Ayden chuckles under his breath. “I love how you can openly say stuff like that, but just so you know, you look hot,” he whispers in my ear, his breath hot on my skin.
I shiver from the caress of his breath and glance down at my boots, netted tights, and plaid dress that hugs my body. My hair is down, black liner frames my eyes, and my lips shine with gloss.
“So do you.” I whirl around to face him. His black hair hangs in his eyes, he’s wearing the leather collar because I suggested it would be fun to wear for one night, and he has on a red shirt and black jeans held up by a studded belt. “My gothically adorable friend.”
“You know, I think we should create a Lyric Scott dictionary and sell it online.”
“We’ll definitely have to look into that,” I agree, fiddling with the collar on his neck. “I have so many more words sloshing around in my head.”
I angle my head up towards his face. When our gazes fasten, our mouths magnetize toward each other. My breathing quickens and so does his. His dark eyes smolder with passion, and my skin hums with nearly unbearable heat. God, I want to kiss him all the time. It’s crazy how much I want to kiss him.
This is how it’s been between us for the last week. The moment we look at each other, we start making out and are unable to keep our hands off each other. I seriously feel like I have no control over myself anymore, and I’m kind of glad. I love, love, love losing myself in him.
I always have to be careful, though. Ayden has no problem with touching me, but I can’t even slip my fingers up his shirt without sending him into a panic attack.
“You guys about ready to go on?” Uncle Ethan’s voice instantly puts a lid on the moment.
We push apart, our breathing ragged. We turn to the side, and Ayden immediately withdraws his hands from my waist the moment he catches sight of Uncle Ethan’s questioning expression.
“Um…” Ayden struggles with what to say.
“You’re on in five.” Uncle Ethan’s attention flicks between the two of us before he hurries off toward the hallway where the rest of the bands are hanging out.
“Do you think he saw us?” Ayden asks worriedly as he faces me again.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. It kind of looked like it.”
“What are we going to do if he did?”
“I don’t know. He might not say anything to anyone. This is Uncle Ethan we’re talking about. He rarely says anything.”
“Yeah, but us about to kiss…” Ayden makes a wary face. “I kind of doubt he’ll keep quiet about that.”
I open my mouth to tell him not to stress about it when Sage and Nolan come strolling up.
“This is so fucking awesome.” Nolan bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, pumped up.
Sage leans around me to get a glimpse of the crowd. “Dude, the place is packed.”
Place.
Crowds.
People watching me.
Watching me sing.
What if I suck?
I’m suddenly reminded that I have bigger problems than whether or not Ethan is going to out my and Ayden’s relationship.
My stomach churns. “I think I’m going to throw up.” I slap my hand across my mouth and push past Ayden, running into the restroom. I lock myself in the stall, drop to my knees, and puke up every ounce of the chicken I ate for dinner.
My belly is empty by the time I sit down on the floor.
“I can’t do this,” I mutter. “I really can’t.”
A moment or two ticks by, then I hear the click of heels on the other side of the stall.
“Lyric, are you in here?” my mother hisses.
“Yeah,” I say with a groan. “I think I’m too sick to go on stage, though.”
She gives the stall door a shake. “Open up. Now.”
I kneel up and unlatch the door then sit back down. She walks in with a glass half full of wine, and I notice her eyes are a little glazed. She takes one look at me then shuts the stall.
“You have to do this.” She tears some tissue from off the roll and hands it to me.
“I know. I know. Or Dad will hate me.” I dab the sides of my mouth and under my eyes then toss the tissue into the toilet.
“No, because you’ll regret it if you don’t.” She pats the top of my head. “Trust me, your dad will forgive you if you bail. Will he be upset? Probably for a while, but he loves you too much to stay mad at you. But trust me when I say that regret is much harder to get over.”
“You’re speaking from personal experience, aren’t you?” I stare up at her, the woman who shares the same eyes as me and is probably one of the coolest persons I know. I look up to her for living her dream of becoming an artist.