Page 55 of Here's to Yesterday

Well, that did nothing to rid me of my shittyfeelings.

“I think this was a bad idea,” I say, pushing myself off my stool to run out like the coward Iam.

“Wait.” I feel his hand wrap around my wrist, and I light up inside from the warmth. That’s all it takes. A simple touch, and he’s got my body thrumming with energy, want,need.One single, simple touch, and my knees weaken, my heart beats faster, and my mouth goes dry.Stupid, traitorousbody.

I turn around and gradually lift my eyes from the exquisite art on his arm to his alluring golden gaze. I’m sure his careful eye doesn’t miss the hitch in my breath when our stares meet or the sudden shift in theair.

“Don’t go,” he pleads, not only with his words but with his eyes. “Friends, remember? I know that. You know that. Fuck everyoneelse.”

Truth. As long asweknow what’s really going on, that’s all thatcounts.

Blowing out a breath, I give a curt nod, and he releases me as I take my seat again. “Friends,” I repeat for goodmeasure.

Thankfully, Benny picks this moment to run our drinks over to us since it’s still early in the day anddead.

“Here ya kids go. Food will be up in a minute,” he says, setting down Tucker’s water and mySprite.

We both take the distraction for what it is and sip on our drinks in silence for amoment.

“So,” we say at the same time and then both let out a relieved laugh, the air surrounding us fading to a dullsizzle.

I wave my hand for him to speakfirst.

“I did some research on the suit,” he tells me, a hint of nervousness in hisvoice.

“DarenDarren?”

“Hell of a name, huh?” He laughs faintly. “Yeah, him. He may be a good fit. Maybe. He’s represented a lot of goodartists.”

“But has he represented artists that are similar toyou?”

He throws a cocky grin my way. “Hasanyone?”

I pretend to start choking, and Tucker gives me a concerned look. As he’s about to round the table to perform the Heimlich, I stop. He narrows his eyes atme.

“What the fuck wasthat?”

“Oh,that? It was your ego sucking up all the air inhere.”

Tucker smirks and shakes his head at me, mumbling something I can’t quite make out. “Anyway,” he says, “I’m honestly thinking of contacting him, setting up a meeting. Maybe after my next show? What do youthink?”

Cookin’ Curt, the resident chef, runs our cheese fries out to us, giving me a moment to think before I respond tohim.

Do I think he needs to find representation? Sure. Am I worried someone’s going to exploit his talent? Hell yes. I’d be dumb not to be. But then again, that’s the risk people take as artists. I want nothing more than to watch Tucker up on stage every night, singing his heart out. Because that’s exactly where he belongs. Tucker was born to be on stage. It’s his outlet, his passion, his joy, his everything, and anyone who ever sees him perform can tell. Tuckerneedsto be on the stage. It’s who he is. He needs the music like he needs his next breath. I’ll do anything to help him get it, and like Tucker, I have a feeling about Daren Darren too. I checked him out myself, and Idohope he’ll be a good fit. Plus I have this belief in fate and happen to think I stepped in at the right time. If not with Darren, then ingeneral.

“You’re fairly certain what you’re going to do. Why do you needme?”

“I want you there,” he tells me with certainty, shoveling a forkful of fries into hismouth.

“Good. I was going to force you to take meanyway.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “Well, Iamyour manager. I need to be there to, well, manageyou.”

His lips twitch as he fights the smile begging to grace his face. A frown wins out. Tucker peers up at me with seriouseyes.

“But what if I’m wrong? I mean, I know I’m good, but what if being good isn’tenough?”