Viv clears her throat, and I shake off the trance. “Um, hi,” I say, my face flushing. I can feel it. No chance Viv missed any of this. Thankfully, Max arrives and shifts the attention to a new target. I still feel Viv’s glee as I drag my chair to its usual spot and pull out my laptop. Travis and Beck stumble in with their cases soon after—and crisis averted. That could have been way worse, although Julian’s saturated look is still flashing through my head.
I need a distraction.
I’ve just opened my favorite spreadsheet when my phone buzzes. I glance down to a text from Viv.
Just called 911. This place is on fire from that stare-down. You go girl.
Annnd there’s the blush again. I shake my head and narrow my eyes, knowing she’s probably watching my reaction.
Hilarious, I type back.
Viv: Try not to look at his butt too much during rehearsal. Oh wait, you’ve already seen it naked.
Of course, that’s exactly what I do the second I read it. Not my fault, anyone would, but when I catch Viv’s smirk from the mic beside him, I know I’m in for some serious teasing later.
Or now.
Viv: Ha! Made you look.
Me: Don’t you have rehearsal or something?
She grins and tucks her phone away. Thank the heavens above.
“Hey, I think we should start laying some of these songs down,” Julian says after getting everyone’s attention. He’s met with a chorus of agreement.
“I can get my guy Joel in whenever you want,” Viv says, her face lighting up. I love how excited she gets about recording and her music now. It didn’t used to be that way.
“Yeah?” Julian asks. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“I’ll check if he’s available. Should we just do it here?” she asks.
Julian shrugs. “Yeah, makes the most sense. All our gear is here anyway. That control room is pretty sweet too.” He nods toward the glass window leading to a smaller room I always thought looked like a UFO cockpit. “You guys cool with that?” he asks the rest of the band.
“Yep.”
“I’m good.”
“Let’s do it.”
Julian smiles and turns back to his mic. “Sweet. Tomorrow then. We should at least get a demo to shop around. It wouldn’t hurt to hear how we sound too. See if we need to tweak anything for our studio sound.”
“Hey, um, question,” Travis calls out, raising a finger in the air. “How are we going to shop something around if we don’t even have a band name yet?”
That’s actually a pretty good question. I’ve been wondering the same thing. Don’t bands usually start with the name?
“I still like Cashmere Crush,” Max calls out.
Julian fires a glare at him. “We’re not calling ourselves Cashmere Crush.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’d be insane to use ‘crush’ in any form after what happened. Besides, it’s stupid.” He adjusts his mic, putting a definitive end to that option.
“What about Silver Lining Parade?” Travis suggests.
Julian glances back with a skeptical look only mildly less irritated than what Max got. “What does that even mean?”
Travis shrugs. “I dunno, but it sounds cool.”
Julian shakes his head and faces his mic again. “It’ll come to us. We’ll know when we hear it. Let’s get rolling.”
“Okay, spill,” Viv says, dragging me into the ladies’ room during their first break.
“Spill what?” I ask.
“What was that look? My panties were burning, and I wasn’t even involved in it.”
I huff a loud breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hey, Hadley,” she mimics in an annoying low, weird man voice. She flutters her eyelashes and makes a kissy face.
“Yeah, that’s not how it went down.”
“He was practically nailing you right there, and you were totally into it. That my friend is what the uncouth among us refer to as an eye-fuck.”
“Whatever.” My dry laugh fools no one. I shake my head, getting tingly again.
The truth is, I got no work done this morning. I tried—so hard—but my attention kept drifting over the top of the screen to ripped shoulders and a sexy back straining through a sweat-soaked t-shirt. Messy hair I love to touch as much as smell taunted me just as badly. And his voice was… I don’t know… extra today, even if I’m the only one who noticed it. Also his guitar-playing. And his gut-wrenching songs I can’t seem to get out of my head. Ever. I swallow and decide to wash my hands for no reason.
Viv smirks as I move to the sink. “I saw him headed to the lounge in front of Studio Eight. That means he’s probably alone if you, you know, want to say hey again.” No one should ever say “hey” the way she says it right now.
I turn on the faucet. “He’s probably checking in with Naomi,” I mutter.
“His niece?”
I nod. Soap. That’s part of the hand-washing process as well. I squirt some into my hand.
“Wouldn’t she be in school on a Thursday morning?”
Right. Yeah. I blink at my hands. So what is he doing in that lounge—alone? My phone buzzes in my pocket but my hands are wet from their random cleaning. I shake off the excess water and wipe them on my jeans so I can pull out my phone. My heart pounds when I see a text from Julian.
“Oh my gosh. He just messaged you!” Viv whisper-shouts, leaning forward.
“What? How—”
“It’s all over your face. Don’t deny it. Well, check it! What did he say?”
I take a deep breath and stare back at my screen.
Can we talk? Meet me in the lounge at Studio 8.
I bite my lip, my pulse now hammering. “You good?” I ask Viv.
She grins and offers an exaggerated nod. “So good. Have fu-un!” she sing-songs, waving me to the door.
I shoot her a look and rush out.
Julian is waiting in the lounge, and sure enough, he’s alone as predicted.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
His gaze locks on me, sending swarms of fluttering insects through my belly again. He leans out past the main entrance and looks both ways before ducking back into the room and shoving me against the wall.
“Not really,” he growls, tangling his hands in my hair.
I moan when he kisses me. Can’t help it. I’ve been stripping him in my mind all morning, making mental love to his music in a wide array of fantasies I now get to live.
I lock my arms around his neck to drag him closer. His body is firm and warm against mine, his kiss intensifying until I’m gasping for air, silently pleading for more. I tug the waist of his jeans forcing our hips together, enjoying the firm pressure of his arousal. I slide my hand into his jeans, and he groans when I touch him.
“Hadley,” he rasps.
“Julian,” I respond, my own voice strained and breathy. I remove my hand, but now my own unsatisfied need is boiling into ferocious streaks of hunger. The fact that anyone could walk in on us right now should be firing an arsenal of alarms. Instead it makes me grab the front of his shirt and force his lips to mine again. I take everything I can in these stolen seconds, magnetized to every part of him. It’s like I’m sucking that passion right out of him, consuming it, devouring it until it overflows and consumes me right back.