The Journalist and Her Actor

Chapter 15

If you are going to glare at someone, it's best to make it count. To make it deadly and powerful, because if the glare is thrown back at you, you cannot back down, unnerved by the power of the other person's stare.

It doesn't matter if the glare given back is from a famous movie star with chocolate brown eyes with an intensity that could melt butter in a snowstorm. You have to stand strong and look unaffected by said eyes and the rage brimming under the surface of that movie star's gaze.

Luke Walker was glaring at me, angry at the situation I had put him in as we both stood on a small karaoke stage inside a bar, being stared at by dozens of paparazzi. "I really hope you know what you are doing," he muttered quietly as he gestured for me to take my place at the microphone. "Because they won't ever let you live it down if you don't."

The room suddenly filled with the sound of his fingers sliding across the strings of his electric guitar, strumming out chords with practiced ease. He shot me a look as if to say, Don't underestimate me again.

And then, it was my turn to sing, to showcase my skills. "Sk8ter Boi" by Avril Lavigne filled the bar, but before I could start singing, someone began to boo me from the audience. I opened my mouth, ready to ignore the hater but the guitar stopped, sending the room into utter, deafening silence.

Luke's head snapped up, gaze going to a dark corner of the bar. The silence grew, thick and deafening. Luke moved off the stage, a dangerous look in his eyes as he walked up to the offending table like a dangerous animal. The table, which was filled with several people holding cameras, watched his approach with shocked, wide eyes, no longer booing.

Without a word, Luke lifted a pint of beer off of their table and dumped it onto the offending paparazzi member's head before walking back on stage and starting the song over again without a word. Acting like nothing happened. The only other sound in the room was Tate laughing.

Luke shot me a nod, no warmth in his gaze, but the encouragement was clear as his fingers raced across the chords. Don't give them the power to stop you.

I nodded back at him, refocusing. Let's do this.

Leaning into the mic, I stepped on the bottom of the mic stand so it tilted towards me and plucked the mic from the stand. I began to sing, embracing all of my angst and punk vibes as the words rolled out of me.

"He was a boy, she was a girl. Can I make it any more obvious?"

I smirked, taking up the role of my punk alter ego, painting a picture of this amazing rock star boy and the girl lucky enough to get him after another girl decided he wasn't good enough for her. I walked off stage, and after a warning glance towards Tate, I jumped up onto his table, giving him just enough time to scoop his food out of the way before my boots slammed onto the surface as I continued to sing to the audience on my tiny new stage, demanding to be noticed. Determined to out perform Luke.

Turning, I pointed back at Luke as he fell into his guitar riff solo, acting like I had given him permission to show off, as if the entire guitar idea was mine. His dark eyes watched me the entire time, an unreadable look on his face as he was forced to play into the role I gave him, the rock star boy I was now singing about.

Luke's gaze was so intense that it sent a shiver down my spine, his hatred barely hidden under fierce emotions that were being played off as infatuation. The entire thing was so insanely sexy. 

Very very distracting.

A small dangerous smirk peeked up at the corner of Luke's mouth as I joined his guitar solo, doing dramatic air guitar of my own, gaining a thumbs up from Tate and a laugh from Delle as I leaned into the dramatic punk energy.