Page 145 of Love Is an Art
Wewalkhandinhand up Amsterdam Avenue on our way to the Oasis Garden summer celebration. The street is relatively empty this early in the morning.
“How was the roommate interview this morning?” Zeke asks.
“A definite no.” I shudder. Miranda and I realized that we could convert the living room of our apartment into a combination bedroom and studio for Miranda if we built a wall there. Then we could rent out her back bedroom to a third person for more income. Renting out the whole place and moving back home is still an option, but that would mean Miranda would have to find studio space—and I really don’t want to live with my parents—so we’re hoping this might work. But first, we have to find a suitable roommate.
“She didn’t like Miranda’s art,” I say.
“She said that?” Zeke frowns.
“Yes. She also didn’t like the smell of oil paint, so she wanted to know if that ‘odor’ would be there.”
Zeke snorts.
We run into Maddie as we turn the corner. Just as we hug hello, her phone beeps. She checks it.
“It’s Nick,” Maddie says. “He’s double-parked outside the garden and needs help unloading the band’s equipment.”
Contrary to Maddie’s hopes, her rock-star neighbor, Nick, is not going away for the summer on tour. He is spending the summer playing in various New York venues. But that means his band is free to play here.
Ahead of us is a white van double-parked. Framed by the open van doors, a tall, dark-haired guy lifts something heavy, his muscles rippling under his shirt. He glances over his shoulder as we hurry over.
“He’s hot,” I say to Maddie. Maddie shrugs, but she definitely scoots ahead of us and reaches Nick first.
Zeke glances at me, an easy smile curving his lips.
“Not as hot as you,” I say.
He laughs. “Only you think I’m as hot as a rock star.”
The guy hands a guitar case down from the back of the truck to Maddie, as Maddie says, “I’m not going to drop it, Nick. Have a little faith.”
Maddie walks over to me, carrying two guitar cases.
“These guitars are like his babies,” she says. “He said he didn’t trust me to carry them.”
“I’d be worried, too, if I was him that you might sabotage him; you do complain a lot about his playing,” I say. “But he should know you’d never do that.”
“He should,” Maddie says. “And he’d probably then take up drums—just to really torture me.”
Zeke helps the drummer carry his equipment into the garden to set up on the makeshift stage.
Nick hops down from the truck. He is wearing this threadbare T-shirt, and as he lifts his arms up to grab the speakers from his bandmate in the truck, his shirt rises up to reveal sculpted abs. Maddie is transfixed. She blushes and huffs when I catch her staring.
“I might as well enjoy the view,” Maddie says. “I need the extra kick of adrenaline after being kept up half the night listening to his latest musical attempt.”
I raise my eyebrow.
Nick walks over, carrying a speaker.
“Nick, my friend Tessa,” Maddie says.
Nick puts down the speaker and shakes my hand.
“Lily is thrilled you agreed to play,” I say.
“It’s not like he did it out of the kindness of his heart,” Maddie says.
He tousles her brown hair. “Yes, I did.”
