Aimee and the Heartthrob by Ophelia London Page A

never have the heart to write about it.”
    …
    “No more sad love stories,” Miles added after Aimee had finished talking. Seriously, what kind of dick was this French guy to purposely hurt a girl like her? And Jean-Luc ? What a douchebag name, anyway. The look in her eyes as she’d told her story, she was still broken, even though it had happened last year. It obviously hurt enough that it affected her today.
    Miles got that. Hell, his split with Kelly was longer ago than that, and it was still influencing his decisions, whether to trust or not.
    “But without sad love stories, how will you get depressed enough to write a breakup song?” Aimee asked with a smile.
    He chuckled and strummed his guitar. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of depressing stories.”
    Aimee snorted—an adorable snort. “Like what?”
    “Okay, how about the high school Christmas assembly, the first time I performed live by myself in front of an audience bigger than my mum’s living room. I thought I was the shit and it was an epic fail.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “Well, the first half was awful. And how would you know? You were still in middle school, so you weren’t there.”
    Aimee dropped her chin and tugged at a chunk of hair. “Yeah, I was. I begged Mom to pull me out of class that day so I could go. The night before, I heard you and Nick talking about it.” She shrugged and ran her hand along the top of the grass. “I knew you were super nervous, so I thought you could use some…friendly support. I even made these signs and passed them out.” She shook her head. “So stupid. You didn’t even see them.”
    “Yes, I did,” Miles said, straightening his spine. “They were way in the back. Why did you do that?”
    “I thought if you knew you had fans out there, people who loved you, it’d make you less nervous.”
    “Aimee, I…” He hesitated, feeling something hot and heavy push against his heart, slowing everything down. “It did help—a lot, actually.” He rubbed his chin. “I remember looking out at the crowd, everyone was talking or checking their phones. But then in back, I saw like ten signs with my name . Go Miles! We love you, Miles! I thought it was something the art class was forced to do. But it was…”
    For a second, he couldn’t go on. A flood of memories flashed across his mind. Standing on that stage under a solo spotlight. All the cocky swagger he thought he’d had was nowhere to be found. He’d never felt so exposed or rubbish or alone. Halfway through his amateur rendition of Prince’s “1999,” he’d spotted those signs. And suddenly, he’d felt respected and not so alone.
    “That was you?” he said.
    Aimee nodded, just as a breeze picked up her hair, moving it around her shoulders, knocking Miles absolutely breathless. The simple act of seeing those glittery signs at the back of the school auditorium had totally changed the momentum of that performance. It gave him confidence and encouragement. It had made him want to be a singer for the rest of his life.
    And it had been Aimee.
    “I don’t know what to say.” But he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to take Aimee Bingham in his arms and kiss her.
    She pulled back a half smile. “It’s okay.”
    Too many words clogged Miles’s brain, words of gratitude and wonder, tangled with a desire he couldn’t squelch. “Thank you,” he finally managed to get out. It was weak and ridiculously insufficient, but it was all he had. He stared at her face, her mouth, fighting back that blinding impulse. Because it could never happen.
    Suddenly, that painful realization knocked him breathless again.
    Aimee lifted a full smile now. “You’re welcome.”
    They fell into silence. He tried to write, jotting down lines and lyrics that sounded catchy, then scratching them out because they were lamer than deadass-lame. That flicker of inspiration from yesterday was gone again. How could he get it back?
    When he glanced up, Aimee was on her stomach,