14
Iwas about ready to pull my hair out.
Scratch that. I had already tried pulling my hair out and had now moved on to banging my head against the piano keys.
"This is impossible," I muttered. I fought to suppress a heavy sigh. I remembered Noah wasn't in the apartment — he'd gone to pick up his leather jacket from the dry cleaners — and decided to indulge myself, letting out a deep melodramatic sigh.
Of course, that was the moment Noah walked in.
"You freaking out again?"
"I can't do it," I moaned, my forehead still resting on the piano keys.
"Yes you can." The words were impatient but I could hear a concerned note in Noah's voice. "Remember what I said? We're going to write a song together and it's going to fucking rock."
I was beginning to doubt that. I'd been working so hard,tryingso hard, but the pieces just weren't coming together. There was something missing in our song and I couldn't pinpoint what it was. It drove me crazy.
I tilted my head to look at Noah. He still stood in the doorway, brows furrowed as he stared at me with a curious look. As if he were dissecting me. I sat up straight, avoiding his eyes.
"I need a drink," I declared.
He raised an eyebrow. "It's four in the afternoon."
"Never stopped you before."
"Have I succeeded in corrupting you?"
"Looks like it."
"Want to go to Walt's?"
I made a face. "That sketchy bar of yours?"
"Do you really want to go out in public and watch me get attacked by a flock of fangirls?"
He had a point. Darkest Days was famous enough that going to a regular bar or pub would be risky. As the front man, too many people might recognize him.
"Fine. Sketchy biker bar it is."
"Look on the bright side. Maybe Jessie will be working and you two can gossip about me again," he said.
When we arrived, I saw that Jessie was working, but she was too busy to talk. The bar was surprisingly packed for a mid-week afternoon.
The moment we walked through the door Noah groaned, halting in the doorway. I almost bumped into his back.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Great," he muttered. "Just what I need."
Peeking around his shoulder, I saw about a dozen men and a handful of women standing near the small stage at the back of the bar. I hadn't noticed it the first time.
"You guys have live music here?"
"If you can call it that," Noah muttered. He went straight to the bar where Walt was pouring the beer on tap into glasses. I followed, craning my neck around to continue watching the stage. Jessie was there, fiddling around with what looked like an old fashioned stereo and TV.
"Two beers," Noah told Walt.
"You really gonna stick around?" Walt grunted. "You hate karaoke."
