Page 69 of Selling Out
Footsteps near, and Paul’s voice sounds. “Anyone seen Austin?”
“Not since earlier,” Kelly says.
Mia and I both hold our breath as Paul lets out a frustrated noise and the footsteps fade.
“We should go,” I say.
“Yeah.”
We stare at each other, and it occurs to me we didn’t really settle what Mia meant by slowing down. Does she mean for usto kiss more slowly? Because I could take all the time in the world and be content.
But there’s no time to hash it out right now.
“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll follow in a sec.”
She peeks through the crack, holds my gaze for a second, then slips out.
I sit there in the dark with the brooms and mops for another minute. I grab the shiny handle of a mop, considering whether I should take it in case Noah steps out of line.
With a sigh, I set it against the wall and leave the closet.
23
MIA
It takesAustin longer to show up on stage than I’d expected. He walks in right as Kelly happens to ask me, “Where in the world did you disappear to?”
I’d be shocked if the color rushing to my face doesn’t spellI was kissing Austinin bright crimson. “I spilled my drink and had to clean up.”
“You find the cleaning closet okay?” Austin asks, having the audacity to wink.
“Yep,” I say firmly. “Thanks.”
I had a lot more I’d like to have discussed in that little closet, but it’ll have to wait. Austin seems to be sincere about not wanting to hurt me, but then he doesn’t want to put a label on things either.
Not that I’d knowwhatlabel to put on whatever’s going on between us, but still… I don’t know what to think. All I know is that kissing him is quickly becoming an addiction, and my feelings are getting ahead of the no-label thing. If my feelings were a label, they’d be Coca-Cola. Fairly well-established.
Noah shows up about an hour into rehearsal, looking very handsome, with his guitar case hanging over his chest. Afteracknowledging Austin, he pulls his guitar strap over his head and walks straight to me.
With a smile, he gives me a hug, then pulls back. “We still good for after?”
Words stuck in my throat, I nod, very much aware of Kelly and Rose making silent screaming faces behind him.
“You have the tracks you want to do?” Bobby asks him.
“Not exactly,” Noah says, glancing at me. “Still figuring that out, but”—he puts a hand over his heart—“I swear on my life I’ll have them to you in the next couple hours.”
Bobby nods and heads to his station, and we carry on with rehearsal.
When Kelly, Rose, and I have to go through a couple parts to check our mics, my voice trembles like Jell-O. It feels like an audition for Noah’s tour, and I want to nail it.
When things wrap up, Noah hands his guitar off to someone and walks over to me. “You ready?”
I smile and nod, feeling Austin’s eyes on us. He winks at me.
For the love of all that’s good and holy, what does itmean?
Noah leads the way out of the building and along the streets of Lyon as I ask him about his time in Europe so far. He’s been traveling for more than three weeks now, and he heads home in three more. I steal a few glances at him as he talks, but he catches me every time. I’m curious about him—about the sort of guy who can write the lyrics he writes. I had imagined him to be a sort of brooding romantic, but that’s not his vibe at all.
