“How’d it go?”Harmony asked, ignoring my question. She was rocking back and forth on herfeet, tapping her fingers together, looking like a little kid waiting to findout what Santa was bringing her for Christmas.
“Fine, I guess.”I shrugged. “Or at least I thought so.”
Harmony frowned.“What happened?”
“She offered methe gig.”
“Then why do youlook worried?”
“It’s probablynothing,” I said. “We were getting along great. I played for her. Then we weresinging together, and she just stopped, said the gig was mine if I wanted it,and then bolted.”
“Mmmmmm,”Harmony hummed.
“What’s that?What does that sound mean?”
Her mouth turnedup in a half smile. “She hit the ejector seat.”
“What are youtalking about?”
“Remember thoseold James Bond movies?” Harmony asked.
I nodded.
“His car alwayshad ejector seats built into them, right? Well, sometimes when Melody feelsoverwhelmed, she’ll hit the button on her own ejector seat.”
“Did I dosomething wrong?”
Harmony shookher head. “Nope.”
“How can you beso certain?”
“Because shegave you the gig. Melody doesn’t work with people she doesn’t like.”
“I don’t get it.We were laughing and singing and then she just went cold and took off.”
Harmony sighed.“She’s probably just a little worn out. With everything she’s been through overthe past few days, I’m surprised she’s functioning. In fact. I should go makesure she’s okay.”
“Yeah, sure.” Ishrugged. “I’m gonna take off. I’ll let myself out the side door.”
“Thank youagain, and congratulations. You’re gonna do great,” Harmony said, giving me twothumbs up.
“Thanks, babe,”I said.
I was halfwayhome when the bizarre events of the evening began to register as reality. I wasabout to go on tour with Melody Morgan. Melody fucking Morgan. She had threemulti-platinum albums and one certified diamond. That’s ten million copiessold. She’d played to sold-out crowds around the globe. She was a living popicon, and I was about to stand on stage next to her night after night and do mybest to convince her legions of rabid fans that I belonged up there beside her.
The slickstreets told me it had rained heavily earlier. Not that I’d noticed. The houror so I’d spent with Melody felt like a day, and once we were alone, she mademe feel like we were the only two people in the world. Then again, after alifetime in show business, she probably made everyone feel that way. As much asI liked to act like it was no big deal, she was a legitimate star. A star witha strong gravitational pull.
I’m not blind. Iknew Melody was beautiful. I’d seen her music videos and even one of hermovies. The first one, I think, but film doesn’t begin to capture how hot sheis in person. It took every ounce of concentration I had to focus on the songsshe was calling out and not just sit and stare at her. I must have kept my shittogether long enough to prove I knew which end of a guitar was which, becauseshe gave me the green light, but I was scared shitless both Melody and I hadmade the wrong call, and that I’d be on a Greyhound headed for Portland withina week, my bike strapped to the back.
* * *
Melody
I closed the doorto my sister’s guest room and dropped my forehead to the dark mahogany. Holyshit on a cracker, I was fucked. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head.Courtland ‘Train’ Nash was far too sexy for his own fucking good. Or mine, forthat matter.
God, his handswere mesmerizing. He wore a silver skull ring on his right hand, and I had toforce myself not to stare at it as he played. Forget what his left hand wasdoing to the strings on the fretboard. Jesus, I had a feeling he could play awoman the same way he played that guitar.
I jumped a milewhen my sister knocked on my door, pushing it open with a grin.
