Page 43 of More Than a Billionaire

“No, I’m all pumped up on adrenaline right now.”

He laughed. “How about Carmichael’s?”

“The karaoke place?” she asked.

“I think it’s open mic night.”

“So, you’ve been there before?”

Franky nodded. “I used to go all the time. Your brother and I used to go with some buddies in high school, and our band would play.”

Skylar’s mouth fell open. “I’m sorry, what? Did you say your band?”

“Yeah, why? You didn’t know we had a band?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“How did you not know that?”

“I knew you guys played together sometimes, but I thought you were goofing around in your basement or something. Did your band have a name?”

Franky chuckled. “The Hot Chocolates.”

Skylar burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh. Are you kidding?”

“The girls in the audience didn’t seem to mind.” His eyebrows bobbed up and down.

“Groupies.” Skylar rolled her eyes.

“Hey, if I remember right, you told me if I joined a band, you would be my groupie.”

She grinned. “I guess I did say that.”

“If I play something tonight, will you stand beside the stage and pretend to be my biggest fan?”

She smiled over at him with a twinkle in her eye. “I won’t have to pretend.”

His stomach somersaulted at the soft, sweet tone of her voice. Sometimes he wished he could ignore all the reasons he couldn’t take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Carmichael’s had been a favorite hangout spot during high school and occasional visits home from college. Those years were the highlight of his creativity, filled with hours of songwriting and playing covers with Bash and the guys. But once he got into the thick of law school, studying for the bar exam, and working at the firm, all of his musical artistry had fallen by the wayside.

He didn’t know what made him think of Carmichael’s tonight, but there was something about being with Skylar that inspired him. She reminded him of fond memories from days gone by, and he wanted to share this place with her.

When they walked into the club, a man and woman were on the stage, singing a duet.

“Open mic.” He pointed at the stage. “Told ya.”

“What are you gonna sing?” She winked.

“Any requests?”

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“Something classic or something I wrote?”

“Original Middlebury, please,” she replied with a smile.

He shook his head and grinned. “You asked for it.”

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