Layne huffed a quiet laugh. “Thanks.”
I pulled to a stop at a red light and turned to face her, taking her hand so she’d look at me. “I mean it, Layne. I don’t even know the bloke, but I know he’s daft, because you’re probably the most unforgettable girl I’ve ever met.”
I watched her face brighten with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Thankfully, the light turned green and I shifted my eyes back to the road. I was glad I had driving to focus on because the way Layne was looking at me made my insides churn.
Had I really just told her that I thought she was unforgettable?
I mean, she was. Everything about her mesmerized me. But this wasn’t real. It was just a fun distraction. It’s what we’d agreed to and I needed to remember that.
Getting attached wouldn’t do either of us any good. Layne was going places and me . . . Well, I wasn’t. And I didn’t need to drag her into my messy life.
My mind scrambled for a way to break the awkward silence between us, but Layne spoke first.
“What about you?” she asked. “What do you want out of life?”
I huffed a laugh. That was the question wasn’t it? “Sorry to disappoint you, but I haven’t figured that out yet.”
She smiled brightly. “Don’t worry. You will.”
She said it with such confidence I almost believed her. What I wouldn’t give for it to be true. If I knew what I wanted out of life it would be so much easier. I’d certainly be less of a disappointment to my parents. How many times had my father told me I’d been given everything only to throw it all away? As if he thought I enjoyed the anxious solitude that came with aimlessness.
I’d love to have a dream to chase. But that was the thing about dreams, you had to have them in order to go after them. But I’d stopped dreaming long ago. How could I still believe in dreams when my father did such a good job of crushing them?
You could only be told you were a disappointment so many times before you started to believe it. And honestly, how could I turn out any other way, when I’d had nothing but disappointing role models, more focused on our family’s fortune than our actual family?
My jaw flexed trying to tamp down my spiteful feelings. Normally, being with Layne kept my depressing thoughts about my family and future away. It was half the appeal of our arrangement. She was the distraction I desperately needed.
Tonight had been a good night and I was determined not to let it end on a bad note.
“Okay, your turn,” I said. “We’ve established you don’t want fame, so what’s your biggest dream for your music?”
She cut her eyes at me. “What is this, twenty questions?” she mocked.
“Hey, you’re the one who told me to try out small talk.”
Layne laughed. “We’ve graduated past small talk.”
“Have we?”
“We’re talking about hopes and dreams, Wyatt. This is like super advanced friendship talk.”
I grinned. “Well, thanks for the promotion. Now answer the question.”
“Why am I the only one in the hot seat?” she challenged.
“Because tonight is about you.”
“Fine, but tomorrow we do you.”
I barked a laugh. “You can do me any time you like, Penny Layne.”
Layne rolled her eyes, but she still couldn’t stop that pretty pink flush from creeping into her cheeks.
“Dreams: go,” I said, not wanting our fun banter to come to an end just yet. We still had quite a drive ahead of us.
“Okay, fine. If I have to pick one dream for my music, it would be to have a song on the radio.”
“That’s it? That’s your one big dream?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“Dream bigger!” I shouted. “Think Grammys or platinum albums.”
“One song on the radio would be enough for me.” She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s not about the size of the dream, but what it means.”
Her words astounded me. “Where did you come from, Penny Layne?”
“What do you mean?”
“Beautiful, talented and humble? If you weren’t sitting right here next to me, I would think I’d dreamt you up.”
She snorted a laugh. “Okay, we better get you something to eat, stat! You obviously have low blood sugar or something with all of these compliments.”
I let her joke away my praise, but as I gazed at her my chest filled with something that felt like hope. Maybe I wasn’t too cynical to dream after all.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Layne
We sat on Wyatt’s bed, Lord Huron playing in the background, while we finished up the pizza we’d stopped for on the drive home. We were scouring the movie app on Wyatt’s iPad as we argued over what movie to watch.
“It’s the best movie of all time,” I declared, swiping to one of my favorites.
Wyatt gave me an exasperated look. “That’s a ridiculous statement.”
“I stand by it.”
“Really? The best?”
“Of. All. Time,” I clarified.
He rolled his eyes.
“Oh, come on,” I argued. “You can’t tell me Say Anything wasn’t genius. I mean the soundtrack alone is epic, but the way that Crowe captured teenaged angst, it’s so real.”
Wyatt shrugged. “Never seen it.”
“What?! Okay, that settles it. That’s what we’re watching tonight.”
“If we’re basing this selection on movies we haven’t seen, there are a lot more to consider.”
“Nope! I’m playing my diva card. We’re watching Say Anything.”
Wyatt laughed, his deep true laugh that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle. “I knew the fame would go to your head.”
“It’s your own fault. You told me tonight was my night.”
“So, I did,” he replied, his eyes still smiling even as he tried to pretend he was dreading my movie choice. “Alright then, my little diva. Queue it up, while I hit the lights.”
Wyatt climbed off the bed and took the pizza box with him, turning off the music and dimming the lights. I knew he had an incredible media room downstairs, but I liked hanging out in his bedroom. It was one of the only parts of the massive house that felt normal.
The first time I’d seen his room I’d been surprised. It wasn’t what I’d expected of the popular Wyatt Nash I knew from Northwood High. But I was learning he wasn’t really that boy.
His room wasn’t covered with sports posters or swimsuit models. Instead, album covers, ticket stubs and a vintage Beatles tapestry covered his walls. He had a large bed, small desk and three shelves of books, most of them about cars or music. The far wall had an overstuffed chair by the large picture window, a telescope, and two guitars leaned up next to his record collection.
I watched him turn off the lamp next to the record player and the butterflies in my stomach awoke. It wasn’t lost on me that I was alone in a boy’s bedroom. Well, not alone—I was alone with Wyatt. And that was the problem.
Sometimes looking at him made my breath catch. Like right now, as the dim light from the moon illuminated the planes of his face. He was painfully beautiful and as he climbed into his bed next to me, I stilled. The intoxicating scent of his cologne wrapped around me making me feel as though my heart was in a blender.