Page 23 of This Side of Beautiful

I gripped the counter. “Janae. I’m serious.”

A minute later, she knocked on the door. I hurriedly wrapped a towel around my waist and opened it wide enough to take the clothes from a smirking Janae, whose lusty gaze heated my chest and abs. I shut the door, donned the cargo shorts and red T-shirt, and prayed that a fully dressed Janae waited on the other side.

“Are you dressed yet? I need to rinse my mouth and wash my face. Is there an extra toothbrush?”

“No.” I reluctantly opened the door, and a still-dressed Janae pushed past me.

She grabbed my toothpaste and moved to the left side of the double vanity. “Just use the other sink,” she said.

“So… so distracting.” Teasing flowed from my mouth without thought. The ease with which she shared my space soothed my nerves.

“Everything seems to distract you,” Janae wryly commented, meeting my gaze in the mirror. She washed her hands before pressing the tube from the center.

I took it from her hand and moved the paste from the bottom. “You’re messing up my toothpaste. There’s a right way to do this.”

“I see that you’re particular about your things.” She mocked me with a fake British accent as she held her index finger out for me to spread the Colgate on the tip.

“I’m sure you have a certain way you’d do things, too, if I were in your space.”

She looked around the tidy bathroom. “Probably not. I’m pretty open. My place is a mess until the maid service cleans it. I bet you don’t need a maid.”

“I don’t like strangers in my space.”

She smiled. “You seem comfortable with my being here.”

Electricity crackled between us as she looked at me with flirty eyes. I leaned my back against the other counter and pushed the travel-size mouthwash toward her. “What type of song do you want to do with The Hollow Bones? Our styles are not compatible.”

Janae opened the mouthwash. “They don’t have to be. Think eclectic, like ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and Meg’s ‘Mamushi.’ We can combine our styles. I might rap, hop it up, or keep it soulful. Or a combination. I usually decide my flow in the moment while I listen to the bomb beats or the notes that you create. The best music comes out of a jam session.”

My creative juices flooded with possibility, and I couldn’t help my anticipatory grin. “You write most of your songs?”

She nodded. “I may not be able to play any instrument, but I have an ear for music. I usually collaborate on some of the riffs and hooks. The lyrics are mostly mine.” Janae brushed the paste on her teeth with her finger and then used the mouthwash.

“We’ve never written and recorded an original song with another artist. We usually play in the background or create and collaborate with an artist if we want a singer. We could write and compose the song and let you sing it. They might go for it then.”

Janae turned on the water to spit in the sink, and I passed her one of the hand towels stacked neatly on the marble counter. She wiped her mouth. “No. It has to be a true collaboration, or I’m not doing it.”

I tilted my head. “If you want it to happen, you may not have a choice.”

She shrugged. “Then I won’t do it. My voice matters, too.”

“You’re coming to us, and now we’re the bigger artist,” I pointed out.

Janae frowned. “I’m fully aware that the power has shifted. I allowed my voice to be silenced in the industry, and I won’t anymore. Take it or leave it.”

“Then we leave it as a tour only. We are a band who makes our own music. Period. But I’m not and won’t ever shut down your voice simply because you’re a woman.” I bristled. “I’m not that chauvinistic dude who can’t see the talent in a woman outside her sex appeal. Do you know who my mother is?”

“Sorry.” She grabbed my wrist, stopping me from leaving the bathroom. “I know we can make magic happen together. The way you play that guitar hits me in the pit of my soul. Those chords you struck for my song bolted through me like electricity and had the audience begging for more. Where did you learn to play like that?”

I bit back my prideful smile. “Natural gift, with some training. I have two musically inclined parents who pushed the piano, violin, and trumpet on me. The guitar pulled me despite their best intentions to make me a jazz or classical musician.”

Her eyes widened. “You play all those instruments?”

“Once you learn the piano, skills generalize to the other ones.” I jammed my hands in my pockets. “I need to talk to Cedrick and the guys.”

She clasped her hands together. “Does this mean that you’re on board?”

“Doesn’t matter if the rest say no.” My stomach grumbled its hunger. “I need to eat.”

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