Page 12 of The Heartbreakers
Dang it. Now I would have to explain everything. If Drew found out from Oliver that we actually met while I was getting coffee, he’d be beyond ticked. “Actually,” I began, already regretting my words. “It was this morning.”
Drew still looked lost, so Oliver clarified. “At Starbucks.”
“Wait, so we stood in line all day for an autograph when you had already met him?” Drew asked, gaping at us like we were insane.
I threw my hands up in the air. “I’m not Cara, Drew. I don’t have posters of the Heartbreakers hanging on my wall. I didn’t realize it was him. If I’m going to listen to a band, I’ll listen to a good one like the Sensible Grenade or Bionic Bones.”
Okay, so Cara was right about the weird underground music stuff—of course, that didn’t make her ignorance of punk-rock legends excusable—but the bands I listened to were much more talented than the Heartbreakers.
Oliver cleared his throat. “Um, okay. Low blow.”
My brother looked like he was going to explode, but he took a deep breath, put a hand on my shoulder, and turned to Oliver. “Could you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to my sister.”
“Sure,” Oliver said as he shrugged his shoulders. “I just came to invite you up to our room.” He handed me a spare room card. “Just give this to the man in the elevator. He’ll let you up.”
When the door shut and Oliver was gone, Drew spun around to face me. “What the heck is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Why did you keep insulting him?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t mean to, but he was getting on my nerves.” Well, that was somewhat true. Oliver didn’t do anything that was irritating, but the sudden feelings I was experiencing around him were. He made me giddy in a school-crush sort of way, and that was mortifying.
Drew’s mouth formed a thin, straight line. “We drove down here for Cara. Not you, not me, but our sister.” Ashamed, I looked away from his intense glare. “Rocket…” he said, lifting my chin to face him.
It was Drew’s nickname for me, short for “bottle rocket.” He said it was because when I got agitated, my temper flared without warning, but the explosion was never very large, and my anger fizzled as quickly as it had been ignited. Whenever I got worked up, he used the nickname as a gentle reminder for me to cool down.
“Okay, okay!” I said, twisting away from him. He was right—I had gone all Fourth of July on Oliver and wasn’t thinking clearly. “What do you want me to do?”
“Apologize,” Drew said sternly.
“I’m super sorry?”
“Nice try, Stella. We’re going up there to get an autograph, and you are going to apologize to Oliver.”
Just the mention of his name made butterflies pulse through my stomach. I was going to have to talk to Oliver Perry. Again.
Chapter 4
When we stepped inside the penthouse, my stomach was a jumbled-up mess. I’d insisted on waiting for our pizza to arrive before leaving. I’d hoped the extra time would help me calm down, but instead, a watermelon-sized rock formed at the bottom of my stomach and I wasn’t able to eat a bite.
“Hello?” Drew called out. The door slammed behind us, and the thud resonated through the silent suite, announcing our presence along with Drew’s greeting.
When nobody answered, I hesitated. “Now what?”
“Maybe they’re at dinner.”
“Well, if no one’s here,” I said, eager to leave, “let’s go.” The closer I came to facing Oliver again, the worse I felt. A thick sense of dread was seeping into my veins like an injection of concrete, making my whole body feel heavy. I couldn’t stop my fingers from twitching, and I had to hold them tightly to my side and resist the urge to run.
Drew clamped both his hands down on my shoulders. “But you haven’t had a chance to apologize yet,” he said with a wicked smile. He gave me a small push forward, guiding me down the hall until it opened up into a living room.
“Holy crap,” I whispered, forgetting about my nerves. Drew and I exchanged impressed looks.
The space was massive, furnished with the sleek grays and blues of modern decor, and the far wall was a floor-to-ceiling window that framed the glimmering city below. To the right of us was the largest flat screen I’d ever seen, and it was paused on a commercial, almost as if someone had just been watching. Across from the TV was a long couch with matching armchairs, a coffee table littered with fast-food wrappers, and a pool table.
“Still no one here,” I said in a hushed tone. “Can we leave now?”
Drew ignored me. “Hello?” he called out again, stepping forward onto the carpet.
It was quiet for a moment longer. Then, unexpectedly, theMission: Impossibletheme song blasted out of the sound system.
“Ready,fire!” Three boys jumped out from behind the couch, arms raised and ready. “You’re going down, Oliver!”
