Page 44 of Lost Love on 6th Street

I put my hand on the bar beside me, fearing my legs might turn to jelly and give out. “Are you serious?”

Skip’s smile grows. “Yeah, we’ll go after the show.”

Jack-fucking-pot.

Just wait until I tell Eleanor.

15

ELEANOR

I am awakened by a sharp, buzzing sound. I blink my eyes open; my phone is lit up on the dresser. Someone’s calling me.

Must be urgent because I keep it on Do Not Disturb at night. I wonder how many times they’ve already tried to get through. My stomach coils in on itself. It could be an emergency. Or it could be . . . someone I don’t want to hear from. The only people who would call repeatedly late at night are desperate and people’s versions of desperate are so different.

I have half a mind to bury my head under the comforter and not deal with it until morning.

But I can’t ignore the flame of curiosity flickering inside me.

I grab my phone off the dresser, wincing at the bright light filtering through the darkened room. Then, I screw my eyes together to be able to read the name.

The coil of my stomach releases, exchanged for butterflies when I see Luke’s name on the screen. At least I think it’s his name. To be sure, I fumble for my glasses, pulling them on as fast as I can.

Yep, that’s Luke’s name alright. Why would he be calling me so late? I can’t be his go-to contact in an emergency. Maybe I’ve had him pegged right from the beginning. A ladies’ man, who sneaks into your heart, makes you feel special, and then booty calls you when the time is right.

I press the accept button and pull the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I answer.

“Good! You’re up!” Luke replies with a voice better suited for the first cup of coffee in the morning than the middle of the night.

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, thanks to you,” I say.

“Ah, sorry, sorry, I knew it was probably past your bedtime.”

I roll onto my back. “I don’t have a bedtime.”

“You’re exactly the type of person to have a bedtime,” he says, teasing lilt infusing his voice.

“Why are you calling me past my bedtime then, Luke?” Now I’m wide awake, wanting to know what he wants. Hoping I can keep him on the phone.

“Trust me, it will be worth the lost sleep,” he says. “I ran into a radio host at my gig tonight who apparently has access to one of Diane’s demos.”

I sit straight up, each nerve in my body pulling me in a different direction. “He—what?!”

“I’m on the way to the radio station to take a listen as we speak.” I hear the clicking of a turn signal in the background of the call. “Just turned onto your street to pick you up.”

My mouth goes hot. I scramble over to the window that looks out on the street below, spreading the slats in the blinds to look through. Sure enough, there’s Luke’s car, slowing right in front of my building.

“You in?” he asks.

Joy washes over me. That he’s here. He’s thought of me. Gone out of his way to get me, knowing just how important all of this is to me.

I adore him. And for now, I’ll allow myself to do so with reckless abandon.

“Give me two minutes.”

* * *

The DJ, Skip, leads us into his booth. It’s a rather drab interior compared to how exciting things sound on the radio. Gray equipment lining three of the white walls. The soundboard is intimidating enough on its own, let alone the man who operates it. Skip Baxter, who I met less than a minute ago, is a very reserved Ira Glass type. Hard to imagine him rocking out at one of the shows Austin puts on. Then again, I’m sure he’s lived many lives in his time as a disc jockey.

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