“Uh…no.”
I was jittery with nerves and excitement as I pulled the door open to find Campbell Abbey standing there. He was in ripped black jeans, a plain white tee, and a studded leather jacket. He was effortlessly gorgeous and a legitimate rockstar. My body threatened to go into shock.
“Hey,” I squeaked.
He grinned that panty-melting smile. “Hey yourself.”
It wasn’t just that Campbell was gorgeous—because he was. It was that he was the lead singer of Cosmere. And I was a huge fan of their music. Their last album had gotten me through a real low point. I’d sat in my room and played it on repeat as I stared up at the ceiling, radiating with Campbell’s voice in my head. After all that, he was just here.
“Should I wait here?” he asked with a laugh.
“Oh, no.” I opened the door wider.
He must have been used to the starstruck reactions by now because he hadn’t even blinked at my slack jaw or how I went nonverbal.
I shook my head to clear the fangirl. “Come on in.”
Campbell entered our three-bedroom. “Nice place.”
“Thanks. It’s Piper’s.”
She waved from the couch. “Abbey.”
He nodded at her. “Yo.”
Then the back bedroom door opened, and Blaire stepped out of her room in a matching salmon workout set and a baseball cap slung low over her brow. She froze when she saw Campbell standing in the living room. Her entire body tensed up like she’d been electrocuted. She didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if she was breathing.
I didn’t even know if Blaire liked Cosmere. She hadn’t stuck around for the last concert in town, and she’d left early when Campbell played his solo show earlier this year. It surprised me that someone as social famous as Blaire would be a fangirl like me.
“Blaire,” Campbell said her name soft, like a prayer.
My gaze shifted to him, and then I realized I had been wrong.
I had been so wrong.
This wasn’t the same thing that I felt at all. There was something here. Blaire and Campbell had graduated the same year, but Blaire was adamant that, like me, she’d been a nobody. And even in high school, before Campbell’s fame, he’d been somebody.
Blaire’s jaw flexed, and then she turned on her heel and walked right back into her room. The door slammed shut.
Campbell winced at the noise. “I…didn’t realize you lived with Blaire.”
I wanted to ask. I had so many questions. But how the hell would I even begin?
“Uh, yeah…just moved in last weekend.”
“Are we…shooting here?” He suddenly sounded almost…anxious.
“No, I rented us studio space downtown by LHUCA.”
“Great. Let’s do that.” He waved at Piper again, whose brow was furrowed in confusion. “Nice seeing you again.”
“Let me grab my equipment,” I said as he veered toward the door.
I hauled my shooting backpack over my shoulder and headed out after him. He was in a shiny rental BMW and offered to drive us across town, which I accepted. I didn’t know if I could live down having Campbell Abbey in Bertha.
I was already done up more than I normally would be for a shoot. Julian was picking me up at the studio later to take me out to dinner with his dad. I had a change of clothes in my bag so that I could be comfortable in the studio, but my face was made up how Blaire had tried to teach me. She’d eventually given up and fixed my winged eyeliner and the edges of my lipstick before dotting me with blush, which I’d always insisted I didn’t need, considering how often I flushed being around Julian. But this was the Blaire Blush we were talking about.
We parked outside of the studio, and I unlocked the space. It was a perfect day for shooting with lots of natural light. Though I’d come over yesterday to set up the lighting as well.
“So, where do you want me?” Campbell asked.
“Just sit on that chair over there while I set up. I assume you’ve had some experience with this.”
He laughed. “Some feels like an understatement. I feel like I’ve spent the last two years in front of a camera. You’d never guess I was camera shy.”
I looked up at him. “No, I’d never guess that.”
Here I was, talking to Campbell like it was totally normal. Like he wasn’t a famous rockstar. Like he was just a person. A person with anxieties, just like me. Unfathomable.
“Yeah, I had to get over it real fast once things started taking off. But fuck, did I need a Xanax in the beginning.”
I rocked back on my heels. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, mental health is really important.”
Part of me wanted so desperately to confide in him about my own problems. He was so open about his mental health issues. I couldn’t believe he’d tell me this stuff.
“Well, thanks for sitting for me anyway.”
“Hey, I asked you. Your work is great. I’d love to use it as a new headshot. My other ones are so…stuffy. Or staged.”
I nodded, taking a few pictures of him to test the equipment. “That makes sense. The record label wanted that?”
“Yeah. Standard bullshit.”
I snapped another picture and looked down at it. “You deal with a lot of bullshit?”
Now that I was behind the camera, everything else disappeared. I was no longer Jennifer Gibson—nerdy, anxious girl. I was just me, and I was in control. I felt good here. And I wanted to keep him talking. People worked the best when they were comfortable. Didn’t I of all people know that?
“You have no idea,” he said with a laugh.
Snap.
“Can you lean forward? Elbow on your knee.”
He did what I’d said.
“Yes, good. Tell me about the bullshit.”
He sighed and looked off in the distance. Snap. “Music is just one big bureaucracy. I love creating and making music and touring. But everything in between reminds me it’s still a job.”
His eyes looked straight on at me. Snap. “Know what I’m talking about?”
“I do. Plus, you’re in the public eye. What’s that like?”
He frowned. Snap. “Depends on the day. Right now, things are low-key. I kind of like being back in Lubbock for that. It’s not like LA.”
I laughed. “Understatement.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” I asked, pulling the camera from my eye.
He shifted in his seat. “How do you feel about your job?”
“I love it. Though not everyone thinks it’s a real job.”
He pulled his arms up over his head and leaned backward.
I jerked my camera back up. Snap.
“Why wouldn’t it be a real job?”
I shrugged. “I’m not a doctor or lawyer or pharmacist. You know…real jobs.”
He snorted. “Hell, I don’t have a real job either. Seems to work out for me.”
It did.
“And what about you and Julian?”
I stared at him through the viewfinder. The thoughtful expression on his face. “What about me and Julian?”
“You’re into him, right? That’s why he wanted to fake date you—so he could real date you.”
I nearly dropped the camera. “What?”