
Laney stops in the doorway and looks around, her gaze landing on the giant king-sized bed in the middle of the room. My shoes are on the floor beside it, and a flannel is hanging on the bedpost.
“This isyourroom.” She eyes me curiously. “Am I staying in your room?”
“You are, but I’m not,” I say quickly. “There aren’t any vacant rooms, so I thought you could stay here, and I’ll crash on the couch in the living room down the hall.”
She takes a deep breath, then opens her mouth like she’s going to say something before closing it again. “Adam, you can’t sleep on the couch.”
“Sure, I can. It’s not a big deal.”
“But it might be a big deal if it makes people talk. I don’t want to give anyone the impression we’re fighting.”
I think of Jace’s words. Ivy’s warning.
We don’t need a scandal.I will never stop feeling like anidiot for getting Laney into this mess in the first place, but she’s right. Peoplemighttalk. And I’d rather my personal life not be at the center of any of those conversations.
“Only if you’re sure,” I say. “But I need you to know I have zero expectations here. I did not set this up expecting you to offer to share.”
“I one hundred percent believe you. It’s not a big deal. And itisa big bed. We’ll be fine.”
I’m tempted to ask what she means by fine.
Fine…because she plans to assemble a giant wall of pillows down the center of the bed and stay on her side of the mattress?
Fine…because she’s happy to share a room and a bed and embrace wherever that takes us?
Fine…because she isn’t attracted to me so it will feel like sharing a bed with her sibling?
Okay, scratch that last one. I’ve kissed Laney enough times to know not to worry about that.
But the truth is, I don’t have a lot of experience navigating conversations like this one. I was a very young eighteen when Midnight Rush ended. Offstage, I was shy and awkward. Post-concert casual hookups never felt like the right choice for me.
Once I left the band, I was basically in hiding. I didn’t date or hang out with friends. While other guys my age were attending frat parties and swiping right on dating apps, I was learning how to cook and teaching myself how to play guitar and hoping the Amazon delivery guy didn’t figure out who I was.
It’s not in my nature to be casual, and at some point, I’ll have to talk to Laney about this. She’s not casual for me—I already know that. But I still want to take things slow.
Laney lets her purse fall from her shoulder and drops it onto the chair next to Goldie’s bed, then crouches down to scratch the dog’s ears. “I’m glad Goldie got to come,” she says easily. “Is she getting outside to enjoy the farm?”
“She tried to herd some goats yesterday,” I say. “And she made friends with a basset hound named Charlie.”
“Oh my gosh, I bet you loved that, Goldie.” The dog rolls over to show her belly, and Laney gives her good scratches, talking to her the whole time. The diamond on Laney’s finger glints in the sunlight streaming in through the window.
She’s doing a lot for me this week.
