Free Aimee and the Heartthrob by Ophelia London Page A

care of it.
    Keeping a tight grip on Aimee’s hand, he pulled her around a corner, trying not to notice when she momentarily stopped fighting and readjusted her fingers around his. He registered each of them individually, and felt her thumb as it slid across the back of his hand, making his own hand prickle with heat.
    “Where are you taking me?” she said.
    But he wasn’t going to say a word until he knew they were alone. When he found an empty dressing room at the end of a hall, they finally were. He flipped on the light with his elbow, kicked the door shut behind them, dropped her hand, and folded his arms. “Well?”
    Aimee started at him for a beat, then folded her arms right back. “Well, what?”
    “You gonna tell me what the hell’s going on?”
    “I have no idea what you mean.”
    Miles sighed. “Drop the act, Aimee.”
    “You mean the act that I’m pissed because I’m here against my wishes?”
    He glanced at the closed door. “I’ll let you out when we’re done.”
    “I don’t mean this room . I don’t want to be here . Isn’t that obvious?” When her voice echoed off the walls, she shut her mouth, looking regretful.
    Before replying, Miles stopped to think, remembering what Mum had said about why Aimee would be on tour with them. Her parents having to be overseas last minute or something. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, assuming anyone would be stoked to travel with them. Because it was bloody amazingly ill.
    But…maybe Aimee didn’t feel that way.
    “Your parents sent you here?”
    She stared at the wall, locked her jaw, and nodded.
    “You didn’t want to come?” When she rolled her eyes, he said, “Obviously you didn’t.” But he still didn’t know why. And why was her bitterness aimed at him? Like it was personal? Like he—personally—was the reason she hated being there.
    “I know it sucks being somewhere you don’t want to be,” he said. “Believe me. But it’s only for a couple of weeks, and at least you get to go back to a normal life.” He caught the bitterness in his own tone. He missed home, too, even the mundane routine of school, band practice, Ms. Styles’s ranky hairnet. Sometimes homesickness caught him off guard. If not for the support of the guys, he’d probably walk around feeling gutted all the time, too.
    “It’s not just that,” Aimee said. “It’s…nothing—never mind.” She looked nervous again, like she’d almost accidentally confessed a sin.
    Miles put his hands on his hips. “What did Deb mean when she said you should tell me? Tell me what?”
    Her neck went all splotchy pink again. “Nothing.”
    But Miles knew it wasn’t nothing. Something was definitely on her mind. “We’ve known each other long enough to be honest, don’t you think?”
    She snorted. “Whatever.”
    “And that is why I dragged you away. You’re being a little brat.” He stepped forward and angled himself so he was completely blocking her way out, only letting himself notice for a second that he could smell her light perfume, and more of that vanilla shampoo. The scent was girly and sexy. Just like her. “We’re not going anywhere till you tell me what’s really going on. The truth, Aimee. When, exactly, was I such an assjacket to you?”
    The hard blankness in her stare snapped apart. “It was two years ago, Miles. Right after you left.”
    “But we haven’t spoken since then, until yesterday. How could I’ve done anything to piss you off if we haven’t…” The rest of the sentence faded on the way out. “Are you mad about that? That I left home? Aimee, I haven’t stopped moving since the audition.”
    “It’s not that. Obviously you’re busy. I’m not an idiot.”
    “I swear, we’re not leaving this room until you tell—”
    “Fine.” She exhaled loudly and stared up at the ceiling. “Nick told me what you said, what you thought about me when we were kids, what you’ve always thought about me. Okay, that’s it. You knew I had