Stranded with the Rockstar (Rockstar #1)

11. Sunny

"Not happening," he answers without hesitation.

"Why not?" I argue. "Surely you've sang to millions of people."

He nods. "Yes, and that is less nerve-racking than singing to one."

"But it's just me."

His eyes meet mine when I say it, and he shrugs. "Alright."

I scoot to the other side of the tent, suddenly excited.

"What's your favorite song of mine?"

As an answer, I don't meet his eyes.

"You don't know any, do you?"

I glance up and see him giving me a small smile. "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't listen to that kind of music, I think." The truth is I don't even know what genre of music he sings.

"Then what do you listen to?"

"Oldies, country, basically whatever my dad listened to." There's that familiar stab in my chest. I'll never listen to music with my dad on his old record player again. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Harry nods, and I can see him going through his mental list of songs. "Lynyrd Skynyrd?"

I smile. That was one of my dad's favorite bands.

Harry's smile matches mine. "I thought so."

He sits up straight and clears his throat. "Now keep in mind that I haven't sang in months, and I've had no warm up, and the acoustics in here are subpar."

"I'll keep that in mind during my critique," I tease. "Quit stalling, Styles."

"You need to close your eyes." My mouth drops open and he explains. "I can't do it if you're staring at me."

"Fine." I sigh and close my lids.

He takes in a deep breath before projecting the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard.

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?

I instantly relax, the slow melody and deep tones soothing me and bringing me back home—safe and comfortable.

For I must be traveling on, now
Cause there's too many places I've got to see

I open my eyes a crack and see that Harry has closed his. I decide it's ridiculous for us both to be blind, so I keep mine open.

But, if I stayed here with you, girl
Things just couldn't be the same

I'm almost mesmerized taking him in. His hair has gotten longer in our time here and is curling at the ends.

Cause I'm as free as a bird now
And this bird you can not change

His lips are parted and I can see his straight, white teeth peeking through. A small amount of peach fuzz is showing around his mouth and along his jaw—still a few days before I'll need to shave it off.

Lord knows, I can't change

The sparrow tattoos along his collar bones fly up and down as he takes in breathes, and the butterfly below his sternum seems to move in and out. I'd never allowed myself to really look at them, but I can see now how beautiful they are. And how beautiful he is.