“Holy crap, that was the best song I’ve heard all night. Do you have an album out? Something I can buy?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. Soon, I hope.”
“Is that an original song?” she asks.
“One-hundred percent,” I say, beaming.
“Holy shit,” she mutters, averting her eyes. Timidly, she brings them back up. “All right, I have to ask. I recorded that whole thing on my phone. I really want to post it to YouTube to show a couple of friends? Is that okay?”
I nod. “Of course! Can you send me the YouTube link too? I want to know how it sounded and felt from your perspective.”
We exchange emails, and I feel lightheaded as the next act starts and I make my way back to my table.
Just then, a voice makes my insides quiver. “Wow, Harmony. You really played your little guts out there.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Roddy staring at me with his evil eyes. Again?
“What do you want from me, Roddy? Why are you even here?”
He smirks. “Just wanted to see what you’ve been working on lately. Now that you’re back in town.”
I can feel my adrenaline spiking.
And not in a good way.
It’s in the “I want to rip this man’s head off” kind of way.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I say. “Why are you even here? Isn’t this beyond you? A teensy little open mic where mere mortals who haven’t even had a top-forty hit workshop our original new stuff?”
He tries to put his hand on my shoulder, and I swipe it off.
Roddy frowns. “I’m working on my new album. Solo stuff this time. And I love coming here for inspiration. You never know when you’ll have that insight that helps you come up with your next big hit.”
I grind my teeth. “You said ‘inspiration’, but I think what you meant was ‘imitation’. Don’t you dare steal any of these hardworking people’s songs.”
“Steal? See, I don’t look at it like that. Once I trademark it, it’s mine. If you haven’t trademarked something, well, that’s your problem, and you can talk to my all-star legal team who makes millions to keep my money train rolling.”
I mumble something to myself, unintelligible so he doesn’t hear.
“Excuse me? You always did have a mumbling problem.”
Tonguing my cheek, I smirk. “I said, my new boyfriend screws better than you. And I wish I found him a long time ago.”
My stomach churns as I let the words out. I’m not the type of girl to be petty and make an ex jealous. But Roddy is asking for it.
And the face he makes is one-hundred-and-ten percent worth the remark.
He scoffs. “Yeah, whatever. You were never . . .”
Moving to the side, Roddy collides with Zach, and flinches.
“Hey, man, I’m not trying to start anything!” Roddy says, putting his hands up.
Zach scrunches up his face. “Why are you so skittish, buddy?”
“Oh. You don’t wanna fight me. I thought . . . never mind.”
Zach and I make eye contact. Doing my best to hypnotize him and draw him in, I think I’m successful.
Because Zach takes two steps toward me, puts his hands possessively on my hips, and kisses the hell out of me.
“Disgusting,” I hear Roddy mutter. “Since when are you into PDA?”
Ignoring him, I pull back. “You ready to head to Yazzies?” I ask Zach.
“Hell yeah,” he says, and then he turns to Roddy.
“Oh, hey, man, I think you’ve got something on your shirt. Right here.”
Leaning into Roddy, he puts a finger on his chest pocket.
“Oh?” Roddy looks down, and Zach brings his finger up and pokes Roddy’s nose.
Zach grins. “You just fell for the oldest trick in the book. It’s not surprising, though, considering.”
Roddy growls, grabbing Zach’s wrist and pushing it away. “Fuck you.” He turns to me. “And fuck you too.”
“Classy,” I say. “But wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
We head out, and I see Zach wink at Roddy. “Have a good night,” he says with a smirk.
Roddy turns before he leaves, still within earshot of us, and clears his throat. “Really good song you wrote there, Harmony. Really, really good. Maybe it’s another top-forty hit. Who knows?”
Roddy disappears out of the revolving door but
I stop in my tracks, the worst kind of chills running down my spine.
“I’ve got to trademark that song ASAP,” I say to Zach.
“No shit,” he says, taking my hand as we exit.
I’m hot and flustered when we get to Yazzies. The heat is in part because of the temperature outside, but it’s also because the agent is going to be there.
Yazzies is a more music-centric venue. At most bars, people mostly just chat and drink while you’re playing, but when you’re here, the stage is slightly raised, there are lights on you, and people come specifically for the music.
Especially on a night like tonight, when there’s an original-songs contest.
Needing to loosen up, I call for our server to bring me another drink.
Zach is still ranting about how good the last song was.
My pulse races. He has to know it’s about him.
“Are you going to play it again?” he asks.
“Yeah, definitely. I’ve worked on some others, but they’re still raw. That’s my best one.”
“It’s an amazing song. Cheers to whatever inspired you to write it.”
He winks, and I grin.
Looking around the crowd, I wonder who the agent could be. Dozens of people have gathered at the various booths and bar tables. I wouldn’t say hello to her, but it does make me curious.
We watch a few gals and guys play, and they’re all incredibly talented. As my time slot approaches, I start to wonder if I’m in over my head.
“You’re going to crush it,” Zach says. “Just play the fuck out of it. Pretend you’re at The Hungry Burger.”
I look at Zach, and for the first time, I notice he’s got the slightest scar across part of his eyebrow. How on Earth had I not seen this before?
Leaning in, I run my hand over it. “Where’d you get this?”
He shrugs. “Just a fight.”
“Oh.”
Running his hand through my hair, he asks me, “Where’d you get this?”
Confused, I ask, “Get what?”
“Super gorgeous hair that’s made for pulling.”
I laugh heartily. “Really, it’s just made for pulling?”
“Stupid joke, I know. First thing that popped into my head,” he says.
The way the light flickers on Zach in the pseudo-darkness of the club, he looks extra defined tonight. What a truly handsome man.
My chest expands, and my heart throbs as I realize something.
Zach thinks he’s the lucky one. But he’s not. I’m the lucky one.
How many guys are secure enough—or in love enough—to unselfishly follow their partner to shows all the time?
Roddy sure wasn’t.
Maybe I was traumatized by him.
Maybe I was so used to a man who was only in a relationship for his own gratification that when a man like Zach appears—a giver—I have a hard time believing it’s actually true.