Smitten

Out of nowhere, Alessandra says, “What did you mean ‘someone like me?’”

“Huh?”

“When I complimented your bass playing, you said ‘that means a lot coming from someone like you.’”

“Oh. Just that everyone I know who went to Berklee is a badass—wildly talented and smart in a way I could only dream of being. So, I’m assuming you’re like that. A badass who’s wildly talented and smart.”

She scoffs. “Fish, you’re a wildly talented badass. One of the best in the business.”

Damn. That was unexpected. “Thank you,” I say, my heart racing. “But I’m not educated or trained or whatever. That’s what I meant. It’s not easy to get into a school like Berklee, right? You have to audition.”

She shrugs like that’s an obvious—but highly irrelevant—statement.

“My point is that I didn’t have to audition to do what I’m doing. I’ve known Dax since second grade and Colin since middle school. I got into the band because I was lucky enough to have the right two friends.”

Alessandra shrugs again. “I’d say they were pretty lucky to have you as a friend, too. Either way, however you got here, I think it’s pretty clear you’ve done it based on your extraordinary talent and musicianship. Not to mention your extreme charisma.”

Aw, fuck. This is wild. Is she gaming me? I’ve been complimented before by girls. Lots of times. But never like this. Never with so much apparent sincerity. And certainly, I’ve never been complimented on my “charisma” before. In fact, funny story that’s not actually funny at all. When Reed Rivers signed my band five years ago, he initially only wanted Dax. As far as he was concerned, Colin and I were necessary evils. Especially me, thanks to my “tepid” skills on bass and my “complete lack of charisma,” according to him. And now this pretty girl who attends Berklee in Boston is complimenting me on both of those precise things? I can’t believe it. Seriously, she must be gaming me.

Keane and Zander jump into the swimming pool nearby, diverting our attention for a moment. And I’m glad for the distraction, so I can pull myself together. These past few years, I’ve gotten better at conversing with pretty girls than I was in high school. Thankfully. But not by much. And Alessandra is so pretty and seemingly sincere, she’s making me feel intimidated like I used to feel when I tried to talk to a crush back in the day.

I clear my throat. “So . . . Are you always really shy, or just at first with new people? Or are you feeling especially shy around me, because of my band?”

She twists her mouth adorably. “All of the above? Although, to be fair, I’d be just as shy around you if you weren’t in one of my favorite bands—if you were just some random cute boy I’d met in one of my classes or at the café where I work. Assuming, of course, I knew how talented you are. I always get extra shy around really talented, cute boys.”

She called me cute. She thinks I’m cute. Out of everything Alessandra said, that’s the comment that’s sticking the most and making my body feel like a riot of pure excitement. I clear my throat and say, “I get pretty shy around cute, talented girls, too.” I smile . . . and then add lamely, just in case my comment wasn’t clear enough, “By that I mean to say you’re cute and talented, specifically. That’s what I meant by that.” Shit. I’m terrible at this.

Alessandra bites her lip, like she’s trying not to laugh. “Thank you. But you really can’t pronounce me talented, since you’ve never heard me play.”

I roll my eyes dramatically. “We’ve been through this already, dude. You go to Berklee. They don’t let untalented wankers into your school.”

This time, she can’t keep herself from giggling. And, I swear, at the sound of her adorable laughter, I feel like fucking King Arthur after pulling the sword from the stone.

“Lemme guess,” I say, my smile stretching from ear to ear. “You’re the kind of person who’s shy and quiet, at first, but then, after you get comfortable, everyone goes, ‘Who the hell is this talkative girl?’”

“Yes! If I’m comfortable with you, and passionate about a topic, I’ll talk your ear clean off!”

Hot damn. Something amazing is happening between this girl and me. Something different. Something real. I can feel it in my bones. On my skin. In my quickening pulse.

“Challenge accepted,” I say. I gesture to two vacant loungers in a far corner of the patio. “How about we move our conversation over there? Frick and Frack are getting pretty rowdy in the pool. It’s getting harder to talk over their splashing.”

Alessandra looks at Keane and Zander in the pool, who are splashing and roughhousing like crazy, before returning to me with a lovely smile. “I’d love that.”