Wicked Innocence by Missy Johnson Page B

list.”
    “Wow,” I murmured. “Have you seen the headline acts for that?”
    “I have,” he laughed. “Arctic Monkeys, Bloc Party, Empire of the Sun…”
    Shit. Performing in front of bands like that and for fans of bands like that? That was insane. I felt sick just thinking about it.
    “You’ve gone a little green there, M. Everything okay?” he chuckled and I narrowed my eyes at him. “Look, you sang in front of me that night at the bar and you did awesome. Don’t think about who is watching. Just focus on you and what’s in your head.”
    “Deep,” I teased, nudging him. “Did you ever get nervous when you sang?”
    “All the fucking time. I used to throw up every night before I did a show. Then I used to drink way too much after it,” he added with a laugh as he rubbed his chin.
    My stomach flipped as I watched his fingers run over his stubble. He was in need of a shave, but damn it was sexy. His hair had grown a little, too—just enough that the ends were beginning to show a little bit of curl.
    I looked away and sighed. I knew what I was doing and it was a bad, bad idea. There was only one way something like that could end: badly. As if he’d be interested in me anyway. I was way too young for him. Even younger than he realized, and it was so easy for me to forget that.
    “The first show I ever did I threw up on stage,” he admitted.
    I burst into laughter. “You’re kidding! Bullshit,” I challenged. That was the kind of thing that would’ve ended up on YouTube if it were true.
    “True story,” he argued with a grin. “I was five, and it was the end of year play. We did Oliver Twist and I threw up all over a girl. To make things worse, I had the biggest crush on her. I was mortified.”
    “Poor little Saxon,” I giggled. “I can’t believe that didn’t ruin you for life.”
    “It did for a few years. The kids called me Chuckles all the way through until high school.”
    “Kids can be cruel,” I agreed. “How the hell did you get past that and become the rock God you were?”
    “Rock God?” he grinned.
    I blushed. “I said ‘were,’” I shot back.
    He laughed. “Music was the one thing that was always there for me. It was the one thing in my life I knew I could count on. I’d be playing my guitar in the park or on the beach, and people would stop and listen. So I started playing for tips just to give me some confidence. From there, I ended up with a few regular gigs in a couple of coffee houses and bars.” He shrugged.
    “It must’ve been hard to give it all up,” I said softly.
    “At the time, it was a relief. I was in way over my head. The fame was drowning me. And I haven’t lost the music. I still sing. I still play my guitar every day. Though these days it’s only Broosky who hears me,” he laughed.
    “Do you ever miss it?”
    He thought for a second and then shrugged. “Sometimes. I miss the way music can make a person feel. I miss being able to do that. But the person I was…I don’t miss him.”
    “Is that why you haven’t gone back? I mean, you’re still Saxon Waite. If you put out music, people would listen. Are you afraid you’ll turn into that guy again?”
    He laughed and shook his head. “How about we talk about you for a while?” he suggested. I groaned and he laughed. “See—you love asking questions, but you hate answering them.”
    “I’m shy,” I grinned.
    “Bullshit. I don’t believe that. I’ve met shy girls before, and you’re not one of them.”
    If only he knew. Around him, I felt like I could open myself up that little bit more, but that didn’t change who I was. It only made things harder.
    “I’ve never even had a boyfriend,” I blurted out. As soon as the words left my mouth I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. I’d been with guys before, but nothing ever more than a one night stand here and there.
    He grinned at me and shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a second. You’re twenty-one and hot as