Page 15 of Heartbeat Highway

“Do you need help operating the equipment?” she asks Bo. I don’t think she means it as a double entendre, but there’s a kernel of jealousy burning deep in my gut at the way she’slooking at him. I get it. Really, I do. Bo looks like a chiseled Noah Kahan, with tattoos sliding over his shoulders. Not that I stare at them when he’s swimming or accidentally walk into his house when he’s shirtless.

I mean, I don’t stare a lot.

There’s another pleasant surge of heat through my core at the thought, but this isn’t the time. This isn’t the place.

“We’ve got it covered.” Bo slings an arm around me and pulls me toward him. It’s brotherly, I know that, but the hostess takes it as a sign of belonging. Or maybe that’s just what I want her to think. “Thanks.”

“I’ll bring you two some drinks. Preference?”

“Your wildest cocktails,” I say, my tastebuds tingling. And not just for alcohol. “Is that okay, Bo? Before your concert?”

He shrugs. “I won’t drink much. And there are still hours to go. Let’s have fun. What the lady wishes, the lady should have.”

“Concert?” The hostess is suddenly interested again. “Are you a musician?”

“Drummer. Don’t get any ideas about my singing ability.”

“He’s selling himself short.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken until they both turn their gazes to me. “He has a great voice. Sex on a stick. He just doesn’t like being the front man.”

“Hm.” The hostess smiles again, and there’s something secretive and knowing about it. “You two are a really cute couple.”

I step away from Bo abruptly, a surge of shame rushing through me. “No, we’re not—”

“Sure.” The hostess nods, the smile not leaving her lips. “I’ll be right back with those drinks and some appetizers. The song catalog is on the table. We have some great duets.”

My cheeks burn as she exits the room, and I hide my embarrassment by flipping through the song catalog, seeing but not really reading the names.

It takes Bo a moment to join me.

“What do you want to sing?” he asks softly. His body is so close to mine, and there’s a delicious warmth that surrounds me. Not for the first time—if I’m honest and there’s no reason not to be right now—I wonder what it would be like to feel the weight of him over me, those sure and strong drummer’s hands skimming over my body, finding notes on my skin.

I flip through the book until my finger finds the perfect song. I stab the page with a ferocity I usually hide. “This one.”

CHAPTER 9

Lily

Singing againafter so long doesn’t automatically click with me. Before I moved to LA, I never got stage fright. Singing was a part of me, one I freely shared, one that made me feel like myself. Then I met K, and…well, now when I sing in public, I freeze up, his voice drowning out my own.

But he isn’t here now.

I miss the first two notes, and I’m half a beat behind for the initial verse. But that’s the thing about Pat Benatar. Her songs give you plenty of room to open up. When I see Bo, sitting in the booth, drumsticks resting on the table, his gaze only on me, warm and tender, I let go.

I let the music flow through me. Note after note of “Shadows of the Night,” singing the way I remember. It’s so freeing, to be up here with a microphone in my hand. Nothing in law school feels this way, so unencumbered, so un-jaded. The thrill of it all propels me through the song, throwing my hair back in my best girl-rocker impersonation. Maybe I don’t hit everythingperfectly. I don’t care. I’m here and Bo watches me like this is something beautiful he’s witnessing.

As the tinny background music plays the final chords, I’m aware of applause, and not just from Bo. The hostess has a tray under her arm and she claps for me. “You’re really good. Are you in the band, too?” she asks.

My cheeks flush. “No. I’m in law school.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Interesting. Have fun, you two. Let me know if you need anything else.”

The adrenaline makes my whole body twitch, but I make my way off the little stage and down to the table. Bo sits there, still clapping, a broad smile deepening that kissable dimple on his cheek. Fine, I’ll admit it. Performing used to make me more than a little horny. It’s K’s fault he never picked up on that.

With Bo’s gaze on me, I take one of the drinks, something in a fishbowl-sized glass with an umbrella, and sip it. Sugar and citrus explode across my tongue in a tangy haze.

“That was amazing,” Bo says. “I love hearing you sing, Lily. You light up when you perform.”

I shrug and sip my drink again. “It’s karaoke. The whole point is to sing off key.”

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